THE NOT-SO-WILD WEST: A JOURNEY TOWARDS THE SUNSET
JULY 2024
TO TRAVEL IS TO LIVE !
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MAP OF TASK AREA |
This week I travel to Western Kenya and Eastern Uganda. The task: A Feasibility Study for EAC. My tasks include the 3 border posts at Busia, Malaba and Lwakhakha (pronounced "Lwahaha")
Its a weeklong exercise to a most beautiful part of Kenya and Uganda, peopled by some of the most hospitable and hard-working peoples of East Africa.
AN EARLY MORNING FLIGHT
Its 15th July and we board the very early Jambojet morning flight to Kisumu.
Flight time: 6am. This means reporting time is 5am. Which means I have to leave home at the latest by 430am and this means I have to wake up at 330am
I lose sleep at 3am. I remember to switch off the alarm I have set on my mobile 📱.
A quick shower. As silently as possible. I don't want to disturb the sleeping family.
At JKIA, long queues await the opening of the check-in counters for Jambojet, the low cost airlines that dominates most local routes in Kenya. For the record, there is nothing low cost about Jambojet, it is just a false narrative. The truth is, they are a monopoly, not really but almost - and therefore they can dictate fares. Secondly, the low cost tickets are just a handful for any flight and even these are for those who can book well in advance _ at least a few months in advance of the travel dates.
Felix and I obtain our boarding passes. There is a hum of low key conversations of queuing passengers. The early morning air is crisp and fresh. A faint smell of kerosene can be felt for the discerning noses. This is the smell of aviation fuel AV1.
We join yet another long queue to go through the 2nd security check. The KAA personnel are not smiling. In fact they are putting up deliberately fake, stern and serious faces.
I have learnt to ignore them. I just comply to save everyone the need for unnecessary chit chats which very often turns into one sided interrogations and intimidations.
Its almost time for my morning fajr prayer so I go straight to the prayer room amidst the aroma of warm coffee emanating from Paul's Caffe. Despite the aroma - I am not a coffee person! Not to mention that the prices are meant only for those earning American wages or politicians!
The prayer room has a distinct smell of a bedroom - the smell of stale blankets. One or more of the airport staff have definitely used this room as a bedroom. This is common practice in the prayer room.
Before the prayer is concluded, the overhead speakers crackle an announcement. Our flight is ready to board. I finish my prayer hurriedly and quickly join the queue.
The Bombardier plane is, as always; spick and span. It has a soft aroma of a polite perfume, an elegant aroma; this could be one of the many reasons they could use to justify the high cost of air travel.
An instrumental song is playing on the speakers as I head to my seat - 3B
Simon joins me on 3A. We chat as we take off. And within no time we are landing in Kisumu International Airport.
It has drizzled a few hours ago. The tarmac is still wet. The pleasant scent of rain is in the air; I find this smell most rejuvenating!
The distinct cawing sound of an Hadada Ibis rents the air - the cawing is rasp and clear but coming from somewhere in the direction of Lake Victoria. A flock of the silent cousin to the Hadada; the Sacred Ibis flies past the terminal building as we disembark and stroll towards the exit. Sparrows are chirping away as they hop from one member of the overhead steel trusses to another. Its a mating battle between the dominant male and other sibling rivals...
As we walk into the terminal building, an army of airport staff marches towards the airplane, armed with brooms, mops, buckets and other paraphernalia used to clean up airplanes. They are chatting away in the local Dholuo language. Its a welcoming feeling!
HEADING TO MALABA
Our driver is Steve. He is already here. Ours is a new Toyota Fielder. I fill it up with fuel and we head Northwest towards River Yala and Mumias.
We pass the once favoured White-man's hideaway town of Maseno - now a busy University Town with Gen Z generations in multitude coloured attires, chatting away, hugging, teasing and living life to the fullest.... there is a saying of the Prophet - 'Live life before old age overtakes you' - the Gen Zs are doing precisely that!
At the Yala Junction, we turn right towards Mumias - Sugarcane Country! Luhya Land. Kakamega County - in many ways one of the most beautiful parts of Kenya --- in my opinion! We overtake several tractors towing steel trailers filled to the brim with sugarcane - headed to one of the many factories dotting this region. Bodabodas zip past us in the opposite direction. We pass homesteads which have some traditional circular mud huts and other rectangular stone adobe houses with mabati roofs. Large mango trees provide shade to the homesteads and the ever-present plastic chairs are arranged in the usual fashion under the trees. Occasionally, we see an old man or woman seated on these trademark cheap but appropriate chairs - with toddlers playing around on the rammed earth floor. The grandparents are doing their time with their grandchildren - they have earned the right to rest.
