Of Lost Bets and Broken Buses – My Latest Run Down Coast

Of Lost Bets and Broken Buses – My Latest Run Down Coast

No where
“Shukeni.  Basi imefika,” that was the announcement that got us out of the bus at 0345hrs at the wee hours of Monday morning on this 27th day of June.  It was cold, chilly, drizzling.  We were in the middle of almost nowhere.  My Google map on the phone indicated the position as somewhere about 10km from the Voi turnoff from Mombasa direction.

The passengers got out and momentarily settled on the ‘new’ bus.  This bus was a distant relative of where we had come from.  Open-the-window air-conditioning instead of ‘real’ air-conditioned.  Rattling-structure-and-almost-deafening-engine, from the quiet and almost inaudible hum of an engine previously.  From hardly any movement, to almost earth quake vibrations.  From free wifi, to what-is-wifi?  From projection screens for watching movies to nothing!  From Oxygen to eh… No-Oxygen!  It was a compulsory move to the rescue bus.

Impunity
I was seated on no. 25 seat before the move.  This was almost mid-bus, aisle side, on this 45 seater.  The next seat passenger was on the 26 seat by the window.  We left Mombasa at 2230hrs on the dot.  This was a bus B for sure.  The bus A that my colleague Charles took was a real bus A – with all things ‘A’ class, including personal video screens behind each seat.  I was seeing such show of tech for the first time on a long haul bus.  I cursed under my breath for having been given a ‘B’ bus despite having booked before him.  How do these things go?  Same price, different offers, no explanation?  Both buses left 10.30pm – probably the latest departing buses from the ocean front towards the inland.

“That is meant for both of us, stupid!,” I did not say, but I considered saying.  This happened when the bus had departed and the attendant was issuing small packs of juice and equally small packets of biscuits.  The juice part was smooth.  He handed a couple.  I direct one to 26 and it was taken.  The biscuits arrived when I was already reading through One Bright Summer Morning by Chase.  I saw the two packs being handed over, which were picked by 26… who proceeded to keep both!  Without even blinking an eye and just kept quiet as if he had done nothing out of the ordinary!.  Now, do you get why I almost called names – surely!  How dare he!!  I considered asking, but avoided the likelihood of an exchange over a 20 bob packet.  However, I kept this experience for a future blog story.

But not yet.  What impunity!  Imagine he went ahead and started munching from the first packet, hardly 15 minutes after setting off, immediately after the lights in the bus went off.  I was almost kicking the front seat in anger when I stopped short, remembering the saved trip to the dental unit.  I cheered up – my good, his bad!

Bolts and nuts
About 30 minutes into the drive, I kind of noted some change in the vibration from the wheel, which was just under my seating position.  It is like it started consistent bursts of vibration just beneath our seat, though the bus kept going and the internal smooth ride persisted as usual.  I even proceeded to sleep, ignoring this as some uneven road or something.

Out of my unconsciousness, I noticed that the bus had come to a halt.  I thought it was probably a police stop or they were waiting out on another coach that was on distress.  However, it is usually difficult to sleep when the soothing hum of a moving vessel comes to an end, and this is what brought about my momentary awakening.  So, I started becoming consciousness of my surroundings, noting that it was 2.00am, based on the prominent display at the front of the bus, top left, just above the door.  It oscillated between ‘2.00am’, ‘25C 45%’ and ‘8m26d’.  That last combination did not make sense.  If it was meant to be the date, then it was 2 months ahead or 10 months behind.  Maybe it was something else.

Jumping ship
At 2.15am there was a kind of a stir, causing a number of mainly sleeping passengers to awaken.
“Watu tano, wenye haraka, washuke waingie gari lingine,” someone at the front of the bus announced.  Some passengers grabbed their carry-ons and left stumblingly, on the relatively dim bus – just as the internal lights were switched on.

“What is going on?,” someone asked.

No answer, was the answer.

The group that stumbled out just disappeared, the rest of us just sat.  Others stirred from their sleep.  Small murmurs started.

