"Rain," Sierra sighed as she put her phone on the table, "it's all rain." We looked at each other. I assessed the reaction of the others. "Oh well!" Florence declared, "Mombasa, here we come." We had only been working at our placements for a week, but the possibility of a beach escape with fellow Westerners was too appealing. We boarded the bus at 10:00pm and hoped that the forecast would reconsider.
There were ten of us in all. I spotted Nolan, my airport pick-up buddy, by his army-green hat and scruffy beard. We hadn't seen each other since orientation took us on our separate ways. It felt like I was reconnecting with a long lost friend, yet we hardly knew each other.We settled down on the bus, each claiming two consecutive seats of luxury bedding. Ten hours on the road was a completely reasonable journey considering my 30 hour trip just a week before.
By 5:00am I was awake and watching the sun encroach on the horizon. We watched in silence as locals skipped along the side of the road, heading to work at the break of dawn. Mombasa's city center was the usual bustle of taxis and buses. Sand dusted the streets and collected at the median. Wind from the coast left buildings filed down, looking soggy and tired. It seemed as if the Indian Ocean took its strength out on the beach towns just the same as the Atlantic and the Pacific.
We divided into taxis to take the remaining miles to the hostel in Diani Beach. The city streets eventually gave way to the rural scenery. We spotted beautiful homes scattering sparingly. Muslim girls were walking to Saturday school in their uniforms. Few words were exchanged as we absorbed a different side of Kenya. We stopped once to let a troop of baboons cross the road.
The others had already arrived by the time we entered the hostel. Some were settling in to a much deserved breakfast, others were taking advantage of the 24 hour bar. It was 8:00am and we had just arrived in paradise. The beach was a stone's throw from our beds and our available activities ranged from camel rides to snorkeling to nights clubs down the road.
White sand and blue waves expanded in both directions. Fishing boats made from tree trunks decorated the horizon. We walked past the camels that would later scoop us up and sway down the sand. After picking a spot that seemed clear of fishlines, we dove into the warm, shallow water. Our swim didn't last long; the waves stood up taller and the rain hit the sides of our faces, at first warm and delicate, then harder and with more passion.
We decided to find a matatu to take us into town. Before we reached the main road to hail one, locals were shouting to us, trying to outsell the other drivers to profit from mzungu prices. A car picked at random and 30 shillings later, we hopped out to find the familiar store called Nakumatt. It's equivalent would be a Target or a Walmart, selling cheap products from camping gear to toothpaste, all packaged for Western eyes.
I scoured the aisles for a sleeping bag. I would need one for the hostel tent I had booked. As I passed the shelves, I saw many sales associates gathered around the TV mounted on the wall. They were watching live coverage from Nairobi. A shopping mall called Westgate was under attacked. Westerners were the suspected target. It was 10 minutes away from where we had hopped the bus just twelve hours before.
I found the others and we stated our speculations. But our main feeling was relief. Our trip to Mombasa couldn't have had better timing.
Back at the hostel, I got a hold of Mom and Dad. It was about 5 or 6 in their morning their time, but I knew they would hear the news when I had already gone to sleep. I reassured them that I was safe in Mombasa, half a days travel from the chaos in Nairobi.
I hung up and reflected. I had originally said no to the weekend trip. What would I have done during my weekend in Nairobi? Gone to the Monkey Center? Probably. Met up with other friends? Most likely. Explored the giant shopping mall that catered to mzungus desperate for Western norms? No doubt. I shook off the shivers that found their way down my back and turned towards the pool. The bar had already turned on its neon lights and music boomed across the yard. I put a Tusker on my tab and joined the others in conversation. We didn't speak about Westgate Mall for the rest of the night. We assumed it would be resolved in the morning.
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