"I had a farm in Africa..."

I did not love Nairobi, Kenya. Perhaps it was the place where we stayed – for far too long – Karen Camp. The dingyness of it all. The 'nothingness' of it all. The feeling that you would rather be somewhere else. I am not sure. After all – there was the beautiful morning spent in the Thorn Tree Cafe at the old Stanley Hotel and the memories that evoked from the time I was in Nairobi to meet up with my children – and when I met Marc and Nici's future spouses for the first time.

There was also the delightful afternoon spent with the giraffes in their sanctuary and meeting Miss Daisy and Laura 'eye-to-eye' – a wonderful experience!

And there was of course the visit to Karen Blixen's house as well – an afternoon of wandering into her home and thus wandering into the past – into a bygone era of Great white hunters and headstrong women, story tellers and dreamers, adventurers and pioneers, intrigue and love, passion and pain. The house that Von Blixen built for her when they got married and moved to Africa, is well preserved as it was in her day. Probably thanks to the film “Out of Africa”, the house's interior is almost exactly as it was when Karen Blixen lived there. When you walk through the spacious cool rooms, or stand in front of the huge fire place, or look down the long dining room table, beautifully set and ready for the dinner guests, you can almost hear the fire crackling in the hearth, the tinkle of her laughter, the conversation humming in the library, and you can almost smell the delicious smells coming from the kitchen, feel the excitement in the air of the anticipation of yet another perfect evening hosted by the amazing Baroness.

Karen Blixen (1885-1962), also known by her pseudonym, Isak Dinesen, is famous for her memoir, Out of Africa, and for several works of fiction, including Seven Gothic Tales (1934) and Winter's Tales (1942). A 2007 poll of opinion in her native Denmark lists Karen Blixen as one of the most representative personalities in Danish history. She was several times nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature. She wrote in English, after living on a coffee farm in Kenya from 1914 to 1931.

She married her second cousin, Baron Bror Blixen of Sweden, thereby acquiring the title Baroness. Following their separation and divorce, she had a long affair with the safari hunter, Denys Finch Hatton, son of a titled English family. In 1931, after losing the coffee farm in the Great Depression, Karen Blixen returned to Denmark and embarked on the writing career that lasted until her death in 1962. She was played by Meryl Streep in the 1985 film Out of Africa.

Karen Blixen or Isak Dinesen, the name she wrote under, can be compared with no other writers. Her voice was formed by her Scandinavian roots, and influenced by a wide variety of works of European literature. Her writing places emphasis on story, rather than characters, and on the philosophical understanding of personal identity. Her stories underline a fascination with the role of fate in controlling the lives of human beings. She believed that a person's response to the vicissitudes of fate offers a possibility for heroism and, ultimately, for immortality.

When she left Kenya at the age of 46, she returned to the country manor called Rungstedlund, north of Copenhagen, where she was born, and she lived there as a writer until the end of her life. As in Africa, she was primarily dependent on her family for financial support. Her brother Thomas and sister Elle made it possible for her to keep the family home in Denmark, where the furniture had been bequeathed by family and friends. Karen Blixen's clothes were ordered from a tailor, and she had otherwise few possessions. Her writing helped pay for hired help. She employed a staff of workers that included a live-in cook and secretary. Toward the end of her life Karen Blixen appealed to the general public for contributions to protect her house and land. The successful campaign led to the creation of the Rungstedlund Foundation, which now oversees the 40-acre property as a museum and bird reserve -- the beautiful place where I spent a magical Red Button afternoon --with a group of Muslim school girls celebrating the end of year in the gardens like a flock of colourfully plumed exotic birds, the petrea in magnificent purple bloom -- and eventually the rain pouring down on us all in grey sheets. A wonderful interlude in an otherwise sad time...

Great white hunters -- then and now

“The great white hunter”...

