Jambo, Kenya!

 March 19, 2025
Mombasa, Kenya

"Hakuna matata!" ~ Yes, it's a real Swahili saying! 

I snapped this photo as we sailed in to Mombasa. But later in the day, our guide, S told us it was not allowed to photograph the ferry. It's likely because the ferry is meant to hold 1000 passengers, but often can be carrying as many as 4000. With not a life preserver a board. There have been several tragic accidents involving loss of life, but as there is no method of even counting how many people were aboard, no one can say for sure how many were lost.

Our first port of call on the African mainland is actually an island. The city of Mombasa is situated in the middle of one of eastern Africa's few natural ports, much as Manhattan is surrounded by the Hudson. When I stepped out on our balcony, the air didn't smell at all like the poor air quality of Asia. It was earthier somehow, like smoke hanging above the city though there was no evidence of any large industry. No smoke stacks belching into the sky. It puzzled me, but eventually, I figured it out. 

"S" told us these elephant tusks are the iconic symbol of Mombasa and no one should believe we'd been here if we couldn't produce a picture of them! The little green vehicles are tuk-tuks

Our guide today was hand's down the best, most insightful one we've had this trip. His name was...well, he told us if we didn't tell where we heard what he planned to share with us, he'd tell us the truth about Africa.  So I'll refer to him as "S." (Hint: He bears the same name as a very wise Biblical king.)

I saw many women of all ages, shapes and sizes balancing bundles of goods on their heads. They carried themselves like queens with perfect posture and balance. Not even on my best day could I have managed that. Unfortunately, I didn't manage to photograph any of them. However, I did catch this lady at one of the many micro business food stands that ringed a public park as we drove by. Her bold, wild patterns and colors drew my eye immediately. She looks very self-assured and one who suffers no fools. 

"S" explained that Kenya has a history of invasion, migration, and colonization--Omanis, Portuguese, Indian, English. Therefore, not all Kenyans are the ethnically the same. He is a typical Black African from the Bandi people. (And even Black Africans are very diverse. The fabulous marathon runners who always blow away the competition in the Boston Marathon are all from one tribe of tall, thin people who live at an elevation of over 5000 ft. "S" says he tried running once, but it wasn't pretty.) There is a loose grouping of folks categorized as Swahili, but that refers to their shared language, not ethnicity, and mostly means "people of the seashore."  These are the Kenyans of Indian and Arab descent. There are even Kenyans of English descent whose families have been there since the 1800's. 

In the 1950's, Kenya wrested its freedom from Britain. The Crown agreed to cede the government to Kenyans if they could show there was someone who could run the cities UK had helped build. "So," "S" asked us, "how do you think we feel about the British?"   

Surprisingly, "S" says some wish the British were back. Since their independence, one family has retained control of power. This is not democracy. It is a family business. The Brits had rule of law and everyone was treated fairly. (But we did not hear this from him, he emphasized) 

Can you pick out the fruit bats hanging from this tree in the middle of the city?

Our next stop was the Old Town of Mombasa. It's like a living history museum protected by UNESCO. But the residents still pay rent to live there. The streets were narrow and lined with deep trenches that looked and smelled suspiciously like open sewers. There is no electricity. No running water. Water is collected at the main water plant (Thank you, Brits) and then water merchants deliver water, pushing large plastic containers on a handcart, through the winding streets. 

Cloth is woven using old looms. The weavers were too fast to photograph unless they stopped for a breath. They work with the big shop doors open both for light and a breath of air.

Our tour was in the afternoon so most of the fish at the market had been sold, but the proprietor brought out a large tuna from his cooler that had just come in. He generously offered to let us take a photo of both him and the fish!

"S" warned us that the market would be...aromatic, shall we say? But we must not make a face or hold our noses. It would be considered most insulting because these fish in all their smelliness are food. And that is nothing to be sneered at in this part of the world

Our next stop was Ft. Jesus, originally built by the Portuguese as a stop along their route to the East. There was a Catholic church, baracks and defensive works with canons facing the sea. When the Sultan of Oman swooped down and took the fort as a port for his slave trade. He redesigned the interior of the fort to modify the church to serve as a mosque. 

And the fort, whose name was never changed, as a place to hold the black Africans the sultan acquired from other black Africans who ventured inland and captured their own to offer for sale. The sultan's slavers sailed around the Cape of Good Hope and delivered their captives to Brasil's slave market. 

So, who do you think, "S" asked, do Kenyans blame most over that whole despicable practice? The Sultan? The sailors who carried their human cargo? The slavers in Brasil? The South American planters who bought and used them? Or the Africans who sought, captured and sold their own brothers into this living hell?

The question answers itself. "S" blames the ones who betrayed their own simply because they belonged to a different tribe. And it's why he's predisposed to feel charitably toward the colonizing British. They are the ones who destroyed slavery in this part of the world. 

Then "S" says it's history. It's done. He seems able to let it go. Deplorable, yes. Something that changes who he is? No.

But part of me can't excuse any of the members of this unholy chain. And ultimately, if there was no market, there would be no "product" procured. Can we take this logic and apply it to the drug trade and human trafficking today? I think so.

I think this photo of the interior of Ft. Jesus would make a good study to try some watercolor at home.

It was 100 degrees with humidity in the high 90's. My O2 concentrator is not rated to perform beyond a certain temperature, so I don't think I was getting adequate supplemental O2 as we trudged along. For the first time on this trip, I felt light headed and decided not to descend to the lower lever of the fort with the DH. I needed to sit in the shade and make the most of the "chewy", moist air.

The DH, followed by our friend Debra, who's been a regular at our sea day Bible studies.

The stairs led straight down to the sea and is the route shackled captives would have been driven to embark on a slaver's ship. Misery seemed to hang in the air as I watched the line of tourists steady themselves on the hewed out stone wall. If those rocks could cry out, it would be a scream to rend the universe itself.

A carver who looked older than this one asked a lady walking in front of us how old she was. "78," she replied. "I'm 57," he said, though he looked like he had at least a decade on her. The average age in Kenya is 19. While that sounds like a young and vibrant society, in truth it's also because the life expectancy is not quite 65 for men. Not quite 70 for women.

Our last stop was Uchongaji Sacco Society, an artisan cooperative to provide a place for talented carvers to have a way to market their wares. The 225 you see on the post is carved on the bottom of each of this man's piece so he will receive 80% of the proceeds when it sells. The 20% goes to the cooperative to support the sales building and other artists who are in need.

"S" then pointed out the that the carving chips were taken home by the artists and given to people who live nearby to use in their houses each evening. 

That explained the smoky-scented air. It's thousands and thousands of cooking fires! 

It also explains why the biggest cause of death in Kenya, after HIV, is lung disease, TB and other respiratory ailments. 

I knew our trip to Africa would be surprising. I didn't expect this.