Forms of transportation..

I was organizing some old computer files and I came across this little blurb I wrote about public transportation here in Mombasa. It is a large part of my life, and often one of the most exciting as well. So this was written when I was living in Likoni last year.

Hope everyone is well!

Mary 

On any given day here in Kenya, I take at

 least three to four forms of transportation. In a place where poverty is so high, few peo

ple own cars, so do most people. 

In the mornings I either walk the 3 kilometers to work or if I am running late, which is usually the case, I take a piki piki, a motor bike with room for one on the back or a tuk tuk. They are both flagged down much the same way that a taxi would be. They are always driven by men, usually between int ages of 17 and 40. I generally have a policy of using older piki piki drivers because the young guys go so fast and I assume older equals more responsible drivers. Sometimes they have operating licenses, sometimes not. When I asked a friend about the license issues he said “It's not a must.”

The tuk tuk is by far my favorite, as it is small, slow and generally safer than the motor bikes. Apparently tuk tuks have the same name all over the world, due to the put put (or tuk tuk) noise that they make. Interesting fact, Piaggio is the Italian company that makes tuk tuks. The model that they export to Africa is called the “APE”, which I pray is an acronym and not a racist slur. Anyway, I am in to process of convincing my neighbor who owns and drives a tuk tuk that he should teach me to drive it. (Note: in nearly six months of being here I have seen one ONE female driving a tuk tuk)

On rare occasions there will be a boda boda, a regular bicycle with a padded seat on the back. If these are around I try to use them based on the principle that they use no gas and few people use them. Apparently just two years ago there were almost no motor bikes and everyone used bicycles and boda bodas for transportation. But motorbikes mean getting passengers from place to place faster which means the potential for making more money in a given period.

If I am going into Mombasa, I take the ferry. I know I have mentioned this before, but the ferry is not nearly as cute as I originally pictured in my head. They are large flat bi-level boats which carry everything including large trucks, cars, motorbikes, bicycles, and pedestrians. The bottom level is for vehicles and bikes and the top level is for pedestrians. They are brightly colored green and orange-y red. There are four boats in total, although only two run at one time, three during rush hours. While they say the capacity is 150 people, they admit that at times there are upwards of 300. If there are few cars (cars get the priority over people), they will cram more on. I once did a quick estimation though at there were at least 400 people on there.

Loading onto the Ferry is a a slightly hectic, but at times fun adventure. To load

 the ferry you have to get in line (called a queue) which is about 15 feet wide fenced off, tin-roofed hallway next to the road that leads up from the water. It is usually crammed and recently very hot. There are two blind musicians, one who plays gospel music on his accordion and another who plays one song on his harmonica while keeping the beat by shaking his tin bowl of change, so there is always something to listen to. Recently they put up huge movie screens on both the north and south sides of the ferry so sometimes they show sports bloopers or this stupid show where Ashton Kutcher plays tricks on other famous people. I was thinking they could show news or something worthwhile, because this country has enough bad American TV already, but no dice. Anyway the motorbikes, cars and truck load first. Once they are all on, the bicycles and pedestrians are allowed on.

Then the ferry takes off across the channel. The view is wonderful on both sides. To the east is the Indian Ocean and to the west is the port where most of the goods transported to

Eastern Africa are imported with lots of tall ships and docks. It only takes about five minutes to get across and while it is generally pretty crowded, it is fairly calm and quiet. There are women selling drinks if you are thirsty which is nice. I like to stare at the 

water and look for fish, although due to the proximity to the city I see more plastic bags than marine life.

Once it reaches the north side, the vehicles are allowed off first and then the people. The people have to climb this fairly large rocky hill \towards the matatu station. On the hill there are a lot of people selling cookies, phone cards (cell phones all operate on prepaid phone cards), handkerchiefs (everyone carries them to deal with the sweat, myself included), watches and greeting cards.

Once you reach the station which is just a large open parking lot, you find your matatu. <

> If you don't know which matatu to take there are boys right there who have the job of telling people where to go. If they bri

ng someone to a matatu they get a little tip. You can also just listen because the captain of each matatu will be outside of it calling out the destination. It is an incredibly hectic place with lots of yelling, honking, but sensory overload is part of the public transportation experience and charm.

The matatus are the most common, cheapest and many times entertaining of all the types of transport. In fact tatu is the word for three and ma- is added when there is an amount of something so matatu means three, which is how much it used to cost in shillings for a ride. At least that is according to the Rough Guide to Kenya. Matatus are 14 passenger vans, but the engine is under the front seats. There are two people who run each matatu: the driver and the captain. The captain is in charge of collecting the fares, telling the driver when to stop to let people off, and recruiting more passengers after people have alighted. There is a lot of yelling involved with his job. Then are the drivers. Some drivers make you feel like you are in a video game because they drive so fast and crazy, but 90% of the time I feel totally safe riding in the matatus.