I don't know about you, but for me, the phrase conjures up these romantic images of dashing young men that mostly look like Robert Redford or *_________ (*insert the name of your own fantasy hero), dressed in moleskin jodphurs, leather riding boots, khaki shirts, perhaps a colourful scarf around his neck (as a signiature accessory), a battered leather hat on his head, a rifle over his shoulder, certainly a large sheathed knife attached to his belt, tanned and rugged, knowing eyes that are softened by wrinkles from gazing towards the distant horizon shimmering in the African sun...

Ah! How Hollywood has spoiled us all for reality.

The phrase "great white hunter" probably has its origins in these popular depictions of safari adventures. They were, in effect, the adrenalin-junkies of the first few decades of the last century; often young (titled) men coming, from Europe or the States, to look for an escape -- perhaps from gambling debts or scandal involving married women, perhaps from the shame of bankruptcy, perhaps because they were the second or third in line for inheritance, perhaps simply because they loved to hunt, loved the danger, the opportunity to prove or test or find their bravery and their courage -- and finding the excitement and thrills they seek in hunting the Big Five: elephant, lion, leopard, buffalo and rhino (so called because they were the most challenging trophies for any hunter). It was not a term employed or embraced by the hunters themselves. Unfortunately, like many labels - and in particular from the colonial era, the term is now mostly shaded with parody or derision: it came to symbolize a perceived arrogance of western colonial powers toward the less developed parts of the world they controlled before their dismantling by the cry of Uhuru! in the sixties.

White men from Western countries had been hunting big game in Africa throughout the 19th century, particularly in the more settled southern portion of the continent. But the region most associated with the term "white hunters" is East Africa. By the turn of the century, as part of the "scramble for Africa," Great Britain and Germany had taken colonial possession of territories on the eastern half of the continent — territories now recognized as the nations of Kenya, Rwanda, Uganda, and Tanzania.

There were many factors that led to the spread of big-game hunting in East Africa, but two were foremost among them: first, a romantic European conception of hunting that combined aristocratic privilege and sportsmanship, and second, the desire by the colonizing powers to create new agricultural economies, to which unchecked animal populations posed a serious threat.

(Although, like any origin of any phrase, the origins of this phrase – The great white hunger – cannot be confirmed, the first European to go by the title of "white hunter" is generally considered to have been Alan Black. Black was hired in the 1890s by Hugh Cholmondeley, 3rd Baron Delamere. Delamere employed both Alan Black and a native Somali hunter to lead safaris in Somaliland. As the story goes, in order to avoid confusion, the Somali was referred to as the "black hunter," and Black was called the "white hunter.")

Typically, the hunter was hired or booked by an outfitting company (the first and most famous of these was Newland, Tarlton & Co. in Nairobi); the outfitter would make the local arrangements, gathering and packing supplies and hiring the many African workers without whom a safari was impossible. Porters, tent attendants, armed guards (known as askaris), horse-trainers, and gun-bearers, all worked under the supervision of a "headman." Before the mass importation of motor vehicles, most safaris traveled on foot and horseback and could employ anywhere from 50 to several hundred African workers.

The British colonial government also turned big-game hunting into a source of revenue, charging the tourists and hunters licensing fees for permission to kill the game animals. In 1909, a £50 hunting license in the East Africa Protectorate entitled its purchaser to kill 2 buffaloes, 2 hippos, 1 eland, 22 zebras, 6 oryxes, 4 waterbucks, 1 Greater Kudu, 4 Lesser Kudus, 10 topis, 26 hartebeests, 229 other antelope, 84 colobus monkeys, and unlimited lions and leopards (lions and leopards killed livestock and were classified as vermin).

Although the business of the great white hunters was killing, and they flourished in a colonial environment now understood as politically and economically oppressive, they followed what they saw as a strict ethical code of sportsmanship, and they openly deplored the excesses of their more callow clients. Most importantly, they were among the first to launch efforts to conserve and protect Africa's wildlife against overhunting and extinction.