At 2.20am, the same voice that made the first appeal came back to the front of the bus with an update, “Jameni, muwe wavumilivu.  Basi limeharibika lakini tutalitengeza tu.  Muwe na subra” (Please be patient.  The bus is having a mechanical problem but we shall deal with it.)

Aha!  So that is why we were stuck something, actually nowhere!  It is at this point that I switched on the virtual map that revealed our location – we were about a dozen kilometres after after Voi turnoff.  On a deserted patch of the great Nairobi-Mombasa highway.  I was facing a second breakdown, in as many years, with the same bus company, only that the direction of the travel was different this time round.

What's your name?
I decided to exit the bus, as others moved around the bus aisle.  I could see another bus from the same company stopped besides the road, just behind ours.  Those who disembarked with their luggage must have got into this particular bus.  It left while I was still out, only for us to all observe in amazement that they had not locked their side luggage compartment.  

It was useless shouting after a bus that had zoomed off on this still dark night, and shot through the smooth tarmac, hitting cruising speed in under five seconds.  Our driver tried in vain to remember the conductor’s name… and driver’s name to no avail.  We were of no help either.

“Sasa yule Kondakta ywaitwa nani yule?,” he asked the group of six or so passengers milling outside the bus on this pitch dark part of the highway, occasionally illuminated by blinding headlights from approaching vehicles on both sides, then left darker thereafter.

No one answered.

“Huyu nani, huyu jama wa kuenda Kampala ywaitwa nani huyu.  Huyu mwenye kelele kelele huyu!”

No answer from us.  What were we to answer?

At 2.30am the driver asked us to embark so that we can move to a ‘safer’ location.  

“You mean we were unsafe all this while?,” I thought of asking the obvious.  I kept this question to my worried self.  But surely, being deserted in the middle of nowhere must be unsafe.

Abandoned
Moving at a slow pace took us to an abandoned fuel station, about 2 minutes from where we had broken down.  The driver then switched off the engine and all systems, including air-conditioning… and we started waiting for we-do-not-know-what-next?  

From chatter, I gathered that there was a kind-a bolt on the rear left tyres that had broken and fell somewhere on the route.  This caused a noticeable instability on steering the left side of the bus.  It is upon stopping to check the cause of the unstable movement that this discovering was made, and the captain decided to abandon ship, Ok, bus.  I also gathered that they had called for an ‘emergency’ bus from Mtito Andei, which was to be with us in 15minutes.  What a relief!. 

However, the relief came 1hr later, at 3.45am and it was a contrasting relief I can tell you for free.  Reaching Mtito an hour later ourselves confirmed that we were surely far from that haven all this time.  The rest of the travel back to the capital was uneventful and we disembarked at the Modern booking station in Nairobi at ten, about 4 hours from our expected arrival time.  However, there is a saying that “Msafiri ni mkafiri” so this was OK – to me, another adventure in the course of travel.

Big pool
Flashback four days earlier – I had used a bus from the same company, leaving Nairobi at exactly 10.30pm and arriving at the coast at seven.  After checking into the hotel of accommodation, I had spent the day just relaxing, waiting for the arriving of a fourth member of the team, Charles.  Janet and Mercy had already checked in when I arrived at ten since they had arrived early morning.  We could not do the business of the day without the full team.  We were to develop a corporate strategy as mandated back home.

Our second day was fully constrained by the business of this long weekend, which had seven deliverables.  By nine P when we took the dinner break, our list of deliverables was reading four complete, one partially done, two not yet started.  However, the human body can only take so much and so we had to call it quits, have dinner and retire to bed - the earliest we have ever gone to bed while near the ocean.

We were just to take a short walk on the giant pool, with white sandy beaches, on the Saturday morning on our third day.  The short walk ended up getting us to the warm waters, which started being sole deep, then heel deep, then mid-leg deep, then knee deep – that was my limit.  Janet and Mercy had remembered to come ‘dressed’ in inflated tyres.  Charles was the swimmer, and kept nudging them to the deeper waters.  I was the non-swimmer, and kept nudging myself to the shores.

“Dada, nikufunze kuswimi,” I heard someone offer Janet.

