After a supremely uncomfortable two hours’ sleep in a room which smelled of fox urine, and on a mattress which somehow managed to feel harder than the tiled floor beneath, I got up once again to catch sunrise. The room’s only saving grace was its proximity to the beach, but given how overcast the morning was even that didn’t prove much of an advantage.
I sat, squeezing the sand between my toes, and watched the clouds lighten from charcoal to silver.
Jambiani beach at sunrise is a little different to Diani in terms of population: rather than fisherman there are women, clad head to foot in brightly patterned cotton, collecting seaweed and men using the beach as their outdoor gym.
There are also a smattering of stray dogs, which often play and chase each other arounds mounds of seaweed (it’s apparently the season for it, so the beach is generously adorned with a significant amount of it.
As people pass, they greet each other.
I hadn’t been given any information on the times for breakfast by the hotel, so sat on the beach longer than usual.
I wasn’t relishing having to speak to the hotel about the room issues, but it had to be done. I also messaged Abdul at Freshi to ask if my room was still available, should I be able to get out of my non-cancellable booking at the hotel. Fortunately, it was – and the people due to arrived had themselves just cancelled, so it was available for the remainder of my time here: clearly this was meant to be!
At breakfast, which was much smaller than Freshi’s and a weird combination of fruit, sausage/onion/ pepper and scrambled eggs…with sweet pancakes and a slice of very dry toast, all on one plate, I raised my issue.
The staff were apologetic and the owner even came to say he was sorry for my experience and told me how they’d taken over the hotel and inherited a lot of problems. He said they didn’t have any other sea views available, but I could take a look at one at the back – or go somewhere else. I did take a look at the room at the back, but it was still very different from the pictures online and still contained no toiletries, etc, so I said I wanted to leave.
I’d prepaid online before my arrival but, at this point, the owner claimed no money had been taken and wanted me to pay cash for the night I had stayed. I showed him all the evidence of my payment and, in the end, we exchanged numbers to be able to work it out.
The two properties are around a five minute walk from each other but, despite my protests, one of the hotel staff took my back pack for me and carried it all the way to Freshi – leaving before I even had time to properly thank him.
Returning to Freshi felt like coming home.
I’ve never stayed anywhere where, in a short amount of time, I’ve met such a great collection of people. I was warmly received and Abdul immediately took my backpack to take up stairs, and Josh, the owner, took my front pack.
For the first time since I arrived, I properly unpacked, and spent an hour or so washing clothes.
So far on my trip, the breakfasts have been so substantial that I haven’t wanted to eat until dinner; by 2pm yesterday I was starving, so I headed to the restaurant down the road where I’d eaten with the couple next door on my first night…because I knew they made great chapati.
It was the first restaurant I’d eaten in that has an actual menu for days – and it’s striking how different the prices are.
I succeeded in ordering, asking for the bill and complimenting the food in Swahili, then ordered two bottles of chilled water in Swahili at the shop (think stall) across the road, and left feeling pretty proud of myself.
I’m at the stage of my trip where I have really settled here, and don’t want to leave. It’s crazy how fast time is passing.
After my late lunch, I headed to the beach. One of ‘my’ Maasai was in our usual spot, so I joined him in sitting on the sand. The tide was high, and so a good time for swimming (low tide here means the beach is empty of water for miles). He told me he would like to learn to swim. We waited for the other Maasai to arrive, and then all three of us headed for the water.
Turns out, he could swim; at least, to the extent that I didn’t have to worry about him drowning. We spent quite a long time in the water, then carried our belongings to the far end of the beach to dance.
We were joined by the Maasai who first accompanied us to dinner, and he eventually conceded to trying dancing out too.
We also further practised our Diamond Platinumz Chatiki dance challenge routine before the real lesson of the day began…
….
This time, they learnt the Time Warp!
Unfortunately, no videos of these dances were taken, as I can’t play music and record simultaneously, and none of them had enough data on their phones to play anything.
Once again, we danced until the moon had risen and the beach had emptied.
At some point, I’d cut the heel of my foot and so washed it in the sea. I was sitting on the beach letting my foot dry so that I could apply a plaster when one of the Maasai sat next to me and asked what had happened. When I explained, and before I could react, he bent over my foot and began licking the wound!
This panicked me a little, as all I could think about was all the germs the human mouth contains, and I immediately went to wash it again…but later felt a little guilty, as he explained that the Maasai believe that saliva is like medicine and they lick wounds to heal them. Perhaps I should have given their methods a chance.
Once I could safely walk, they again escorted me to the gate of my accommodation, so I could shower, and told me to message them once I was ready to go out.
Last night was a full moon, so the entire village was brightly illuminated. This was fortunate, as I saw more of the village last night than in the whole rest of my time here combined.
We walked past the place we’d eaten the previous night, with the Muzungu tax, past the Maasai section of the village, past cows, and dogs, and people chilling on half tyres wedged in the dirt like park benches.
Jambiani village is HUGE!
The Maasai told me this is because the locals have sold their land near the beach to accommodate the demands of tourism, so keep building further and further in land; parts of the island are now undergoing deforestation to enable this expansion.
Some of the village paths were almost forest-like, with dirt tracks winding through and tall palms reaching to the sky.
Eventually we reached a street with a lot of people and boda boda (motorbikes).
There was a metal wall, with a door in it, ahead surrounded by men. As we stepped over the threshold of this, one man said, “Karibu” to me, which means “Welcome”.
Through the gate was a huge compound, still with a dirt floor. There was a large open square in the middle, and around the edges were tin or thatched roofed concrete structures with open sides: think food court.
The thatched building was a bar with a metal grill and stools at the front; there were two food booths, one with glass cabinets like the previous days’ restaurant, and a large area containing three pool tables, a large number of plastic chairs and a plastic tv (showing football to a large audience when we arrived, and then an action film to an audience of one later.
Opposite these was an area with trees, some plants in pots and clusters of plastic chairs, where friends gathered to chat, drink and listen to music on their phones. Scattered around the remaining open space were some elaborate blue-painted coffee tables and plastic chairs, well spaced-out. On the walls were some murals of people.
We took our seats at one of the coffee tables and, as I’ve now become accustomed to, the Maasai ordered. A lady came to us with a jug of water and a bowl, so that we could wash our hands (this was familiar to me from Kenya) and then served us plates of chipsi mayai (think omlette with chips in it, with a heap of shredded carrot, cabbage and onion on the side and generous portions of tomato ketchup, chilli sauce and mustard. The Maasai had ordered one plate for me and one for them to share, as they’d already eaten at the Maasai place when I was showering.
On top of the chipsi mayai were skewers containing chunks of meat…I’m not entirely sure what meat but I think it may have been beef.
They’d also ordered bottles of Safari beer.
Once again, they refused to let me pay and I don’t feel great about this; I was able to contribute at the Muzungu tax place but otherwise they keep insisting.
We ate, drank, chatted, people-watched and practised Macarena hand moves in our chairs.
The only light, aside from the single light bulbs in the covered structures, came from the moon. I noticed that, aside from the ladies serving and myself, there were only men – and the place had to have at least close to 100 people in it (I was also once again the only white person; it’s a truly local establishment, and so I feel very privileged to have been able to experience it).
The Maasai told me it was mainly men because they work hard and so like to go there to relax; a couple of women appeared very late but, mostly, it remained just men, and we were there several hours.
Once again, I had to navigate the experience of cubicles with squat toilets and a bucket of water with a scoop (I am so challenged by these!) and then we made our way back to through the village to the beach.
There we sat, the moonlight so bright that at time it hurt my eyes, until 2am, when the incoming tide chased us off the sand.