Knowing all this, then no wonder that we have the romanticized image of these young men that we do. The exploits of the great white hunters were subjects first for novels and later for film.
Perhaps the first fictional Victorian adventure hero was Allan Quatermain, a white hunter who appeared in books by H. Rider Haggard, starting with King Solomon's Mines. Alex Raymond created the Jungle Jim comic strip in 1934 that later lead to a comic book, film serial, film series, and television show, and the list goes on.
Not surprisingly, actual white hunters were often involved in the filming of the exploits of their fictional counterparts: Bunny Allen led many film companies on safari to enable location filming for King Solomon's Mines, Mogambo, and Nor the Moon By Night. The white hunter on safari in his khakis and pith helmet became an instantly recognizable stock character.
Hemingway's safari story, "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber," richly addresses the questions of courage, cowardice, racism and power on safari. The story was made into a film titled "The Great White Hunter."

Among the better-known white hunters of the time were Frederick Russell Burnham, Chief of Scouts in the Second Boer War to (Lord Roberts and known as "England's American Scout"; John A. Hunter; and Philip Percival and Frank M. "Bunny" Allen, whose safaris with Ernest Hemingway led the author to write Green Hills of Africa, True at First Light, The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber, and The Snows of Kilimanjaro.

But probably the mist famous great white hunters who epitomise very well the calibre of man who earned this title in the last century, were of course the likes of Baron Bror von Blixen-Finecke and Finch-Hatton, two characters we all got to know in the film “Out of Africa”. Von Blixen-Finecke was a Swedish baron, writer, and African big-game hunter.According to Beryl Markham, "Bror was the toughest, most durable white hunter ever to snicker at the fanfare of safari or to shoot a charging buffalo between the eyes while debating whether his sundown drink would be gin or whiskey . . . . The mould has been broken."

Finch Hatton (aka Robert Redford in the film “Out of Africa”)was the second son and third child of Henry Finch-Hatton, 13th Earl of Winchilsea, by his wife, the former Anne "Nan" Codrington, daughter of Sir Henry Codrington, an Admiral of the British Fleet. He was educated at Eton, and Brasenose College, Oxford. At Eton, he was Captain of the cricket Eleven, Keeper of the Field and the Wall (two major sports played at Eton), President of the Prefects Society called Pop, and Secretary of the Music Society.

But then what happened when this generation of great white hunter disappeared?

Well, they are still there... But – romanticized or not, they are not 'quite' in the calibre of Blixen or Finch-Hatton...

And then, just when you sigh at yet another romantic notion that has bitten the red dust of Africa, you get the most pleasant surprise!

Kibby -- or Andy Kibby. A New Zealander that has been working in Africa for the last 20 years. Started his career as a modern-day “Great white hunter” – i.e. tour guide and raconteur, safari-guide.

Kibby runs his own company – The SafariCompany http://www.safari.net.nz/ http://www.safari.net.nz and has been running tours through Africa since 1990. He started working as a tour guide on the dark continent driving old German army trucks in the days when top speed was 60 kph downhill, bridges had to be built to cross rivers and officials at borders often went on strike.

Andy's reputation as an expedition leader and driver secured him employment with three well known overland companies. He led and drove six month long Trans Africa Expeditions from London to Nairobi with up to 20 passengers from all over the world as well as shorter safaris in Central, East and Southern Africa.

In 1998 Andy travelled to South America, setting up and leading tours for one and a half years for an overland company starting its initial expeditions. On returning to Africa he continued to lead safaris and in 2005 he set up "The Safari Company". The business is based in New Zealand where he spends part of the year when he's not leading tours in Africa.

Andy's vast knowledge of the continent and the people guarantee an unforgettable safari. His ability to get things done and find special spots which are off the beaten track makes him the market leader of overland safaris.

For Andy, Africa is unlike any other place in the world. For him, it is a truly awe inspiring continent and he wishes to share his unique experience and knowledge with a few fortunate individuals who will see the very best of Africa with a man whose passion for the continent ensures that it will be in your blood forever.

Kenana Farm -- a special place to pitch your tent

When the truck slows down towards the end of the afternoon, and we all sit in anticipation in the back to see where we are going to be spending the night, we are seldom disappointed. Bush camps are always popular – nothing rivals the thrill of pitching a tent out in the open somewhere and sleeping under the stars, but when our accommodation is in an actual camping site, we get excited at the thought of having a shower and being able to charge our laptops and camera batteries and i-pods.

