DAY 9-10: The Going and the Bumping

I packed the day before I left for Mombassa and rushed around making final good-byes and arrangements for closing accounts and travel. The coolest thing happened, some of the people in the restaurant were really sad I was leaving. Not the “I’m-in-customer-service” sad, but genuine. I had no idea my time with them would be so influential. On my last night, I was asked out to dinner by Michael (the restaurant guy). I had to decline because I accepted an invitation from Peter (eat-gizzard-with-your-hands dinner guy). I thought it was going to be a 1-2 hour party…wrong. Three hours and they still hadn’t gotten out the food. Before the night was over I had disappointed two new friends and stepped on an undisclosed amount of social mistakes. Disappointing people in Africa feels even worse than America

The next morning I woke up crazy early to drive two hours to catch the bus to Mombassa. We got there an hour early and camped out waiting for my new traveling companions. Meet Malcolm and Colin. Malcolm is a former missionary to a tribal people north of Mombassa. He now teaches at Phoenix Seminary one semester and travels the rest of the year to other locations to teach. For casting purposes picture me riding around with Gene Hackman. Colin is his adult son. We boarded the bus in Nairobi. It was a crazy downtown scene. People everywhere with crowded streets that smelled like sweat, diesel, and curry. I have no idea how a giant bus (think greyhound size without a toilet) escaped from those clogged streets, but we did. I think those drivers are as sharp as jet fighter pilots.

The drive was not easy. The bus had comfortable seats, but the roads made Louisiana look like a driver’s paradise. Calling it bumpy would be like calling a Ultimate Fighting Match as competitive. Picture sitting in one of those massage machine chairs, but instead  of massage, think punching jolts from every axis. There was tons of dust as well. My fingernails were dirty and I didn’t touch anything. Nine hours. PLUS the driver was on the African version of speed. It is some kind of gum. So he was passing on a two lane road playing chicken with oncoming trucks. This is all magnified by the Indian techno, Rap and woefully pathetic western pop he blared over the bus loudspeakers. I swear there was an Indian country song in there and I don’t want to here Justin Timberlake while cruising the savannah.

That’s all of the bad parts. Now here’s the cool stuff. You know how when you’re driving in a rural area and get excited at seeing a deer on the side of the road? Yeah. I saw a rare antelope, a herd of zebras, AND a clump of elephants. ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD. 

Did you know that zebras are orange in the wild?

Yeah, the dust gets on them. They look more like tiger horses. The elephants were orange too, but tiger horses looked cooler. The bus stopped three times for lunch and restroom breaks at the African equivalent of truckstops. I ordered a grape Fanta. I felt so local. I peeled off the right denomination of bill AND had a good idea of what it would cost. But the dude looked at me weird. But this didn’t discourage me…Until I was drinking it and read that they don’t have “grape.” The purple one is “Black Currant.” I’m such a tourist.

We arrived in Mombassa after dark, but Malcolm gave me cool commentary as we went.

At Mombassa, the other missionaries, Carol and Tim (not married to each other.) Carol is single and has been here since the mid-eighties. Tim was in Rwanda until the violence and came to Mombassasa after being chased out.) Recently, He left for the states to transition his kids into college and is back for the summer to put on a Pastor’s conference. In American, he runs a retail store that sells wood carvings and curios items imported from Africa.

They picked us up and took us out to dinner at an outdoor restaurant. You sit at a picnic table on the sidewalk and they have a big grill cooking skewers of meat. Four bite sized pieces: 3 meaty and 1 fatty. The fatty one is the local favorite. I palmed mine and threw them under the table. I ate goat cooked (I think. It’s best not to ask), dipped in various sauces with non (Indian flatbread). Mombassa is a weird city. It isn’t like Nairobi at all. Mombassa is 1/3 Indian, 1/3 Muslim, and 1/3 African. It’s a really exotic blend. Arabs and Indians settled and traded here long before the colonials came, so it is really unique. On the same street corner you will see a veiled muslim woman, a woman in a sari, and one in African/western clothes. Being such a white guy, all of the diversity is still hard to classify.

I’m staying in the flat Carol sublets to guests. It is a two bedroom that feels really homey. Good night all.