On a given day, transportation is one of the most interesting parts sometimes in a good way, sometimes not. Here are a few pictures! I have always wanted to take pictures of the insides of matatus. They are often themed and, in my opinion, pretty artistic, so maybe that will be in an upcoming post:)

a few thoughts

So I have found myself having small bits of time where I feel like writing a bit and I think this is probably a better way for me to do my blog. Last time, I felt like I needed to write really important, well-written pieces on here. I may put some of those in, but I'll mostly just use it as a way of updating people about what I am up to.

Saturday, August 22

I am sitting on the steps outside my apartment. Around me I hear the call to prayer being sang at several different mosques simultaneously. Sometimes it sounds like a jumble of noise, but today it is nice. Several beautiful tunes, all of them saying “Allah au Akbar” in different ways. There is one that has emerged as my favorite and I catch myself singing along to the Imamu’s beautiful tenor voice each time I hear it through out the day. I often stop, feeling that singing along is not something that I am supposed to be doing. I asked Abdul if that was ok, to sing along and he shook his head. I guess this makes sense, but it feels like such a contrast from what I am used to in a church. I have met so many Muslim people over the last year, but Islam still remains largely a mystery to me. Now the sun has gone down completely and the neighborhood is closing their fast after the first day of Ramadhan. I am now staying in Old Town, the historic Swahili neighborhood of Mombasa. Nearly everyone living here is Muslim, or so it seems to me anyway. I remember last year when I tried fasting and the excitement I felt that first day when the sun went down and we got to eat. I have the feeling that around me in the stacked apartments and crowded houses, there are a lot of people who have that same feeling of relief right now.

I find that I am still in the honeymoon phase of being back, especially when it comes to Kenyan food. I am back in the land of mangos, avocados, grilled meat, deep fried everything and spiced chai. On top of that Ramadan is the season of good eating.  Yesterday I stopped by one of the food stands that pops up only at this time of year and found a whole table of goodies. There was the typical mahamri, which are triangular doughnuts, some doughnut hole type sweets rolled in sugar and simosas with beef and onion filling. But then there were all these other things, like ground cowpeas deep fried, mashed potato balls stuffed with beef and deep fried (sensing a theme yet?) that I had not seen since last year! And dates! Tons and tons of dates. I was making dinner for some friends so it seemed like a good excuse to get a sampling of what this man was selling. It was a great dinner and I want to go back and ask the man selling the food if he will teach me to make the cowpea things. Wow, it wounds really good now. Tonight I had ramen (ew, I know, I was tired).  Recipes, if I can get them, will be forthcoming (Not the ramen).

One thing I have gotten really into is using this masala tea mix. It is a mixture of cinnamon, ginger, cardamon, nutmeg, cloves. This is part of the Indian influence here on the coast. Holy smokes, that stuff is good. It is meant for tea, but you can put it into coffee too which is quite good. I have also started mixing it into my oatmeal, rice pudding, and pretty much anything sweet.

August 24, 2009

Being back feels like coming home in a way that I did not quite expect. I know my way around town, I can hold basic conversations in Swahili, I have a lot of friends and people who have come to feel like family here. I knew I was returning to a place and people I knew, but somehow being here and seeing them is more comforting than I anticipated. I think part of the amount of time to plan for this. And what tends to happen when I have a lot of lead time (and this certainly happened before my original trip here), is that there is an enormous amount of time to project what things are going to be like, what I am going to feel. And somehow, in my mind, who I am at home, and who I “will be” when I get to Mombasa feel like they are going to be two different people. It seems silly, but I find it hugely comforting that I am, in fact, the very same person. I think we expect ourselves to change a bit when we travel away from home.

September 6, 2009

Three and a half weeks in to my stay here and things are still going very well. Since I arrived I was staying at my friend Alia’s place. I have just moved to Nyali, the area north of Mombasa, to live with my friend Kati for the next month. She has a lot of traveling to do and two boys (Malcom, 12 and Caleb, 9 almost 10), so I am going to look after them while she is away. So I have a few weeks to find my own place, hopefully back in Old Town.

Work has gotten off to a good start. I am learning all of the ins and outs of the FSD policy and trying to read all of their extensive material. In the next three weeks or so we are doing a comprehensive impact assessment of all of the FSD projects that have been undertaken in the past three and a half years. It is a good step for us because we often have a good idea about how some projects help the targeted communities in the short term, but we don’t always know if the projects are sustaining themselves and achieving the longer term goals. We are hoping that this gives us better information about our impact, help us better train our interns and figure out better ways of supporting our partner organizations. So far we have met with a few organizations and the feedback has been positive. More information to come once we have actual concrete data.

Let’s see other than that, my birthday this week was just fine. I didn’t do anything super exciting to celebrate 26 years. I had to work all day Friday, my boss brought in a yummy chocolate cake, then we went out to eat for lunch and had some delicious chicken biriani. In the evening I got home and there was a leak in the water heater and the kitchen flooded. After we cleaned that up I made a nice dinner of mshakiki (think the best shish kebobs you have ever eaten) with Abdul and watched Little Miss Sunshine. It was pretty low-key and felt sort of unlike a birthday, but it is hard to have a party during Ramadan, because it is a time of fasting and prayer, so a lot of friends would not be able to make it.  Ok I am off to a friend’s going away party. More to follow.

Love from Kenya,

Mary