One of the most memorable 'camp sites' in Kenya was at Kenana Farm – a dairy farm near Njoro in Northern Kenya. As we turned into the farm road, we immediately sense that this was going to be a different experience. The Jersey cows were busy ambling home to the milking sheds, resplendent in their black and white outfits against the backdrop of the liush green pastures. The bougainvillea was rambling in the brightest red and pink and purple shocks of colour all over the hedges and roofs of the farm buildings. When we stopped, we marvelled at the beautifully manicured lawns of a magnificent garden – and the thought of being allowed to choose a spot for our tents anywhere in this gorgeous space.

And then, once we were settled, we went for a little walk about the farm to explore, and came across the best surprise yet; down near the milking sheds, there was a large area set aside for a very professionally run – and very successful 'home industry'.

Kenana Knitters started in Njoro, Kenya 1998, to help rural women find some much needed form of income using their spinning and knitting skills.

"Njoro is mainly a farming area – agricultural work for the men is easier to come by than for the women-folk, yet agricultural wages are insufficient to support large and extended families. What we produce helps us to support our farming communities here in Kenya and to build a secure future for our children.
We are a self-supporting knitting co-operative and pay ourselves a fair wage. In addition our sales fund a range of welfare projects here in Njoro, Kenya," it says on their impressive website.

Knitting is ideal. It requires minimal equipment, can be done in snatches when time permits. When the rains come and the family crops and vegetables need tending, not much knitting gets done, but in times of drought and crop failure, when the family garden is bare of supplementary vegetables, money can now be earned to purchase the necessities of life.

The group generates two forms of income; buying the wool locally then creating more work by turning the wool into marketable products such as toys, bed-covers, scarves, hats and other accessories.

From their Kenya knitting base, they export directly to their distributors around the globe. Worldwide sales fund a range of welfare projects for the benefit of the knitters, their families and the wider community in such fields as Education Eye tests, Health, and HIV/AIDS Counselling.

Details:
Kenana Knitters Ltd
Kenana Farm
PO Box 23
Njoro 20107
Kenya

tel: +254 51 343205 / +254 51 343077
email: trade@kenanaknitters.com
contact: Kerry Outram

A day in a backpackers, an afternoon on a Mombasa beach

There is no doubt that the beaches of Mombasa are gorgeous!

White white sand, crystal clear azure blue water, dancing palm trees leaning over the beach to provide welcome shade, splashes of colour from the vendors' stalls where they tempt you with sarongs and kokois and bead work and carved wood and all those trinkets and curios you really, really want to take home for everyone you know -- but you don't...

The visit to Mombasa has been a treat.

Because we have had to wait for visas -- again -- this time for our Ethiopian visas which entailed sending our passports back to the Ethiopian embassies in our respective countries, to be issued with a visa and then waiting for the passports to come back to Kenya again, our base has been and overlanders' backpackers outside Nairobi. Not a good place to be stuck. Funny how there are campsites/youth hostels/backpackers and there are campsites/youth hostels/backpackers. For someone like myself who has very very seldom slept in one of these havens for the modern-day traveller, (although, I suppose sleeping in the dormitories of pilgrims' refuges when I walked the Camino has to count for something??) I approach these with a completely open mind. More often than not I have been pleasantly surprised. Surprised, yes. That is what I said. So perhaps my mind has not been that open. Otherwise I would probably not have been surprised to find lovely trees and green lawns and reasonable washing facilities .... at least twice, now three times, in the last 8 months...

So my experience has not been too extensive. Only 8-9 months' worth of experience, to be exact -- of which the first 5-6 months were mostly bush camping anyway, so don't really count. But I can tell you there has only been three places that merited a Red Button. The first was outside Lusaka -- remember? The place with the most amazing, fabulous, brilliant, beautiful, wonderful, hot!, powerful!, showers. The second was the dairy farm where the toilets, scattered around the perimeters of the beautiful garden, looked like little hobbit dwellings and the lowing of the cows woke us early in the morning and where the farmer's wife ran the excellent 'home industry' for the women of the region -- spinning and dying and knitting the most stunning woollen products. And the third is where I find myself at the moment, in Mombasa.

