The morning after our night in the brothel, we went downstairs and caught a matatu to our awaiting bungalow. Two matatu money collectors actually ended up fighting over who was going to take us there, and one of them, so disappointed that we chose the emptier matatu, slapped the back of Marjona’s bag. We were shocked.

When we arrived at the Beachelettes, an older Australian woman checked us in, giving us the run-down about the key deposit, how the beach boys were not allowed on the premises and to beware of the monkeys.

“We had one monkey break into someone’s bungalow this morning,” she told us. “They raided their kitchen. They’re very smart. They know how to open refrigerators.” (more…)

Our way south to the beaches of the Kenyan coast brought us in contact with what would be our main mode of transport, the matatu. These rickety minivans roam the streets acting as a combo of a taxi and a city bus, picking up anyone standing on the side of the road and cramming as many people as possible into the small seats. There is a driver and a money collector. The money collector harvests people from the street, banging on the roof when he wants the driver to stop and go, hanging out the sliding door yelling at passers by and jumping in and out of the van while it’s in motion. The driver follows the directives of the money collector and winds back and forth on the road at incredible speeds, darting around massive (BG: enormous, tire-popping) potholes, other traffic, and livestock (BG: and once, some monkeys). 

After crossing a ferry from Mombasa, we were assailed by a matatu money collector as he grabbed our bags before we could open our mouths and began stuffing them into the tiny corners of the van. Despite mild protests, Marjona and I ended up in the back seat holding our bags between the back window and the backseat with our necks and shoulders. Beth sat in front of us with her big bag on her lap. (more…)

We decided we needed a little beach time before heading off to the bush for a safari, so jumped on an overnight train to Mombasa. We booked a 2nd class ticket, securing our own room, bedding, and two meals served in the dining car. (BG: We were really excited because it was supposed to be a “white glove” experience.)  Once we were settled into our room, it began to get dark and we searched in vain for the light. Just then, a conductor came around with a large, battery-operated lantern. No electricity. (BG: So much for white glove…) (more…)

On our flight from Qatar, we were lucky enough to have 6 seats to ourselves, allowing us to spread out and sleep through our six hour flight. We arrived into Nairobi early in the morning, and were greeted by signs announcing the 2007 World Social Forum. After obtaining our visa, and witnessing a European man fly off the handle about the requirement that he pay for his visa with exact change while impassive Kenyans bounced him from supervisor to supervisor, we got our bags and looked for a cheap way into the city.

At the World Social Forum table, we were told that they could arrange transport for us for $50 into the city. Saying that was way out of our price range, she said she would do what she could to get it down to $20 each but that there was no other cheaper transportation. Dismayed, we started changing some money into Kenyan shillings when we decided to mosey on over to the taxi counter, and were quoted $20 for the both of us. Uh huh. So much for solidarity. (more…)