“How?,” I heard her, just almost beyond earshot now, mixed with the many noises made by the many swimmers on the big pool.

I could figure out Janet being moved around on the tyre, towards the deeper waters, though at some point she called to Charles for his attention.  At confession time, a few wines down the throat, she said that the ‘teacher’ was starting to massage her legs.

“And what is the problem with that,” Charles laughed out loud.

“You missed a free massage,” I rejoined.

Of course we knew what she was driving at.

“Mwathani!,” she exclaimed.  She only did this special exclamation if matters were elephants, “That guy had started going bolingo*,” she elaborated.

We burst out laughing, momentarily interrupting the concentration of the crowd watching a live match between Switzerland and Poland at the ongoing UEFA championships.

“That is not anything,” Charlie volunteered, “At the deep sea where we were,” he continued, “Things were being done live.”

“What ‘things’,” I asked.

“We WB, wacha kuwa analogue,” Mercy reminded me, “Manze hao watu walikuwa bolish wote.  What else?”

“Mwathani!”

“But you two also disappeared from the shallow water to that place,” I observed, but was cut short.

“So long as you are afraid of the water, you shall be losing out.  Sisi pia tuli…”

I did not want to hear no elaboration.  Liars!  Just because they were 20 meters from where I was!

Shisha
A walk to the rest room brought me face to face with quite some interest observations.  One of the madams seated to our left was actually just having a top (only).  She was bolingo elsewhere!  Just in front of her seating place, about two tables from ours, stood the pool table and believe you me, a pregnant mama was shooting the ball!  A shisha pipe here and there was nothing extra ordinary.  Skirts that ended near the waist than near the knee seemed to be new fashionista.  Just in front of our table were two gals, chewing miraa from a big collection of the herb at the middle of their table.  They both spewed enough nicotine to addict all in the kibanda.  They did not give a damn about other revelers.  We had similar sentiments on them.

A chick moves from her seat next to the one who is bolish.  She moves to an empty seat just next to where a jungu is seating.  That is now just in front of our seats, to the right.  The jungu momentarily leaves, while the chick remains.  When the guy comes back, there is some sort of exchange between them.  What we can see is the shaking of heads.  The rest of their conversation is now muffled by the shouts from the patrons who are supporting one of the teams on the big screen.  It is penalty time after a one all draw.  The situation is tense.  All are tense.  The chick is tense, the jungu is tense.  The chick leaves her seat and goes back to where she had come from.  Whatagwan!  The penalty kicks are taken!  One team kicks one out – the other kicks all their five.  It is done.  I lose a bet.  Damn Swiss!  And to lose a bet to Mercy!?  Of all the people!?  I feel like whiffing onto that shisha thing now.

Maybe that is where I started losing out, since the next day she completely abandoned me and was taking her wine inside the residents’ pool at the hotel, with Charles, both half naked, while I had another humiliation of losing a second bet to the same gal, when Ireland allowed themselves to lose 2-1 against France.

I am not taking any trips down coast during a tournament.  Of lost bets and broken buses – I have had enough.

*bolingo - slang for 'without clothes'.  Short form is bolish

Barack Wamkaya Wanjawa, Nairobi, Monday, June 27, 2016

Four days – four runs… the winner is…

Four days – four runs… the winner is…


Normal
The last two weeks have been busy, specifically the weekend of July 31.  I was not to write this story, but… I was just reminded that I am ‘normal’ and should therefore just do ‘normal’ things, like writing such stories.  This reminder came during an evening call-in show on one of the local radio stations, where they claim to hook up gals with potential mates.  

This particular episode got me off-guard.  On this day, I had to rush the young lady to Aga Khan hospital in a hurry in the evening hours.  She was complaining of a persistent stomachache, which had to be addressed if she was to catch her already booked bus the next day to western Kenya.  I was sharing the taxi with a colleague from out of Africa.  We were not quite concentrating on the radio vibes, but this one got me, it got all the four of us, the driver included.

“Please hook me up with someone else, not a ‘normal’ guy,” the lady on radio said.

The first reaction was a smile, as we, just like the radio presenter, wanted to confirm that we had heard right.