Presently, we pass a group of BuiBui clad women - yes; indeed, Mumias sub-county has the largest population of Muslims amongst the Luhya people. Some of the groups have a fez-clad man amongst them and kanzu clad children trotting along.
At the junction of Ekero; we turn left towards Bungoma. The right hand turn goes to Kakamega.
The landscape is lush and green. Its beautiful. I will not tire from saying it, we don't thank God enough for the blessings He bestows upon us! Lest we forget, this is one of the myriad blessings.
These Western parts of Kenya have daily afternoon rains providing much needed nutrition and water for agriculture which forms the backbone of all life here. Nearly everyone is doing one form of work or another - there is no relaxing here apart from the bodaboda riders who are seated on their motorbikes waiting for passengers. Despite the heat, they have their helmets on and the leather jackets too. They must be boiling in there - we are on the Equator and the temperatures are in the region of 30 degrees Celsius ++
I suppose they are used to this oven-like situation - because a ride out on the road with wind hitting them hard, will quickly bring comfort !
BREAKFAST. BUNGOMA.
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| Noor Restaurant - Bungoma |
Bungoma is another 20 minutes from Mumias. Everyone is hungry. My last meal was at 5pm the day before - more than 16 hours ago.
Steve suggests just the right place for us - Noor Restaurant along the Uganda Road.
Upon my cue, everyone orders chicken soup and chapati. It is a full meal. Hot. Tasty and spicy too. We devour it in no time. The bill? Well, let it come - we will deal with it after the hunger has be satiated.
Indeed, the bill is near astronomical for these rather far off rural parts of Kenya. Kshs 3200 for 3 of us. Not too bad but still abit high for a remote station such as Kanduyi. No worries - I pay up and we have work ahead.
We now head West towards Malaba and Ug. The road is busy with trucks on both sides .... A group of policemen have set up a road block just next to Siritamu Hotel. They stop each and every truck. The interaction between the truck and the policemen is brief. The truck driver's door is opened, a handshake between the two takes place, a few words exchanged, some laughter - the door closes - the truck moves on. I let you the reader draw your own conclusion!
The road is smooth and wide. Well done, KeNHA!
200 TRUCK LONG QUEUES
Malaba announces itself with the long queue of trucks - at least 10km long! - before we reach the actual town. I mentally count the number of trucks in the queue - more than 250 of them.
Hawkers selling various necessities zigzag between the trucks selling their merchandise which varies from bananas carried by women on their heads, telephone charging cables and covers, peanuts, boiled maize and even live chicken. The long traffic jam is a nuisance in once sense; but a lifeline for the many hawkers who trudge along with the slow moving queue of trucks.
Malaba is the busiest truck crossing border post in East and Central Africa 🇨🇫
On a busy day, more than 2000 trucks cross this border crossing.
The dominant tribes here are the Bukusu and the Teso. Both very industrious and noble peoples.
The moment you enter the outskirts of the town, the sounds of bodaboda motorcycles catches the ear. The constant revings of heavy trucks is a reminder of the main activity here... this is a truck town.
The air has an acrid smell of diesel fumes mixed with smells of roadside fish frying on charcoal jikos. A drizzle has cooled down the temperature and wetness upon the dusty patches has settled the red dust.
All the main economic activities in Malaba are along the one single highway - the arterial Uganda Road.
The oldest trade in the world is also a booming business here. Twilight girls lean strategically against mud walls next to narrow alley ways, constantly looking up and down the highway to catch the eye of any and all potential customers. They are suggestively dressed. This is their dress code, to reveal as much flesh as possible without being simple naked! I don't blame them ... life has handed them a bad deal. It is not by choice that they run this trade. Life simply didn't turn out the way they dreamt when they were young. Mostly because of poverty and then later on due to lack of opportunities to earn anything decent and then of course to crown it all -- POOR LEADERSHIP by the political elite! GOD IS WATCHING YOU THE POLITICAL ELITE - I BLAME THIS ON YOU!!!!
