T.I.A.

Day 439

Milage 32,150 (51,440 kms)

Tiwi Beach

Africa is like no other continent I know. Raw and untamed it functions under its own set of rules. Life here is unpredictable and each day comes with its own set of challenges. It is a land of extremes, wealth, poverty, climate, terrain, yet the people who inhabit this vast territory are some of the most resourceful, generous and joyful individuals I have ever encountered. It is a truly humbling experience to have those with so little share so much. The color of my skin allows me access to a privileged world though it comes at a small price. I am white, I am mzungu, I receive preferential treatment over those who deserve it more than I and it is offered without resentment  or question as though I am somehow entitled to it. The price I pay for this is what I call the mzungu tax, the cost of everything is inflated based on the assumption that I have more than most. It could get frustrating if you took it personally but with a little patience and humor a fair compromise can always be reached. To travel here can be a challenge but the rewards make it more than worth it, each day is an adventure and it is the attitude you approach it with that makes all the difference. An expression commonly heard here is “T.I.A.”, used when things don’t go exactly to plan, usually accompanied by a resigned shrug of the shoulders, it simply means ‘This is Africa’. It is often thought of as the poor continent but it is rich beyond measure.

Takaunga Lagoon

After planning to spend just two days in Kilifi, the quiet town to the north of Mombassa, it came as quite a shock to discover I had been there for almost two and a half weeks. The place itself and the people it attracts proved difficult to separate myself from but I knew the day would come when I would have to move on. I found myself making excuses as my chosen date of departure came closer. A series of stormy mornings with torrential rains and fallen trees were interpreted as ‘signs’ that the time wasn’t quite right but, eventually, I felt compelled to move south. I had almost forgotten how to load my bike, each piece of gear has its own place fitting together like a game of Tetris without room for any extra. Picking up anything new along the way means something old has to get left behind, other than photographs and my journal there will be few souvenirs from this trip. As I took the slick mud road from the backpackers out to the main coastal highway I was intentionally 

looking for a reason to return.

Sundowners overlooking Shimba Hills

The road south took me through the bustling port city of Mombassa, across the bay on an overloaded ferry and through the lush mangrove swamps that dot the coast. I hadn’t set my sights too far for the first day and within a few hours I was pulling into the coastal resort of Diani Beach. A wonderfully eccentric couple I’d met at a wedding several weeks before had insisted I stop by on the way through their home town so I pulled in to a unique backpackers where all the cabins stand on tall stilts and made myself at home. After a couple of days exploring the pristine local beaches, enjoying cocktails on precipitous cliff tops overlooking the roaming elephants of Shimba Hills National Reserve and swimming in the warm waters of the Indian Ocean I decided to move on. An invitation to one last party took me to the exquisite home of a local couple who live near Tiwi Beach where, as I parked my bike, I noticed it wasn’t running as smoothly as normal.  As I went to leave later that evening the bike refused to start and my heart sank as I realized I was stranded yet again. A flat battery hinted at a charging problem and after a peaceful night in a luxurious tent by the ocean I charged it with enough power to get me back into the town of Diani where I hoped to fully diagnose the issue. I’d had the alternator repaired in Nairobi several weeks before and I suspected this might be the problem so after settling into another backpackers I set about opening up the engine. A visual inspection seemed to confirm my suspicions but I removed part of the alternator and tested it just to be sure. A conductivity test verified the stator had developed an earth leak so it would no longer provide a sufficient charge to the battery on the bike. With several key components relying on an adequate electrical supply my bike was essentially crippled.

Failed stator

Repairing the same part a second time seemed like and exercise in futility so I began the search for a new component. Multiple forums exist online from other riders having similar issues and even though BMW are aware of the problem they insist on selling the entire alternator at an extortionate price when the fix requires just a small piece of the complete unit. Finding the part required nothing more than a quick internet search but getting the part into Kenya would prove to be somewhat more difficult. Shipping accessories to this part of the world can often be a lengthy process as Kenya’s customs officials are always on the lookout for ways to extort additional ‘fees’ on anything coming into the country and other bikers have had their parts held up for weeks at the airport while dealing with corrupt officials. It seems as though the only issues I have encountered along the way on this long voyage have involved people in uniform so I began a search for a suitable courier to bring the part in. Several acquaintances suggested I contact a group of Somalian ‘importers’ who can bring absolutely anything into the country for a modest fee but a close friend suggested I contact an online group of Kenyan expats who sometimes do favors for each other. Before long I had the details of a very helpful woman planning on returning to Kenya from California so I had the part shipped to her and within a couple of weeks it was on its way to Nairobi. In the meantime I had been contacted by a local who needed his motorcycle moved to the capital so, with a little planning, it was easy to coordinate riding his bike to Nairobi with the collection of my part. 

