Eric Mawira
My good friend Hamisi taught acrobatics to extract tourist dollars and seduced rich white women. Besides guiding tours to the Gede ruins, we also snuggled with coloured fish at the Malindi Marine Park, watched a rare spectacle of dolphins near Penda and offered free lessons on scuba diving.
After five days of careful learning, luck swung my way. Hamisi was escorting one of his ‘lovers’ to Lamu by road on a rented car and he secured her consent for my hitch. As we crossed Tana into a greener Hola, I tethered on enduring hope.
I dug out my scrambled map from the bag and glared at Kismayu.
"I shall find you, whatever it takes,’’ I mumbled before falling into exhausted sleep.
Beckoning mystery
Hours later, we arrived at the jetty on Lamu mainland and stared into the immortalised Lamu Archipelago in solemn awe. It felt native, mysterious and it beckoned in a medieval charming way.
Beneath our view on the dock, a man in a traditional triangular-sailed dhow blew a coloured antique horn at us. I looked at Hamisi. He bore the most profound look since I met him. His lover capped her chin almost in divine vigil. I couldn’t bear it — it struck to the very core of the soul with such divine beauty and poetry. The magic spell of Lamu cast upon wandering earthlings.
We needed a distraction. The man walked up to us waving a manila with Hamisi’s lover’s name written on it. That snapped them out of it and we climbed into the dhow, which drifted sublimely on the blue waters until it dropped anchor in a protected inlet off Lamu old town.
I made my first step into the island and something felt like it had dropped inside — a profound sense of magic, a beckoning mystery that spoke to the heart and soul. There was something about the island — mystic, calling and enchanting, like a path of dreams.
The sea front thronged with activity — donkeys, porters and merchants bustled around. I wanted to do everything at once…..linger by the shores, splash against the tide, jump onto someone’s donkey, swim to a docking dhow or just flex and do a ‘Johnny Bravo’ show off. I also felt like talking with the island but a donkey cart pulled by and my thoughts were distracted.
Our donkey walker took the liberty to enlighten our stupid grins with a crash course entitled ‘the history of spicy Lamu’. Legend has it that the island has been settled since the 7th Century. The legend spoke of the lost city of Hadibu, an Arab settlement now buried beneath the rolling dunes of Shela beach. He also told the tale of a Chinese ship bearing priceless gold that is still sunk on the very bosom of Lamu. I must linger and do a treasure hunt, I thought to myself.
Narrow streets
Visiting merchants and settlers of Omani, Arabic, Portuguese and Indian origin left their mark over the years but Lamu developed its own particular culture, which ultimately endured. Vehicles on this island cannot manoeuvre the eight-foot narrow streets except for the District Commissioner’s sports car. Donkeys and dhows are the cabs of choice for this spicy town.
Hamisi and his lover proceeded to their hotel. He agreed to keep my rucksack and said I could visit regularly for gossip and supplies if I needed any. It was around 4pm so I wandered off to explore.
The sheikh’s voice boomed from the famous Riyadha mosque as he led the faithful in supplication to the great Allah. I craved spiced coffee. A Swahili woman was selling kahawa tamu and mahamris outside the mosque. I lingered by her side until she smiled a "karibu mwanangu" then handed me a mug of red spiced coffee and a fattening mahamri. This gave her the opening to go on and on with hilarious accusations about watu wa Nairobi. She had figured I was a footloose.
A young man coming from the mosque was summoned and ordered to show me hospitality. Ali was his name. Before entering the white-washed Riyadha mosque, I was asked to remove my sandals.
We sat on its steps and I was literally interrogated and my new found friend misrepresented me to the assistant sheikh. He said I wanted to slimu (become a muslim). Immediately, a white kanzu (robe) and kofia (embroidered hat) were brought forth pronto. I was clothed and pulled inside into the most spacious mosque I have ever entered.