“Yes, someone who is not a normal guy.  I have tried the many Kenyans and it is not working for me, maybe someone who is not Kenyan…. not a normal guy…”


First run
I traveled down coast on a Thursday night, so as to be ready for business the next day.  The Dreamliner, without the final ‘r’ almost lived up to its expectation.  The seats were comfortable, it left on time at 10.45pm, and had fully sealed windows, suggesting that they should not be opened.  The only thing it lacked was a working air-conditioning system.  Ok, it also did not have wifi.  And come to think about it, they only served us a 500ml bottle of plain water.  I expected more - comparatively.  

Somewhere along the 500km run, it was evident that the mechanical system of this 46-seater was not very sound, though it had speed and landed us at seven as per schedule.  With a fare of 1,100, the ride was worth it.  The team of three, Charles, Janet and I, settled at the hotel and got our free time awaiting the evening when Mercy, the fourth team member would just us.  The morning rest was good, the coastal town was not that hot.  If anything, it was temperate, almost akin the Nairobi conditions.

After the lunch break, the water levels were already pushed to the brim.  A walk into the ocean or even a swim was not possible in these conditions.  It was strange that the waters were full as early at three.  The last time I checked, the water would push to the banks after six… but seasons do change.  We therefore just had a relaxed afternoon doing nothing in particular, just hanging around, cold ones at hand until the final team member joined in around six.  A plot was finally hatched up and we found ourselves at the reef hotel reception, joining two other colleagues who were coincidentally in this same city, but on a different mission.

The get-together was great.  The music was good, and severally I found myself on the dance floor.  Danceable music, just the right volume, a mix of mostly African musical servings.  Thumbs up.

Despite what promised to be the best evening, the DJ messed it up by keeping us on one groove for too long that we had to leave the dance floor, mainly in frustration.  Glancing at my watch and reading the time as one made me realize that the DJ’s scheme could have been a way to forcing our exit.  We got the hint and off we went.

Verdict – this was a good run.


Second run
Saturday was a busy day.  It was the day of the main business of the retreat.  After late morning breakfast, we were busy at the meeting room, provided to us exgracia, doing serious thinking and serious discussions.  By late lunch, at two-thirty, we were having our final document done and polished.

After the lunch break, the weather changed for the worse and in no time it was raining.  Getting to the waters was not possible, for a second day running.  What to do?  A new plan had to be crafted… and fast.  After sobering up with some ‘baridis’, we had dinner and left for an unknown destination.  Unknown, because we were relying on the ‘surprise’, from our new host.  

When our hired taxi headed towards Mtwapa, we were left in no doubt as to what was likely to happen and we waited with bated breaths.  We picked our host along the route, after some 10-minutes’ drive.  When he got into the car, loading it to fit four on the back seat, he decided to test the waters to figure out our type, as we later discovered.

“It is good to be saved, this world is headed to the dogs,” he said, somehow in the midst of idle chatter, as the taxi drove along the busy Malindi road, full of matatus.

“True, true,” came the responses.

Later, after some look through the window, he told the driver to pull over and park. 

“We are going here,” he pointed.

We were frisked and upstairs we went.  Double fan, they called it.

The seats were comfy, and the blare was… almost deafening.  The flickering lights were doing a number on our eyes and brains, but the drinks were affordable.  The crowd was young and soon the dance floor would be dominated by one particular dance style.  A girl holds onto the arms of the sofa where I am seated, forcing her b-h to project upwards.  I can just make out her short shorts, opposite my sitting position.  She starts circling the backside, while instinctively, a young man goes towards the now grating region and plants his front side there.  The rubbing begins.

“Mae to miel mane…*,” Tony the musician from the lakeside city of Kisumu asks, while the wild crowd of dancers cheer.   I would live my life of about four hours witnessing this as the main dance.  Whoever invented this bend over thing left little to the imagination.  
*which dance is this?

Later, on reflection, Janet commented that it was possible for a man’s belt to be so charged that it can just poke through, and…
“No one should be blamed if this happened,” she concluded.
On reflection, this is true.