BeerPong: Six glasses of beer, two ping pong balls, a long table. Get the ball inside the glass of the opposing team, and one of them has to empty the glass. Does your aim get worse as the game progresses? On the contrary! Georg and Caroline vs Anna and Scott -- tight competition. A Nail biting game (that is, if you bite your nails. Otherwise it was just a warm up for the evenings championship)

What is different about this place? What is special about it? Why is it that Emy and Orm and Ignacio and Anna Did. Not. Want. To. Go. Back. to Nairobi.? I don't really know. Perhaps it is the lovely big spacious house in which there are many rooms and dorms and sitting areas and tables and chairs where you can eat the delicious food the kitchen staff (very very slowly...) produce. Perhaps it is the proximity to the ocean -- a short walk down to the beautiful beach. Perhaps it is the swimming pool, the green lawns, the red hibiscus flowers, the friendly staff, the hot! water, the limitless and free! internet connection. Perhaps it is the good price -- one of the cheapest places we have yet stayed at. No. THE cheapest place by far!

Or, perhaps it is because here are no trucks and the people here are, one and all, just delightful. Whether there is any correlation between those two, I have no idea, and no doubt someone will shout me down. But those two suppositions seem to me to be naturally juxtaposed. All the travellers here are the same age group as the truck/trans/passengers -- between 20 and 35, roughly. Male and female in the same proportions. But all of them are travelling as individuals, for a start. On their own steam. They are here because they choose to be here, not because this is where the truck has stopped. They all have a life back in the real world -- meaning they all have a career, a course they are busy studying, a job they are going back to, a purpose in life, goals they are hoping to achieve, action plans according to which they lead their lives. There is Henry who has a short break between an old career and a new direction of study. And while he is waiting to hear at which university he has been admitted to go study medicine, he is practising his existing qualification (Masters in Social Work) doing volunteering with a street children's programme here in Kenya. There is Georg who is on a short break from northern Ethiopia where he is doing research for his Masters thesis (subject being the geographical changes in the Chilalo Mountain Range over the last 150 years.)

Georg and Henry vs Orm and Michael in the pool for a noisy game of volley ball, after a hot game of 'Let-me-show-you-what-I-can-do-with-a-foot ball!'

Then there is Michael who passes through for a few days on his break from his work in China. "Do you like china?" he is asked. He thinks for a moment. Then he replies: "I most definitely did not like it at first. But then I learned the language and now I love it." He makes it sound so effortless to learn Mandarin! Caroline is gorgeous and is resting after completing a demanding degree at Cambridge and before starting her career as food writer. (I am delighted to be able to introduce her to two brilliant food writers, Gwynne and Kimberly.) There were also the two lovely - very young French demoiselles who came to do 9 months of volunteering for one of the many organisations that take your money -- a lot of your money, and then make you do the manual labour for their own gain. They had only been here a month when they realised the company is as corrupt as the worst and that they have lost all their money and have no recourse to it, as well as having lost 'employment, accommodation and a purpose' for the next 8 months. A hard lesson... There is young Scott who is no older than some of the youngest, but already a part-owner of a successful backpackers and now starting a second one in Akkra in a couple of months' time. And so the list goes on. During the day they swim, relax in the sun, go off to town to enjoy the magic of Mombasa, go to the beach, play volley ball and foot ball (give a ball to a bunch of young men, and you see why they say boys grow old, but they never grow up), showing off their best and most intricate moves and tricks, or they play poker or Monopoly or Backgammon or chess -- the competition electric in the air, the shouts of disappointment loud and the shouts of victory even louder. All of them interesting to talk to, fun to be with, well-spoken and well-mannered. Even their drinking games are fun! The same as we have been playing for months -- but without the foul language and verbal abuse and anger and loss of control. These youngsters all drink, get drunk -- even hopelessly drunk, and continue to be full of fun and laughter and good humour. And when they have finished with their games, they all jump into a bunch of tuk-tuks and put-put-puttt off into the night to a club or a Blue Moon party or another place where there are more youngsters and more fun, until 4-5- even 7 in the morning when they come home, now really, really drink but still laughing, still full of the joys of life.
My faith is restored. Thank you!