As the evening slowly envelopes the town, I can't help but notice that the sun sets at almost 7pm. East Africa time is based on 45 degrees East longitude whilst Malaba is at 34 degrees East (BIG DIFFERENCE!) and hence the seeminy late sunset. It is a beautiful sunset though - the famous Western sunset!
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| Hazzy Sunset over Malaba |
The adhan from one of two mosques interrupts the truck and bodaboda melee. The chickens have gone home to roost. The late children are rushing home, not to get caught out too late at night. A lone she-goat is late to her pen and hurries decidedly to its homestead. A few well dressed ladies emerge from the Equity Bank branch, they are obviously not locals. Their dressing, demeanour and walking style gives them away. They are also trying to remain aloof from their humble surroundings as though wishing they worked in a larger city.
And like all Equatorial evenings, it is still warm. The Cicadas are chirping away in their shrill voices, some frogs can be heard croaking away in a nearby puddle. A mother can be heard shouting instructions to children in their humble homes.
After prayers in the mosque, I retire to my room in Gidee Hotel. Room number S8.
Clean room. Warm shower. Nice big enough bed. A cheap TV without a remote control. The two soft pillows on the bed are a welcome treat - I am used to a hard raised pillow; these two will have to do.
I check my emails on my mobile phones as sleep slowly comes in like a slow tide. Tomorrow, more work. This time in Busia.
I thank God for the blessings. Not many people are as blessed as I am, Thank You oh God. I don't take this for granted.
BUSIA
Morning in Malaba starts with the morning prayer in the mosque. The last posee of twilight girls are still hanging on near their strategic alley corners. Their pimps are seated not too far off, a decent distance not to spoil the lady's chances and not too far off so as to miss out on the negotiated price. They are chewing muguka and miraa. I walk past with purpose, I am obviously too old or maybe too focused on my walk, or maybe its written on my face that I don't need their services. The mandazi lady is also busy frying the first batch of mandazi on her firewood operated jiko. The mixture of smells of firewood burning and frying flour mixed with yeast whets my appetite. I focus on my small journey to worship. The flames of the fire provide enough light for her to see what she is doing, she glances at me as I greet her "Habari za asubuhi mathee?" She shoots back a brief "Salama!" She controls the corner that leads to the mosque entrance, and so my African nature and etiquette demands I greet her, I love my culture! And I do this small but important etiquette as easily as she replies, she was expecting the greeting and answers as readily as required.
Prayers achieved (yes indeed, achieved and not just said! Think about it, it is an important achievement!). I head back to Room S8. Ready for breakfast in the cafe below. Then head to Busia as soon as Steve comes with the Fielder!
The road from Malaba to Busia is approximately 30km. A winding road devoid of matatus (quite a pleasant surprise in itself). There are many speed bumps but the road is in good motorable condition. Small villages dot the journey. There is a surprising number of pigs along the way and pork butcheries of course. Steve informs.us that this is because pig feeds are easily and cheaply available from Ug and its profitable to keep them. I think quietly that maybe there aren't too many Muslims here.
Busia is a much larger town than Malaba and it is the headquarters of the County by the same name.
It is almost cosmopolitan and rather crowded. A number of side streets emanate from the main arterial road leading into Uganda.
Here cross border trade is booming. On the Kenyan side a market just outside the border post dominates the scene. All manner of wares are sold here in addition to agricultural products and also the main bus stop for all vehicles going to down Kenya.
And unlike Malaba (which is largely a transit border town), Busia is a bustling commercial centre. One would be forgiven to mistake it for a city such as Kisii in the middle of Kenya. The only give away of course are the Police checks ... and the long queue of trucks that characterise border towns.
We head straight to the Uganda side of the border... work has to start here today. On the Kenyan side there is a pandemonium of trucks moving in all manner and directions, almost without order .... an elder architect once taught me that it is this kind of disorder that customs, immigration and security apparatus thrive on to extort money from unsuspecting and ignorant travelers. Shame on us! I repeat, God is watching!
On the Ug side, we link up with the supervisor in charge. He is humble and helpful. We are escorted by a border official as we take snaps and measurements. A long day. Several hours of data collection ends at almost 6pm. I am tired. So is Felix. We are starved too. We opted not to take lunch so as to complete the tasks early enough. But 6pm still finds us in Busia but thankfully having completed what we are required to.