But this was quite a different crowd from yesterday’s.  I could not even hit the dance floor.  This dance and music was just out of my league.  Then again, who in their right minds asks the DJ to ‘rewind and play again’ a simple singing game such as the Mandebele kids – unless they are kids.

Mercy had a reflection of her own, declaring that, “That damsel who was shaking her ssa next to your seat really wanted you to dance with her.  Why didn’t you?”

“Are you serious?  I would rather swim with sharks!”

“Hapana!,” she does not give us, “You could have had 'chips funga' ”

“You have lost it,” I retort, “Chipo is not even my favourite food.  I am an ugali na kuku person to the core.”

Little did I know that the joke was on me, when the other trio just burst laughing, while I remained amazed, stone-face and totally lost on what part of this was funny!

Later, Janet, who know the host, informed us that we were taken to this exact place before we gave our host the impression that we were ‘too saved’ to be taken to alternative places.  Just because we agreed that the world is headed to the kennel?  

Verdict – A run that you can do without, you shall not miss much.


Third run
My decision to book a bus online was the best that I ever did.  By Saturday I was sure that I wanted to travel on Sunday night.  Without much ado, I had booked myself an Oxygen for 10.30pm, paid by MPESA and was booked on the backseat – seat 46 for sixteen hundred.  The three colleagues could not make up their mind as to whether to travel Sunday morning, day time or evening.  They did not know whether to travel by bus or air.  They had indecision on which bus to use.  They ended up not booking anything, and chanced on deciding on their move next day, Sunday morning.

At Sunday breakfast, it was confirmed that there were no more ‘good’ buses left, at least for morning travel.  I was wearing a big smile as the trio decided to travel at night using a less prestigious bus.  Though the morning was rainy, the weather was quite improved by lunch break.  

After lunch we had the opportunity to try the ocean waters.  They were good.  The waters had been pulled back about one kilometer in.  We were able to walk the vast white sands to the shallow waters.  The water was warm and soothing to the feet.  A rub with the white sand was quite invigorating.  It was even claimed that it was medicinal (liars!)

We took a short break around three, to enable us change into swim attire – but this is where things changed for the worst.  Hardly one hour later, around four-thirty, the waters were already violent and full to the shores.  A close observation showed a broken wall on one side of the hotel fence.  The wall on the other side of the gate was surely also going down – it was just a matter of time.  

Just passing down the gate, now gaping with a fallen wall on one side, was a big deal.  The waves were splashing large volumes of water through to the compound.  Stepping out into the waters was becoming an issue.  Finally, we managed to time the waves and somehow get out of the hotel compound to the shore at the neighbouring establishments, which were not that overwhelmed by the waters.

I refused to dip myself in these waters.  They were cold, turbulent and dark.  A contrast to the once warm, quiet and clear waters hardly three hours prior.  Mercy and Janet managed to plunge themselves into the edge of the waves, lifeguard at hand and tube around the waist.  Not me!  

The crowning moment occurred when the two ladies lost their clothes plus two hundred shillings.  These had been left on the sandy shores, mostly within our watch, but somehow they disappeared.  

There were two theorems on what could have happened.  Some lady who had generally been enjoying our company at the shores, stated that the clothes had been washed away.  However, out of four pieces of clothing, only two were lost.. and of course the money.  Additionally, from the position where the material was sitting, inside an inflated tube, that was still intact, well out of the waters at the shore, it was hard to believe that the ocean waves could have picked up these items.  The second and more likely theorem was that someone had pinched the money (and clothes).

We got back to the hotel compound in time to watch the second wall on the left side of the gate fall down into the ocean shore.

In a few hours we would be getting out of this city back to our city.  There was no plan for the evening.  If anything, we had already checked out earlier, with our bags just waiting for us at the reception.  But wait a minute, don’t we have this neighbouring place?  In no time, we were heading big tree-wards.

“Lipa mia mbili,” a voice declared, when we tried to get through to the direction of the music.
“What?”
“Nikulipa… mia mbili”
“For what?”
“Ya entertainment”
“But we just want to take dinner?  Chakula tu, nakutoka”
“Soo mbili,” came the response, hardly looking our direction.