Avery and Amy made a formidable team, and, the surprise of the evening, the team to come in last were Anna and Orm -- having to pay the forfeit of funneling a bottle of beer each.

No -- I am not sure why this place is so different, but different it is and Emy and Orm, Anna and Ignacio and I were really happy that we had come here to finish out the long wait for the passports. But now the passports are all back and we will get back on the truck and continue our journey -- and I shall look forward to telling you about the last few months as they unfurl in front of us towards the distant horizon. It should be good and exciting and interesting. I am excited. I hope you are too!

Colours on a beach north of Mombasa

The goats I wanted to take home with me...

Mombasa -- a little bit of this, a little bit of that -- and Eid Mubarak!

Today is Eid-ul-Adha and we wish you Eid Mubarak!

Yesterday was the best day ever to take a tuk-tuk into the city centre of Mombasa! There was such excitement -- it reminded me so much of the the day before Christmas in every Christian country. A smile hovered everywhere, people greeted total strangers, sunshine drizzled over everyone and left them glowing and happy, children were skipping and bright-eyed, and the streets were teeming with goats. Goats of every size and colour and temperament. And to make them look even more festive than the occasion already called for, they were painted in brightly coloured paint, letters and designs and markings of their owners.

And in the streets set aside for goat selling, there were fes'd men and burkha'd women and shouting children all trying to make sure they are getting the right goat, paying - or collecting the right price, receiving the best deal; arms flying, hands turned up, adrenalin flowing, goats bleating,huge smiles on shiny faces. Here a man leads away a beautiful specimen of a goat, tehtered to a string made from banana leaves. Over there a tuk-tuk with a goat peeping out around the edge, seated beside the new owner, on his way home with his purchase. And over there a woman covered in black, peering into the eyes of the white goat with the blue 'K' painted all over its soft fur. A five-year old drags his little toddler sister through the melee to go show her the goat their father is busy bargaining for - a gorgeous black and white ram that looks like it has just lost a paint ball battle -- big splatters of black all over its white skin; I want that goat! I want to take it home with me! He is adorable!

My previous experiences of Eid have always been with sheep, and here in Mombassa, the goats are a newie for me. But I loved it! Over the last 8 months I have really come to love goats. I love their spirit. I love how they always look for the highest position -- be it a windowsill or a termite mound, or a chair, or a car bonnet, or a grave stone -- wherever the highest point of their geography is, is where they like to stand and lord it over the world. I love how they but their heads and play and prance and stand on their back legs to reach the tops of green bushes. I love how they even climb trees and walk along branches, as if it were a cat that had nurtured and taught them when they were little. I love their colours and their designs -- almost as interesting and colourful as the beautiful cattle of Africa. I love their resilience and their sense of humour -- what other animal do you know with such a sense of mischief in their eyes as goats?

A while back, when we were in the southern African bush getting ready for Nici's wedding, we stayed on a farm where the farmer had a passion for goats. He bred them and owned a large herd. I expressed my surprise to the farmer's wife,our hostess. "Does he breed them for the Halal market? I asked, knowing that this is a lucrative business. "No!", said she. "He would never dream of selling a single one of them and especially not if it was to be slaughtered! They are his children. He loves each one and consider them part of the family!" I laughed at this -- dirty smelly goats , part of the family? And then I started travelling through Africa.
I now understand this farmer's passion for goats. I now share it, in fact.
Well. Almost...

The Muslims celebrate Eid twice a year, Eid-ul-Fitr and the other, which comes about 10 weeks later, is called Eid-ul-Adha.

