The Music of Mombasa

After our training session today, we walk down to Biashara Street and then into the Old Town of Mombasa. What a wonderful experience!

Mike coins the phrase “The Music of Mombasa” as we thread our way through narrow streets thronged with people, hard carts, lorries, posh cars, matatus, and most of all, tuk-tuks. People shout, hawkers and touts call us to buy, tuk-tuks put-put and every vehicle hoots, toots and parps. Loud, discordant music – but so exciting!

We walk across roads, taking any gap in the traffic – running when we need to, facing down tuk-tuks when we have to. And then we are into the trading area – stalls sell everything you could want – cosmetics, plastic shoes, food, spices, fabrics, bedding, toys – you name it, it is there! We get back to the kikoyi shop and buy some more amazing fabric and then Mike sets out to look for cotton pants. We can’t find the shop David bought his in, and so we ask at the Emporium where to go. They give us the name of a shop and we find it eventually, only to be diverted by a tout who drags Mike off down increasingly narrow alleyways to a shop where they want to rob him blind. Actually, by SA prices, the pants were not expensive, but by Kenyan prices they were exhorbitant! David chases the tout off and we decide to come back another day to find the first shop. The touts are a curse – trying to inveigle tourists into buying at the shops where they get kick-backs. Some stores have signs that say “No commission paid.”

While the men shop, I look down the narrow alleys, overshadowed by tall, weathered buildings with washing hanging from their balconies, and elaborate cast iron around the windows and verandahs. Newish buildings are cheek by jowl with dilapidated tenement buildings. Everywhere there are wires and cord – criss-crossing the glimpses of the sky like demented spiderwebs. After Sarah’s photos of Zanzibar, I’m attracted by the many carved wooden and decorated iron doors.

We decide to walk into the Old Town and find a map against a weathered wall, showing us where we are and where we want to go. A young woman selling samosas, stuffed fried chillies and potato wedges sits near it, and
I succumb to my weakness for street food. David eats the chillies – 5KS for a whole chillie with the stem still on, stuffed with lentils and coated in a maize batter and deep fried, while I have a delicious vegetable samosa. Mike has already bought tuna, caught in the bay, deep fried and sold in the street, and David has bought a wonderful selection of fruit for 100KS.

The streets become less crowded and quieter – and we notice after a while that they are paved – there are tourist walking-routes through it. Houses are tall and quiet, and friendly children shout “Jambo” and reach their hands out to us. High fives all round and we squeeze through a very narrow passage and there is the sea. It is incredibly blue and tantalising but when we try to get closer through the gates to the Old Port, we are asked for 100KS to go in. We walk on a bit, and enter a building being renovated. The huge iron gates are being manned by men plying dominoes, and they welcome us and are happy for us to walk down to the edge of the building. It is going to be a magnificent home or office once it has been finished, retaining the original outer walls and the huge archways, but being completely re-built inside. A little further along the road we meet the first white people we have seen, shopping in a curio shop. The Antique shop next door is closed, but a local calls the owner who opens up for us.

Then we walk back down to the edge of the sea and join some local men who are sitting on benches on the bank and drinking tea. The tea is hot, sweet and spiced – I taste ginger and chilli and a hint of cinnamon. We sit in the gathering dark and watch the sea as it enters the channel, and bemoan the hideous concrete building being erected on the opposite beach.

It is getting dark as we start the walk back to town and we pass the Mombasa Club, Fort Jesus and a Museum before hitting the main streets. On a Friday evening we see many more people in Muslim dress – mostly men and young boys, walking in chatty clusters along the road. Half way back, we give in to tiredness and hail a tuk-tuk. That is an experience! I think it must have been one of the most unroadworthy ones in Mombassa, and sways and creaks as we roar around corners. But it is exhilarating and exciting. Again, I wish Pete was there to share this with me.

We end this magical, almost surreal afternoon with a cold Tusker beer at the rooftop bar, and then early to bed. Sadly, music of a loud, modern sort spoils the night as someone, somewhere parties into the early hours of the morning. Feels like home!