T.I.A.

I was a little nervous about riding an untested machine along the 500 kilometer road from Mombassa to Nairobi so I spent a few days in Diani testing and adjusting the bike before setting off. Uninsured and riding a bike that was not registered in my name reminded me of my youth in Ireland, dodging roadblocks and trying to ride as inconspicuously as possible. The heavily used road has more than its fair share of police checkpoints, a result of the heightened security because of several recent shootings but I employed my tried and trusted method of simply waving back at the police when they tried to flag me down. I observed one officer pulling out his mobile phone, possibly to warn the next checkpoint of my imminent arrival, as I sped past, so I pulled over shortly afterwards and had a relaxing lunch in the hope that by the time I resumed my journey they would have forgotten all about me. I was reminded on several occasions that motorcycles are expected to get off the road when an oncoming truck or bus wishes to overtake and I even witnessed one large coach with an impossibly heavy load lashed to its roof tilting over onto two wheels as the driver struggled to return to his lane, narrowly avoiding a head on collision with and oncoming truck. 

Coastal fishermen

The white knuckle ride went smoothly enough and while in Nairobi I was able to catch up with some good friends before embarking on the return journey via bus. Having seen first hand how the bus drivers operate I couldn’t help but feel a little apprehension as I boarded the night service to the coast. By early evening the dilapidated bus was making its way, slowly, through the choked traffic of Nairobi but once we had cleared the outskirts of the city the driver made every effort to push the vehicle to the very limit of its speed and maneuverability, swerving recklessly from behind heavily laden trucks, sometimes completing a pass but, more often than not, wrestling the bus back to its original lane in order to avoid a head on collision. The coach company had advertised an onboard DVD entertainment system which, of course, was not working but nothing could compete with the drama that was unfolding through the windshield, a winding, swerving snake of headlights and taillights resembling a frantic video game. Without warning the driver pulled over at a sleepy roadside village and announced that he was going to take the rest of the night off. The bus erupted with complaints from passengers who had been tricked into thinking, like me, that the overnight service would drive through the night and amidst the confusion nobody seemed to notice that the driver had slipped out of the vehicle. By 5 o’clock the following morning tempers had eased and the driver returned to continue the journey, resuming his frantic race for the coast interspersed with unexplained stops in the middle of nowhere. At one point we slowed to a crawl and gently eased into the opposite lane, a lone shoe in the middle of the road was followed by a sombre line of villagers quietly standing along the edge of the road, their gaze fixed upon the twisted remains of a young cyclist lying in a fresh pool bright red blood. Less than two minutes later the bus had accelerated to full speed and we were frantically weaving between lanes again. A journey that had taken me 7 hours on the motorcycle took 22 hours using the local bus network. 

Beach party

I was excited to return to Diani with my replacement motorcycle part, keen to fit it and get back on the road. I’ve been on the coast for almost two months and Kenya, though fascinating and beautiful, is not the cheapest country in Africa. Supplied by the Electrosport company of California it is reported to be of a higher design standard than the original and less prone to overheating. I spent a day with the bike fitting the new part and replacing the oil and coolant while performing some routine maintenance procedures and testing the new part. So far, it appears to perform well and I am ready to turn south, yet again. Diani Beach has made for a fine place to get stuck and I could not have wished for more interesting group of people to spend the time with. Home to one of the most beautiful beaches in the world it attracts an eclectic group of skydivers, kite boarders, divers and travelers from around the world and the locals are just as entertaining. I’ve lost count of the number of parties we have had since my arrival and I’ve seen more sunrises in the month I have been here than I have in many years.

End of another day

I was recently asked by a couple I met in Nairobi when I planned to settle down, get a real life and make plans for my retirement which left me pondering the definition of a ‘real life’. If it is the career, the house, the car, the wife, the children, the possessions then I choose a different path. It is neither right nor wrong, it may be unconventional but it is what makes me happy. I know how it all began and I am pretty certain how it will all end but I am fortunate enough to get decide what the content will be and I hope to make it as interesting as possible.  