Eid-ul-Fitr is a festival that marks the end of the Holy month of Ramadhan. This joyous day is celebrated to give thanks for the blessings of Ramadhan. Muslims attend the congregational Eid prayer service which is held in the morning. They wear new clothing, cook delicious food and invite friends and neighbors to celebrate with them. Fasting during Ramadhan inspires sympathy for the hungry and needy, and encourages Muslims to donate generously to the poor. The Festival of Sacrifice is a festival comes about ten weeks after Eid-ul-Fitr, and marks the completion of Hajj(Holy pilgrimage to Mecca). It is the festival of Sacrifice that commemorate the obedience of Hadhrat Ibrahim and his son Hadhrat Ismail to the commandment of Allah. Hadhrat Ibrahim had a series of dreams in which he saw himself sacrificing his eldest son Ismail. He inferred that it was perhaps the will of God that he should sacrifice the life of his son. Hadhrat Ibrahim, being most obedient to God, was about to sacrifice the life of his son Ismail, when God commanded him to stop and gave him the good news that he had indeed fulfilled His command. God was so pleased with Ibrahim because of his obedience that He multiplied his progeny into billions. He was also given the great honor of being the forefather of the Holy Prophet of Islam . On the day of Eid those Muslims who can afford to sacrifice an animal are enjoined to do so after Eid Prayer.

In his Eid Sermon of 1983, Hadhrat Mirza Tahir Ahmad, Khalifatul Masih IV, asked the wealthy Ahmadis to go to the homes of their poor brethren to wish them happy Eid and offer them gifts. In compliance of this directive, the delectation of Eid in Ahmadi society has escalated significantly and this is the very substance and philosophy of Islamic festival of Eid.

I have before, while still on the West Coast, posted photographs of the amazing hand-painted advertisements on the walls of buildings, shops and businesses. One could easily do an entire study on these -- and I now wish I had been even more attentive to these paintings than I have been -- if that were at all possible! And so, here are just a handful of the offerings of the beautiful Old Town of Mombasa, Kenya.

The oldest building in the Old Town of Mombasa (-- and when I say 'old', I mean really really really old! --) is the original fort built by the Portuguese, then held under siege for almost three years by the Arabs (I can never quite conceive such a hardship -- imagine being under siege in the confines of a fort -- albeit a beautiful fort -- for three years!) -- and won, and has always part an important role in the history of Mombasa. Today you can wander through the remarkably well-preserved old building and everywhere you look, history 'talks' to you -- the vistas from the walls over the wide, welcoming harbour mouth, the intricately artistic stone and wood carvings that all tell a story, the different and diverse styles of architecture that speaks of many centuries of history, the cells that served as a prison for many years, the thick thick walls of the armory, the drawings on the walls -- childlike but hauntingly true, done by the seamen that landed here in their tiny ships after a grueling sea voyage from Europe or the Far East, or from North Africa, and the ever-present crows - big fat noisy crows - that seem to be the guardian spirits of the departed in this ancient building...

Mombasa - a city built on coral

Here we are again -- waiting.Waiting. Waiting. For visas. This time for our Ethiopian visas. So, to get out of Karen Backpackers, near Nairobi, Emy and Orm and I took the train last night from Nairobi to Mombasa. A fascinating train journey -- in 'style', sleeping compartments, beautifully made beds while we were enjoying the four course dinner in the restaurant coach, a somewhat bumpy stop-start ride and this morning, a tuk-tuk ride to the Mombassa Backpackers on the beach, our home for a while...

I always remember Frances telling about her early years in Mombasa -- she made it sound like this wonderfully romantic and culturally rich place. What we saw this morning on the way from the station was nothing like it! but I am quite willing to reserve my judgement until such time as we can drag ourselves away from the gorgeous shady garden, the poolside and the ice cold Savannah's...

So -- until further notice -- here a little background to what awaits us:

Kenya has been sometimes described as “the cradle of humanity” – the Great Rift Valley has yielded some of the earliest evidence of humans, and provided insight into how man has evolved over time across the continent. According to some sources, early settlers in Kenya were the Cushitic-speaking people from what is now Sudan and Ethiopia moved into the area that is now Kenya beginning around 2000 BC.

