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.