Distant Relatives

Day 416

Milage 32,012 (51,219 kms)

Kongo River sunset

The wave of momentum that brought me to the East coast of Kenya has receded leaving me fighting a growing sense of inertia, unwilling to embark on the next leg of this long voyage, torn between the unknown and the known, where I am comfortable. The friends I arrived with have long since departed to return to their lives elsewhere and for a while I thought it would be best for me to leave too before the loneliness settles in and I find myself with no other company than my own. Had I stopped anywhere else I would have moved on many days ago but this region of the coast has an allure strong enough to soothe my wanderlust, for now. It has been refreshing to spend time getting to know a region and its people, however briefly. I have found a peaceful retreat far from the busy roads and pathological drivers, on the shores of a large lagoon by the Indian Ocean. Thatched cottages nestle amidst the dense jungle on a hillside overlooking the azure waters of Kilifi bay, the atmosphere here is nothing short of magical, attracting an eclectic group of travelers and explorers from around the world. The natural surroundings, fresh air and distant hiss of the ocean waves make for the perfect place to challenge my growing feelings of disconnection. The nature of this journey often sees me drifting through countries, briefly meeting new people but always being drawn further south towards my intended goal of reaching the end of the continent. Each departure brings with it a mixture of excitement at what lies ahead and sadness at saying goodbye to the friends I have made along the way. With time to stop and reflect the realization is beginning to dawn that, for me, what makes life truly worthwhile is genuine, meaningful human contact.

Helping out at a local school in Kilifi

The people I have met and the energy I have felt during my extended stay at the Distant Relatives EcoLodge have made this entire journey worthwhile. It is hard to describe the sense of serenity that envelops this secluded location but it has been a long time since I have felt so at peace with where I am, grounded and complete. On leaving Ireland I’d always considered if I found a place along the way that felt perfect I could always stop and settle down for a while, the sleepy town of Kilifi could be that place. Cork to Kenya has a nice ring to it. Sadly, the region comes with it own unique set of difficulties but it attracts a host of interesting individuals who have been insightful, inspiring and enlightening. There are the determined group of young men and women building a traditional dhow along the coast with the intention of sailing it around the world, the dedicated film crew spending years inside Tsavo East National Park documenting the incredible and often tragic lives of its residents, the brave young woman with autism walking around Africa with two camels raising awareness of disabilities amongst remote tribal people, the quiet architect devoting her career to addressing the housing crisis facing the world’s poorest, the talented young photographer living in the slums of Kampala capturing the essence of life in the faces of its people, these are just a few of the amazing individuals with whom my path has crossed. And then there is my own companion who I brought along with me, Hendri Coetzee, ‘the greatest African explorer you have never heard of’.

Another deserted beach

Hendri's book

I worked with Hendri on the Zambezi River as a guide many years ago, we shared many good times together but as our lives drifted apart I lost touch with my old friend until I stumbled across his obituary in an adventure magazine in California. It initially came as a shock to hear of his death and I had hoped it was not the Hendri I’d known all those years ago but deep down I knew it could only be him. As our paths diverged I’d often arrive at a river only to hear he had just left the area but I was sure we would meet again at some point. As news of his death slowly filtered down through the news channels the details of his final expedition became clearer, snatched from his kayak by a large crocodile on the Lukuga River in DRC, Hendri had achieved more, in his short life, than many could hope to achieve in several lifetimes. Shortly before his death Hendri had been working on the manuscript for a book documenting his impressive list of expeditions. When Living the Best Day Ever was finally published in 2013 I was determined to pick up a copy to read of all his remarkable accomplishments. I finally located the book in Jinja, Uganda, but I’d had little time to give it the attention it deserved. It is only now that I have had the chance to sit peacefully and listen to Hendri’s voice. I’ve read many tales of adventures in foreign lands but this book stands apart form the crowd. What I’d thought would be the standard fare of lists of achievements turned out to be one of the most beautifully written, insightful books I have ever read. What begins as an account of a daredevil descent of the Nile River, from source to sea, gently evolves into the story of a much deeper journey into what drives his desire to explore Africa’s darkest regions. As he matures so does his prowess at capturing more than just the moment, delving deep into his own motivations and discovering that the true adventure lies within all of us. I assumed the book had such an effect on me because of the nature of my own travels or the brief friendship I had shared with Hendri but I have since met many people outside of our sphere who have been equally as touched. 

