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Kikambala & Mombassa


View Manic Mission Africa on ManicDave's travel map.

30th December 2006 to 6th January 2007

Friday 29th
Claus, the Danish seven-toed Jesus look alike, and the two American dykes Lee and Katia, met up with me in Kilifi late on Friday. I had invited them to join me at the timeshare resort for a week over New Year.
Claus had previously expressed his desire to ‘ditch the bitches’, and that evening I discovered why. They disappeared with the car keys, demanded we join them for drinks at a place we had no idea how to find, and four hours later had the cheek to blame us! Their attitude sucked and it was clear to me that they hated men in general.
I had previous experience of evicting undesirable hangers-on, once they had overstayed their welcome, so I hatched a plan to get rid of them. It involved Claus and I visiting the Mnarani Ruins at 05:00 the next morning in order to get good light for photography.
Saturday 30th I woke up at 04:00 to the now regular beautiful chanting of a young boy in the ‘call-to-prayer’ for any Muslims eager enough to get up and attend Mosque. I recorded it on my iPod with surprisingly good results and played it every now and then, as meditation music or entertainment.
I collected all my belongings, woke up Claus (he was sleeping in the car’s rooftop tent) and as quietly as possible, removed the dykes remaining belongings from the car and put them in my room.
We sneaked out of there unnoticed with smug looks on our faces, like naughty little boys. Mission accomplished.
The plan worked perfectly and both of us remembered the famous line from the A Team: “I love it when a plan comes together!” We gloated all the way to Kikambala (when we weren’t dodging giant potholes in the dark).
We arrived at the Royal Reserve Safari and Beach Club at 06:00, looking very out of place in the plush five-star timeshare resort. Fortunately we were greeted by the night staff at the end of their shift, and all the guests were sound asleep. Our unit wasn’t ready yet, so we were given keys to a luxury suite to clean ourselves up. Life was good! We enjoyed the sauna and steam room, and came out squeaky clean.
While exploring the resort, we discovered the beauty salon. They didn’t do much business as the majority of hotel guests were local Kenyans and not that into manicures, pedicures, massages and the like.

For some reason Clause decided he needed a pedicure (after I explained to him what it entailed). We drove a hard bargain after intimidating and embarrassing the staff into taking 40% of the price as there were only two toes on one of his feet (the big toe counted for two, so he was missing four).
I explained to the masseuse the concept of taking on her client’s negative energy, and manipulated her into letting me give her a full body massage, tit-for-tat, I do her – she does me.

My ex-wife and sister were classic examples of the negative energy transfer concept and I always had to beg them for a massage (I wasn’t a paying customer). She enjoyed my strong hands and technique (self-taught) as well as my own blend of massage oil which was a concoction of Olbas eucalyptus oil and pure essential rose geranium oil from our Karoo farm
Three hours later I plutzed on the ‘fold-out-of-the-wall’ hotel bed, naked and in front of satellite TV, the aircon blasting an arctic breeze over my serene body. The timeshare was a godsend, and we were both extremely grateful, but also strangely guilty, like we didn’t deserve it all.
The resort was mainly occupied by wealthy Kenyans, with only a handful of Mzungus, none of which were eligible or available (for some fun/sex).
The Royal Reserve was to be our home for the next week, and it was just the two of us, as Mia the New Yorker had cancelled at the last minute. She didn’t want to start her African safari in luxury and have less time in Ethiopia.
Claus and I had nothing to complain about, as we each had our own cavernous air-conditioned bedroom with en-suite bathroom. We watched satellite movies inside our own chilly cocoon, and when we were bored of that, we took dips in the Trompe l’Oeil swimming pool which blended into the ocean, meters from our ground floor balcony, pure bliss.
Eat, sleep, shit, we had copious amounts of all, and it was all top quality. We took advantage of the free shuttle bus to the Nakumatt in Mombassa. It was the biggest Mega store I have even seen. It consisted of three floors containing gardening, hardware, appliances, groceries, restaurants, video rentals, internet, post office etc.
Half a dozen heavy bags full of munchies and a hefty bill later, we returned to cook up a storm. I was in my element.

We got hooked on tennis, playing barefoot and topless and taking smoke and refreshment breaks in between sets. Claus got stoned before and during our matches, so he didn’t realise/care that he had developed several blisters under the apres-pedicured, baby soft soles of his feet.
I removed my cornrows as they were annoying me. They were too tight and uncomfortable while I was sleeping. We spent New Years Eve watching Papa Wemba, the legendary Congolese jazz singer with his own unique style, all in French.
It was held at Mombassa’s exclusive Sai Resort and was attended by the crème de la crème of Kenyan society, along with a few old sad Mzungu Europeans who had found local love in the small villages.

Woman in their late 50’s were accompanied by Rastafarian beach boys in their teens and old men had young nubile girls clinging to them, all of whom seemed to be in a win-win situation. I suppose the Mzungus get sex and ‘unconditional love’, and the locals get financial security and a trip to Europe every year.
The fireworks on the beach were impressive and we joined in with our own bazooka fire crackers that were louder than gunshots! A Ugandan prostitute tried her luck with me, but I wasn’t that horny (actually I was, but not that desperate or stupid). We partied till sunrise at Bamburi’s infamous nightclubs, which attracted a slightly wild crowd of locals, tourists, prostitutes and hustlers. We weren’t happy that the Mamba International nightclub was closed. The Lonely Planet says: “who knows what twisted genius thought it was a good idea to have a disco in a crocodile farm”!
The following evening we found a casino, left with a lot of their money and ate plates of their food.

We also played 10-pin bowls and watched Sasha Baron Cohen’s brilliant film Borat, “for make benefit glorious nation of Kazakhstan”. After the hilarious commercials and before the main feature started, everyone rose, their right hand covering their chest, and sung the Kenyan national anthem. That, together with the fact that every establishment/business MUST display a portrait of the President (that they have to pay for) seemed to me to be a mild form of indoctrination. During the proceedings, we remained seated, struggling to contain our laughter.

On the way back home, (the nightlife was an hour away on a pot-holed road with some asphalt making an appearance every now and then) we stopped at the same place we were at for New Years Eve. We played pool until sunrise and fended off the scores of young girls who tried every move in the book to come home with us.
Eventually Jesus and Gabriel (our stage names, Claus was Jesus and I was the Archangel Gabriel) picked two out the bevy. It was a difficult choice. They came home with us and spent the night (morning) and then the entire day. Both girls decided to braid my hair, again, as well as the mutual massage thing with both of them.

My hair was now a complete mess, so on the day before we set out, I visited the salon again and they twisted my rubber arm to get the job done properly, using extensions. After bargaining the price down (I got it for half price as I had bought three bags of multi colored elastics the day before, which they now had to pull out). All three staff members began the laborious task of removing the elastics, untwisting my hair, and then attaching brown, yellow and blue ‘hair’ to my head.

I was preparing a chicken to roast for our last night out, when I tried to look like the creature from the movie Predator. At the time I really thought it was an authentic impersonation. So did Claus.

I decided it would be fun to travel with Claus for a week en route to Nairobi. We cleaned out his overlander, which was a fully equipped Toyota Hilux 4x4 double cab PETROL with Technichest (a big grey plastic contraption with storage compartments that fits onto the back of the truck) and large rooftop tent.

Early on Saturday morning we set off hoping to reach the slopes of the majestic Mount Kilimanjaro…

Posted by ManicDave 06:06 Archived in Kenya Tagged backpacking

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