The journey back to Malaba is uneventful, not because nothing happened but because both Felix and I fell asleep in the car as soon as we drove off. Hungry and exhausted.
Tomorrow is another day. We have to go to Lwakhakha.
LWAKHAKHA
The road to Lwakhakha through Kimaeti is an all weather dirt track dissected by a variety of deep and shallow ruts.
School children in dusty uniforms are bounding along with excited chatter on both sides, barefoot but full of smiles. By choice, their uniforms are a deliberate dark coloured hues, mostly brownish to prevent them looking or getting dirty too soon.
Bodaboda riders overtake us at breakneck speeds from both sides.
Literally 500m into the dirt track, an inconspicuous sign reads 'ROAD CLOSED'
Indeed they are doing roadworks just ahead and have fully blocked the carriageway. Both sides of the road have deep unmotorable trenches.
Steve, our pilot halts the car and walks over to the team of workers who are noisily casting concrete to a culvert.
A few kind words exchanged and they create a way for us to pass. But not so easily, we still have to scale through the lefthand side trench. Our Toyota Fielder touches the bottom not less than 3 times.
Steve is a good driver, he maneuvers the front wheel drive car through and across the trench.
Along the way, we come across a primary school. And it is lunch time. A steady stream of children of various ages is heading away from the school for the lunch break. Next to the school gate is a small mabati-roofed structure, the shop is closed but a queue of young children has formed behind a makeshift counter. A young lady is at the head. She is shouting away orders at the winding line of chattering children. She has two kiondos and the children are each waving a plate and spoon. Steve points out to me that this a private lunch arrangement made by parents for their children so that they wouldn't have to walk long distances home and back to school during lunch break. The children are excited. Its a humble meal but most welcome ... I reflect upon this _ these children are the embodiment of gratitude. Despite the very basic and simple meal, the children are relishing the forthcoming meal with excitement and gratitude.
How I so wish that all of us could follow the example of these innocent poor souls.
We pass simple mud and thatched structures. Poverty is evident. Every so often, we drive past a young girl carrying a child. She is obviously a novice at handling the infant she is carrying.
After passing one too many of these young girls with a child: reality hits me! That infant is her child. She is barely 15 or 16 years of age. Inexperience is written all over her body and her demeanour. This is a tragedy of most of our rural areas. Child and Teenage pregnancies! A young girl's life destroyed. She is sentenced to penury, poverty and a meagre life - the alternatives are frightening! I don't want to think about this - its depressing!
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| View towards UG from Kenya - Lwakhakha |
The following day, we leave early for Lwakhakha. Lots of work to be done. So no breakfast in Malaba.
The new road is almost entirely tarmac. Smooth driving. Uneventful.
Shortly, we leave the murram road and hit the tarmac again. We are close to Lwakhakha. We had earlier all decided not to eat in Malaba (mainly because the food is not only expensive but also a very limited variety and poorly cooked too!).
In Arabic Bismillah means 'In the name of ALLAH'.
Bismillah Hotel is run by Mama Asha. A bosom local Muslim lady. She swings past us on her toes hardly stopping to listen to our full orders - she nods that she has understood. She has already barked out our order even before she reaches the open kitchen. And precisely within 2 and half minutes a tray of our order is laid before us ... exactly how we wanted it! Restaurant owners of big towns --- are you listening to this??? Wacheni kasumba zenu za chips na soda!
We descend upon the whole spiced boiled matoke with sprinkles of pieces of meat surrounded by matoke soup ... yummy! Upon my request, she complies and brings small red chillies (the actual legendary pilipili hoho!) Finger lickin good! I clear my meal in record time and start licking away at the plate. Mama Asha is watching - and mercifully adds a bowl of the matoke syrup for me - which again I clear at lightning speed! No extra cost for this supplementary broth.
Full tanks! Now we are ready for the meeting ahead.
This takes place between 11am upto 12 noon. It drags on -- know ye all, that human beings like to talk and be heard - a quotation by yours truly!!
Tasks completed. Its Friday. I have been away from home since 4am Monday. We head to Bismillah Hotel again. Mama Asha smiles - we had preordered Free Range Chicken and mashed Matoke. "Its almost ready" she announces.
Two and half minutes again! We are served. Larger portions this time. I dont need to ask for the pilipili hoho - it is served without asking! This is service par-excellence!