Takaunga coast, Kenya

Not far from Kilifi is the Tsavo East National Park, I drove through it on the way from Nairobi to Mombassa, the sparse vegetation of grasses and thorny Acacia bushes is dominated by massive Baobab trees randomly dispersed throughout the park, their thick trunks sharply contrasting their comical, spindly branches. As Kenya’s largest park, it is home to a diverse selection of wildlife none more impressive than the red elephants of Tsavo. These noble behemoths coat their hides in red mud to protect them from heat and insects and have long been a popular tourist attraction. Embedded deep within the park, a dedicated film crew is spending years patiently gathering footage of these enormous creatures and it is within this region that the largest elephant in the world, Satao roamed freely across the plains, until recently. I was fortunate enough to meet several members of the film crew and listen to their stories of life within the park, I had been ignorant to the story of Satao but the account of his savage slaying at the hands of ruthless poachers needs to be shared. Africa is throwing open its doors to foreign investment, selling off its natural resources at an alarming rate. No single state is pursuing these resources more aggressively than China, I’ve seen first hand evidence of this as I have moved south through the continent, infrastructure improvements are underway everywhere to facilitate a more efficient extraction. The Chinese often import their own labor from China and frequently use convicts for the dirty work, sometimes abandoning them when a project finishes. The far east has long been obsessed by a false belief that ivory brings luck and Africa has struggled for decades with the plague of poaching. All these factors combined with modern GPS tracking devices, night vision technology and automatic weapons have left Africa’s wildlife exposed and vulnerable, none more so than the elephants. Official statistics claim that approximately 90 elephants a year are butchered for ivory in Tsavo but it is widely believed the actual numbers may be ten times that amount. Collusion, corruption and apathy contribute to the problem. I’ve only seen pictures of Satao as he towered above his companions, his dark skin contrasting with his colossal white tusks, those who worked closely with the animal believed he was conscious that his proudest feature would make him a target, he would often try to hide them amidst the sparse bush. In the end it was a simple arrow fired from a primitive bow that took Satao down. Coated with a potent poison it is likely he suffered an agonizing death and we can only hope he was dead before his faced was cut off with chainsaws. In the last picture I saw of Satao he was lying alone, faceless, legs splayed, coated in vulture droppings amidst the red dirt of the Tsavo plains.

Diani Beach

The coastal region I am staying in has seen some disturbing events unfolding over the past two weeks, on June 15th and group of gunmen hijacked two vans before driving into the nearby village of Mpeketoni where they systematically murdered at least 60 people. Initial reports suggested it was the Somali Islamist group, al-Shabab, but in a recent development the Governor of the region was arrested by the Kenyan police adding to local suspicion that the attack originated closer to home. The attackers appeared to have targeted members of the ethnic Kikuyu tribe, the same tribe of the president of Kenya. The attack, which began in the evening lasted well into the night before the gunmen moved on to another village. In Mombassa, to the South, there have been more disturbances, targeted assassinations and riots as the security forces wrestle to control the situation. Growing up in Northern Ireland has left me somewhat skeptical of the official reports issued by the government and most of the locals seem to agree. Civil unrest and fear are powerful motivators when governments wish to impose more draconian laws upon their people. 

Late night sessions

Yet another inspiring individual I met while staying at Distant Relatives is the unstoppable Abby Brooke, driven by a desire to spread awareness of disabilities throughout the continent, Abby has embarked on a walk, not just any walk, she plans to cover the entire continent with two camels and a positive attitude. Disabilities within rural villages are often attributed to witchcraft and those afflicted are often shunned or hidden from their own communities. In a bid to enlighten and inform Abby is determined to show what a person with a disability is capable of.  It will take her many years to complete her journey but she has already walked extensively throughout Kenya and with her contagious enthusiasm and drive I doubt anything will stop her from achieving her goal.

Sundowners on my birthday

During my stay on the coast I’ve had ample opportunities to play with some of the most talented musicians in the region, jamming late into the night at the bar or on the beach I’ve learned much from each of them but I realize I still have a long way to go. Bringing a guitar on this trip was one of the best decisions I could have made but I am still, very much, a beginner with lots to learn. The more I know, the more I realize I don’t know but this path is not about arriving at the destination, it’s about all the incredible experiences you have along the way and Kenya has provided many of those. I will move on some time but for now I feel content, surrounded by good people in one of the most beautiful locations on earth. With my bike taking a well deserved break and my physical progress temporarily suspended it has given me time to focus on my inner journey.

Uhuru