Congo River Beach Feast

Kyle seemed to know his way around Kenya and all the newbie volunteers trusted and admired him. He was one of the few who came to Kenya and made a life out of it. He was hosting a seafood bonfire dinner on Congo River Beach and we were all invited

Twelve of us hopped in the back of a pickup truck. We made a quick pit-stop at Nakumatt for cooking supplies before carrying on to the beach. The sun was quickly setting and we immediately began preparing for our meal: digging pits in the sand for fire, chopping onions and tomatoes, purchasing fish and squid and prawns. It was going to be a feast.

We mingled, meeting other volunteers, hearing about their placement, discovering the motivations that led them to Kenya in the first place. In between beers and bonding, waves of seafood that had been cooked in the sand were spread out on top of Kyle's surfboard or flattened cardboard boxes. The calamari looked like giant rubberbands as they bounced in between the two ten-pound snappers caught just hours before. They were smothered in garlic and lemon and the hardened squid ink made each band look burnt and charred. The taste, however, was absolute heaven. We laughed and stared at each other in amazement, sitting down in the sand to claim territory in front of the best calamari I've ever eaten in my life.

The sky got darker as the stars got brighter, twinkling their lights and showing off. Some became unhinged and hurtled across the sky, exiting as quickly as they came. We didn't recognize the moon at first. The horizon seemed to be studded with ships drifting in the night, their cabins illuminated. It was only when a local pointed to the orb that had risen ever so slightly above the water that we discovered it. The moon had started so low, orange like an ember. We could see all it's craters and dents, the shadows seemed to undulate with the water. Over time it rose and took its familiar form, white and small, a keeper of the night.

With satisfied appetites and sleepy eyes, we rode back to the hostel. It was Sunday so the pool-side bar was quiet, the barkeep sleeping underneath the counter, half expecting one of us to disturb him for spirits. Eventually we all fell asleep, some outside on the couches, others in their tents. A few were able to find open beds inside the dorms. Beds were not strictly assigned.

Our bus reservation to Nairobi was scheduled for the following night. I wondered, as I wrapped myself in a thick blanket and settled into the hard ground, whether we would keep to our original plan.