I explained I didn’t want to slimu but the assistant sheikh just nodded with a smile. We entered the Sheikh’s chambers and waited. I kept moving my mouth, talking. He was a tall elegant old man of Arabic descent. From their discussions, I gathered he was welcoming us to stay as he had quarters for guests. I would later learn that I was not the only one visiting — there were Muslim brothers from Tanzania, the Sudan and even Somalia.
Endless beaches
We were taken to our room. It was arrayed with green mats and Korans. Meals were provided regularly. The Sheikh was such an easy-to-talk-to wise man and he showed me a whole new perspective to Islam.
With my new friends, we spent three days idling on the endless beaches riding donkeys, frightening street cats, playing bao la kete, whistling at exotic women and sampling perfumes at the market on the Lamu Fort square.
This 1808 Sultanic Fort has been through various changes over the years, including conversion into a prison. It now housed a museum, which exhibited the most antique collection of coastal cultural art and craft. Its forecourt hosts Lamu’s largest open market.
It should be noted that Lamu must be lived and enjoyed without speed. It is a whole new different world, a paradise waiting with open arms for every sore soul. The experiences defy descriptions.
Ramadan was coming to an end and rumour of a festival was rife! Our kanzus and caps were in sparkle. The main religious celebration took place in and around the Riyadha Mosque.
Fun swung in later at the Fort square — there were free traditional spicy cuisines, spirited dances, Swahili poetry, henna painting and Koran recitals. I swung into the dances and shook it. Men armed with traditional curved Arab swords staged mock fights to the beat of drums, using sandals as shields.
Later on, a colourful procession wound along the seafront towards the centre of town. The crowds sang and danced together to Hodi Hodi and Swabra. I wanted to see a donkey race or a dhow race. My whining caught the attention of a local who told me that that was a preserve of Maulidi, the popular Lamu festival.
I wandered off to look for Hamisi and found him jogging along the beach. After a brief chat, I bullied him into letting me gatecrash their dhow trip to the looming islands within and past the Lamu Archipelago. It was going to be a four-day trip of nothing but lazing.
Before leaving, I talked to the Sheikh and informed him of my intended trip to Kismayu in Somalia. My adamant sassiness had him graciously offering to pull some strings my way.
Mangrove forests
I hopped into the dhow brimming with exuberance and joy. The dhow slipped away gently from her moorings and the huge sail unfurled. We drifted past mangrove forests full of birds, bays with blinding white sandy beaches lush with palms, and coconut plantations with tiny native villages nestling therein.
At 2pm, the captain dropped anchor and we had lunch on a deserted beach with mangrove woods offering background ambience while birds strummed dinner ballads. While the chef made a spicy cuisine, we swam in blissfully warm waters. By 3pm, we were starving again and we relished the freshly caught red snappers and lobster.
That afternoon, we idled like fat overfed slugs as the hours slipped into days. The dhow trudged on to the islands of Manda, Siyu, Pate and Kiwayu where isolated villages, ancient ruins and a few luxurious and exclusive resorts are hidden.
On board, life was about waking to stunning sunrises and watching flocks of seabirds or dolphins, diving along the coral reefs in the transparent jade waters, fattening the soul with gladness, tanning every crevice of the body, playing hide-and-seek on the dhow, enjoying sundowners and reclining on the cushion-strewn decks until the light softened and dusk descended. I loved the life!
Eventually, we sailed back to Lamu under a canopy of a trillion stars feeling like the Incas.
Before leaving for Kismayu, the kind Sheikh of Riyadha blessed me as I stood on the jetty. I wore a kanzu and kofia as he intoned for light to pave my path upon the waters and for great Allah to aid my quest. He then handed me a paper scribbled in Arabic and asked me to use it to introduce myself. I planned to make it a semi-passport.
After that, he kissed my forehead, patted my back then gestured me to a waiting merchant ship. He had made arrangements to have me shipped to Kismayu. I would have wept as I marvelled at the kindness, beauty, adventure and quietness of God and his people.
As I descended into the ship and waved him goodbye, nothing else mattered but love, faith and God. Ahead, Kismayu waited for another great adventure.