Due to its strategically important position, many other groups of traders sought to impose their dominance on the town, and it was continually fought over by various trading nations all through its history. The Arab influence on Mombasa has been significant, and prominent at various times in the town’s history. Arab traders were known to sail down around to the Kenya coast from the first century AD onwards, and this gave rise to heightened trade along the coast. The Arabs continued to build trade linkages along the Kenyan coast, and Mombasa and Lamu still exhibit the remnants of the dominance of Arab culture during this era.

The dominance of Arab influence on Mombasa was suppressed for about 150 years when the Portuguese arrived. In 1498, a Portuguese explorer called Vasco De Gama landed on the shores of Mombasa. The purpose of his exploration was to spread the Christian faith and to further expand Portugal’s trading area. His arrival to Mombasa was met which much hostility among the local people. However, he made a very important ally, the King of Malindi. The Portuguese knew that Mombasa was essential in order to successfully trade their goods; hence in 1592 they used their power to make the King of Malindi the Sultan of Mombasa. In doing so the locals consequently had no choice but to obey the orders of the Sultan, which in turn came from the Portuguese Government.

Mombasa became Portugal’s main trading centre along the East Coast of Africa. This led to the construction of a monumental fort that still stands today known as Fort Jesus. The Fort served as the main hub for trading goods, a prison for slaves, and most importantly protecting the Portuguese from conflicts with locals and threatening foreign battalions. Slavery was the major activity that took place at that time, where local slaves were exchanged for goods from visiting ships that often came from European countries. The trading of spices, cotton and coffee, which were cultivated and grown in the rich fertile soils of the town’s farms, is one if the reasons Mombasa was a popular destination for seafarers at the time. Captured slaves were forced to work on these farms in extremely harsh and inhumane conditions.

Portugal’s reign over Mombasa lasted for approximately 200 years, after which they were overthrown by the Omani Arabs, who themselves would be forced to give up Mombasa to its final captors: the British. The British took control of Mombasa in 1895, after the sultan of Zanzibar leased the town to the British. The British East African Protectorate was established, and promoted European colonization of Kenya lands and resources. The British took strides to establish control of the strategically important port, and completed a railway line in the early 1900’s from Mombasa to Uganda.

History: post-independence

The British rule on Kenya officially ended when Kenya finally gained its hard-fought independence on the 12th December 1963. The first president of Kenya was Jomo Kenyatta, who was an instrumental figure in the fight to gain independence from the British. His appointment as president led to the creation of a political party known as KANU (Kenya Africa National Union). President Kenyatta died in the August of 1978, and was succeeded by his vice president Daniel Arap Moi who ruled as president until 2002. President Moi stepped down in December of 2002 following fair and peaceful elections. For the first time since 1992 when Kenya’s first multiparty elections were first held, there was a new leader. Mwai Kibaki, running as the candidate of the multiethnic, united opposition group, the National Rainbow Coalition (NARC), defeated KANU candidate Uhuru Kenyatta and assumed the presidency following a campaign centered on an anticorruption platform.

During President Kibaki’s tenure, there were significant political shifts until the lead up to the December 2007 election. The official opposition, led by Raila Odinga, challenged strongly for the presidency. Elections were held on December 27, 2007, with many international observers casting doubt on the outcomes of the election process. When the incumbent Mwai Kibaki was declared the winner, violence erupted in different parts of the country, with hundreds of Kenyan lives lost, and thousands more displaced. Under pressure from the international and African community, the leaders were able to come to a power-sharing agreement which eased the country out of its political crisis point.

Although Kenya experienced a few political jitters after its independence, it has finally settled down on the road to a stable and promising future for the people of Kenya. It is still widely regarded as one of Africa’s bright beacons, and continues to be a thriving economic hub for the region. All over the world, Kenya continues to be renown for their hospitality, and the local people are extremely helpful and courteous and gladly welcome foreigners who come to visit their country. Kenya is by far the most visited destination along Eastern Africa, and remains a magnet for visitors because of the exquisite quality of its wildlife and beaches.