Interesting tides

There is much to enjoy in Mombassa: the coast is beautiful, the food is excellent and the architecture is fascinating (especially if you fancy ornate, wooden balconies…who doesn’t?!). It is a 24-hour city: small cafes are open day and night (but closed for prayer of course) selling chapattis and Kenyan pizza (a square and compact omelette sandwich with mince) and balmy nights invite whole families outside as they sit in colourful robes discussing the matters of the day watching children play in the narrow streets. The old town of Mombassa is charming but in need of intervention. The few buildings that have official heritage status are well preserved but there are not many of them. The lack of services is discernable and I was pleased that I did not walk through some of the narrow alleys on my own. It is a dense urban environment, sometimes claustrophobic, knowing that one can escape to the seafront on the edges of the island is somehow reassuring.

If you catch the tide at the right time you can swim in the beautiful warm ocean.

While sitting next to the old harbour drinking flagrant black coffee infused with ginger and cardamom, my local friend (and self-appointed tour guide extraordinaire) informed me that this was a ritual to many: sitting on the sea front, staring at the ocean, talking about politics and chewing mari, a local plant, also known as Kenyan Lettuce, that ‘helps you see things clearly’. His description of this experience sounded vaguely hallucinogenic, my suspicions were confirmed by the look of serenity and peaceful oblivion on the lined face of the elderly gentleman sitting behind me. He was chewing with dignity, my friend said, sitting upright, shoes off, impeccable white muslim dress, perfectly perched; unlike the others around us, he continued, chewing open-mouthed, spitting in an undignified way and clearly too young to handle the stuff. I was too distracted by the activity in the water to pay much attention: crossing the bay to the South were two swimmers doing a beautiful butterfly stroke across the bay. I was impressed with the deft confidence with which one crossed back, jumped out of the water and bounded up the steps behind us. Another daily ritual for some, I am told, and one only for men. Being a swimmer myself I found this aspect of the custom strangely ancient and annoying; what the ocean is off limits to women?!

Perhaps the tide has to change in more ways than one for some.