holy crap, it's been years and years since i started writing this post. it's time to just send it out into the world. i wash my hands of you, lamu.
*Ahem. i started this post a couple of months ago, so some things are a bit dated...(the year 2000, the year 2000...robotic being finally rule the world).
also, i seem to have written the beginning of this post twice now...so you can actually choose your beginning:
nostalgic version:
we took a bus to lamu...a bus that the state department warned against...that an american GI in uganda taught me how to hijack if necessary (his advice was to curse at the driver to keep his foot on the gas...and if he threatened to stop, i was to wrench him out of the drivers seat and drive the bus myself, at which point he asked if i could drive stick, the answer to which is no. "oh," says he.). nothing really happened on the bus ride there, except we got stopped by some heavily armed army men who were checking for marijuana. everybody got off the bus; we were split into women on the shaded side, men on the sunny side while they searched all our luggage. the bus ride back was much more exciting. we sat next to a bunch of tied chickens and an armed guard. the chickens sat docilely on the floor, tongues slightly out, not moving a muscle. we poured them some water from our bottle to drink. they seemed to enjoy that.
lamu is an island with no vehicle access. the bus dropped us off on the other side of the water, and everyone crowded onto a boat. we squeezed into the prow, stowaways. we could see a bit of sky thru the cracks in the wood. the roof was too low to straighten our spines. water sloshed in at us, and we shared this coveted bit of sitting space with 20 others.
erika, ash, and i couldn't convince the boys to join us on the dangerous bus route from mombasa to lamu. whatever, we didn't need them. other than the police barricade, where everyone got off (boys to the sunny side of the bus, girls to the yin), and they searched everyone's luggage for pot, the bus endured nothing more rigorous than the patronage of some thirsty chickens. on the way back, we had an armed guard escort.
lamu is only accessible by boat. donkey remains the main source of transport on the island, which has allowed lamu to retain its labyrinthine network of alleyways.
we arrived like stowaways, i.e. emerging from the dripping hull of a crowded boat, just in time for mawlid al-nabi, a festival celebrating muhammed's birthday. our timing couldn't be more perfect.
after rejecting a number of mediocre rooming arrangements and explaining to the offended owners that their home was nice, but we wanted toilet seats (holes in the ground are fine, but if you give me a toilet, then i want a seat), we finally found a lovely tiered house featuring flights and flights of non-uniform staircases winding their ways around knuckled flowering trees. i shared a "room" with ash at the top of the house.
We didn't even have to get out of bed to catch the sunrise.
*Ahem. i started this post a couple of months ago, so some things are a bit dated...(the year 2000, the year 2000...robotic being finally rule the world).
also, i seem to have written the beginning of this post twice now...so you can actually choose your beginning:
nostalgic version:
we took a bus to lamu...a bus that the state department warned against...that an american GI in uganda taught me how to hijack if necessary (his advice was to curse at the driver to keep his foot on the gas...and if he threatened to stop, i was to wrench him out of the drivers seat and drive the bus myself, at which point he asked if i could drive stick, the answer to which is no. "oh," says he.). nothing really happened on the bus ride there, except we got stopped by some heavily armed army men who were checking for marijuana. everybody got off the bus; we were split into women on the shaded side, men on the sunny side while they searched all our luggage. the bus ride back was much more exciting. we sat next to a bunch of tied chickens and an armed guard. the chickens sat docilely on the floor, tongues slightly out, not moving a muscle. we poured them some water from our bottle to drink. they seemed to enjoy that.
lamu is an island with no vehicle access. the bus dropped us off on the other side of the water, and everyone crowded onto a boat. we squeezed into the prow, stowaways. we could see a bit of sky thru the cracks in the wood. the roof was too low to straighten our spines. water sloshed in at us, and we shared this coveted bit of sitting space with 20 others.
lamu is a land of dhows and donkeys.
holy crap let's just get this over with version:
now that i am over a year behind in this thing, it is time to catchup in earnest. especially as my boss, in yet another bid to stop me surfing the internet, has blocked all internet mail servers, as well as youtube, and a few other of my standby entertainment sites. ah well. new beginnings.
holy crap let's just get this over with version:
now that i am over a year behind in this thing, it is time to catchup in earnest. especially as my boss, in yet another bid to stop me surfing the internet, has blocked all internet mail servers, as well as youtube, and a few other of my standby entertainment sites. ah well. new beginnings.
erika, ash, and i couldn't convince the boys to join us on the dangerous bus route from mombasa to lamu. whatever, we didn't need them. other than the police barricade, where everyone got off (boys to the sunny side of the bus, girls to the yin), and they searched everyone's luggage for pot, the bus endured nothing more rigorous than the patronage of some thirsty chickens. on the way back, we had an armed guard escort.
| From lamu 3-2009 |
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| From lamu 3-2009 |
lamu is only accessible by boat. donkey remains the main source of transport on the island, which has allowed lamu to retain its labyrinthine network of alleyways.
we arrived like stowaways, i.e. emerging from the dripping hull of a crowded boat, just in time for mawlid al-nabi, a festival celebrating muhammed's birthday. our timing couldn't be more perfect.
after rejecting a number of mediocre rooming arrangements and explaining to the offended owners that their home was nice, but we wanted toilet seats (holes in the ground are fine, but if you give me a toilet, then i want a seat), we finally found a lovely tiered house featuring flights and flights of non-uniform staircases winding their ways around knuckled flowering trees. i shared a "room" with ash at the top of the house.
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