Imagine the reluctance in paying up!?

Into the tent… we find a full family event with both children and adults, all glued to the stage.
“Two hundred my foot!  Robbers!”

We settle down to a free table, only for someone to rush by our side…
“Mia sita,” he declares, with hands stretched in our direction.
“Are you for real?”
We are hesitant.  There is silence.  There is a stare - four pair of eyes against one pair.
“Kukaa hapa ni mia sita”
We are about to say a flat “no way”, when he adds, “Lakini, mweza kula na kunywa mkitumia pesa hizo”

Our resistance if broken, but we are not bulging yet.

“Au mka kae kule kwingine,” he points towards our left, on the same direction as the entrance, where the kids have made a home, same place where there are no seats, where some of the folks are standing.

“Sawa, tutalipa”

We went in when on stage there was a contest on who can outdo the other in eating “sima”, a contest pitting two adults.  Crazy show.  Who pays to watch this!

But there was improvement after the MC declared that, “Watoto wote sasa waende nyumbani.  Show karibu ianze”.

Some music played while the stage remained uneventful for some ten or so minutes.  There is a scuffle, as bouncers forcefully eject a minor from his seat, on the free-side.  

I do a panorama just to see what goes.  Behind me are some raised sitting places.  On the dim light, I can just make out the silhouettes of people sitting.  Just behind me a see a damsel gyrating on the laps of some guy.  I sure hope they are dressed, but I cannot see and hence cannot draw any conclusion.  Anything goes.

A pile of smoke blows from a table just in front of our sitting place, beyond which is just one more table then the slightly raised stage.  This is strange smoke.  It is too dark and voluminous to be coming from a normal pipe, cigar or cigarette.  The smoke envelops the table, creating zero visibility for those glancing at the stage.  The mystery is solved when the smoker reveals a pipe, which on close scrutiny, is affixed to a flask like container.
“Shisha,” Charles volunteers, on seeing my curiosity.

Two soldiers are standing somewhere after the entrance, just to my left, on the same side of the ‘free’ seating.  Each is carrying a Kalachnikov, invented in 1947.  I feel safe, but know that ‘stray’ things happen… but isn’t there possibility that ongoing action can cause someone to just shoot in the air?

We soon have to leave, since it is about nine and by nine thirty the first bus should be leaving.  Mine leaves at ten-thirty.  We shall surely miss out ‘the show’... and are likely to miss the food too.  We had placed our orders some 15-minutes ago, but nothing was doing so far.  Even if it is an ‘hakuna haraka’ treatment… eh, they are pushing it!

The eating and drinks part did not go without drama anyway.  Janet had to summon the manager to her table when it was apparent that the waiter was playing games with the arithmetic… to the waiter’s advantage.  At least this one was not as drunk as the one at the beach hotel, who severally served the wrong drinks to the wrong people on the wrong tables – with no apologies.

As we gear up to leave, the show starts, with, “for a beer, show how you can lay a deaf chick”.  However, things would get worse in fairly a short time, since moments after, it was time to leak ice cream from someone’s belly – all this on stage, before the battle of shake-your-mountains was in the offing.  If this was just the start, how would the mid-show and end-show be?

Verdict – I can only judge this run if I have the opportunity to see the end game.  I would therefore give it a ‘worth a second try’


Final run
The taxi that picked me up at nine-thirty, at this octopus place, near Bamburi, dropped me in Mombasa city centre by 9.45pm.  Let us talk the octopus for a moment.  Which octopus has six tentacles?  That is the exact definition and symbol of the octopus (pweza), as depicted at this place, but this is a mysterious city… anything is possible.

The bus that left Mombasa at 10.30pm on the dot was comfy, with everything that you need on such a journey – air-conditioning, wifi, comfort, even a small pack of apple juice and biscuits to boost.  I may be too choosy, but surely, what happened to the onboard movie?  I saw the screen but it stayed blanked… I am not complaining.

Verdict – one of the best runs ever.


Barack Wamkaya Wanjawa, Nairobi, Kenya, August 15, 2015