We descend upon our delicacies. The kienyeji chicken is just too yummy and mellow.
So after a hearty lunch of mashed matoke and boiled kienyeji chicken at the hands of Mama Asha's Bismillah Hotel in Lwakhakha, I excuse myself to achieve the Jumua prayer at the only mosque in town. Masjid Nour Lwakhakha. There isn't any piped water in the mosque, so I perform ablution using a plastic container seated on a timber plank with my legs spread out and rested onto two stones. I am humbled - my mind races back to the days of the Prophet (saw) - is this how they did it?? The air in the mosque is filled with Arabic musk mixed with the distinct dusty smell of a rural mud hut.
The sermon is on. The imam is a heavily bespectacled local Luhya sheikh. He has a good command of kiswahili and a good enough command of Arabic recitation too. The sermon today is about the benefit of spending time in the mosque. Its a simple sermon but to the point. Prayers achieved and I head back to the Bismillah Hotel to join Steve and Simon who are lounging on the chairs digesting away the delicacies of the day.
I am content and relieved. I have to head back to Kisumu, my flights have been changed to travel back to Nairobi the following morning. I am told Nairobi has been like a fridge for the past whole week - I am not too excited. Warm Western Kenya was just too comfy!
From Lwakhakha to Kisumu there are several options of roads to drive along. Today I don't have a choice. We have to drop Simon back in Malaba, he still has much work to do before he travels back to Nairobi.
We drive along lush green farmland that is a mixture of the Luhyaland and Tesoland.
The roads are well maintained and tarmaced.
I am reminded its a Friday. And young men and women are dressed to party. This is evident every so often we drive past a group of young men or ladies headed towards the nearest town centre dressed in their Sunday best (what irony - Sunday best clothes are worn on Fridays for dubious misadventures whilst Sundays themselves are spent nursing hang-overs and repentance for the sins of the week!). To crown the meagre dressing, ladies lips are dabbed with bright un-matching lipsticks. Some have even powdered their faces (abit excessively I must say - but its not my face, and if the ashen faces make them feel good; then why not! YOLO!). These are our respected Gen Z generation.
There is saying in Kiswahili "Baada ya sherehe, oga na urudi kwa soko" - simply translated it means 'After a celebration, take a bath or shower and go back to the market' - I shall let you the reader interpret it the way you wish -- I have my own private version!.
A WALK IN THE LONG BALCONY
Kisumu has a special place in my heart. This lakeside city has been deliberately ignored and stunted in terms of development and growth over the decades since independence.
The New Victoria Hotel has been a famous stop-over for travelers to Kisumu for over 6 decades. Run by the same Arab family and now passed down from son to son. The only change to the structure is the paintwork. Even the old photos of nostalgic Yemen hang upon the walls - a reminder of the origin of the owners.
The waiters are as archaic as the hotel and its structure. None of them is less than 60 yrs +. Trusted and efficient (by Kisumu standards).
This is where I always spend my nights. Mainly due to its proximity to the mosque.
But the general area has infamously also developed into a red-light district. Night life is abuzz with clubs and lounges in the vicinity. And of course this comes with the usual amenities such as pimps, thugs, twilight girls, and the vital bodabodas who facilitate the various activities and escape routes -!
My purpose is to lay a tired head onto a pillow and catch up with vital sleep. I have no need for the nocturnal activities ...
My flight tomorrow is an early one. I have to be at the airport at 6am. So I settle down in my room. Its room number 2 on the first floor. Its bare with a TV and wifi too. An external door leads to a long balcony -- this is the plus I love. The room inside is hot but the long balcony is cool with a lake breeze and a partial view of the second largest fresh water lake in the World.
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| The Long Balcony |
I stroll in the long balcony. The planters are doing well. The breeze is cool. The street life is buzzing. Bodabodas are ferrying people and goods to legitimate and also not-so-legitimate activities.
I am rested. I am grateful. I am happy. I realise the blessings that have been bestowed upon me are enough - all I need to do is be content and acknowledge HIM.
I repeat, Kisumu has a special place in my heart. This lakeside city has been deliberately ignored and stunted in terms of development and growth over the decades since independence.
Wrong tribe. Wrong political inclination. Whatever the reasons, this is a thesis for another day.
Very cool blog
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