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shikungigi · 5 years

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First of all, I know their ancestors were our colonizers but I love a lot of British things. The accent. The history. The series that come from that place: Sherlock. Merlin. The Bodyguard. The Crown (the reason I subscribed to Netflix). Arsenal at a certain teenage point in my life. A lot of things. Bernard’s Watch. Bless This House. I can still hear the theme song in my head as I type this. Like I said, a lot of things.

So I will not say I was not super pumped to step on that soil earlier this year.

Sasa the only problem was the weather. You step out of the airport and it finally hits you how cold it is. I have never been that cold in my life. And don’t forget the heat that we have been having until recently around here. At least the weather is changing polepole. I am telling you I had not worn a sweater for months this 2019 apart from that moment in London. And I am the girl that is teased for always being in sweaters by some people I will not mention. Brace yourselves my Naija brothers and sisters. The. Sweaters. Are. Back.

Back to the London cold. I had underestimated it. My colleagues and I walked out of the automatic doors, bags in tow, into the cold air and I wanted to scream. First of all, I had not unpacked my warm jacket, so I was just in my hoodie that is normally overly warm in Nairobi. Weh. Mimi ni nani? I decided to brave it. We followed the signs to find to the Tube. That’s what’s they call the London Underground trains there, so we actually got totally confused when we realized following the train signs lead to you to something else entirely. Thankfully, there is a helpful tourist centre with staff that guide you, but not before you bump into some random hustler who will try to get you to buy some weird tickets to nowhere you know. Fishy people are everywhere, not just pale Archives. LOL.

We got the Oyster cards that let you get into any public transport to use all week then headed down to the tube. At this point, you can imagine we were being very careful with the stops and signs because Shiku is very prone to getting lost in new places but is still the one who wants to demonstrate confidence in knowing where we are. LOL.

We eventually got to London Bridge, our station of arrival. Sasa hapa ndipo ngoma ingine ikaanza. First, I am cold and the one who has the offline map downloaded, so I have to expose my bare hands in the cold cold air. And it’s more than a kilometre walk to somewhere you have never been before, dragging bags. Sigh. But ujuaji na kuchocha is fantastic, and you have to end up where you were instructed to end up. So we walk in the near empty streets up and down to Bermondsey. I could not pronounce this word right until the last last days.

By the time we got settled into our rooms, I did not want to talk to anyone or eat or do anything. I just wanted to shower and sleep in the warmth. And that is exactly what I did. From like 4PM to 6AM. :joy: Best feeling in the world.

Finally, I could now shake off my disorientation and enjoy cold London. The walk to the office was the best, because it was across Tower Bridge. I was gawking all through, inside my warm clothes, looking like an eskimo. Pictures were taken.

Fast forward to the moments we could see stuff after work hours. Btw don’t ever let anyone lie to you about how they normally have the time of their lives when they travel for work. Issa lie. You have to squeeze that time in. You are there for work anyway. Who do you think you are? Asi. I can even tell you without exaggerating that the only day I walked around places in broad daylight was Saturday, just before our flight back.

Stratford City Mall is this huge thing that has all the shops for kawaida mwananchi like me, including, of course, Primark. Woi, but this Primark be dirty oo. In the fitting room, I near puked. I am not even kidding you. Beggars will not be choosers. And you can bet I bumped into a Kenyan in there.

Tower Bridge

Tower Bridge at night

View from Tower Bridge

Same view at night

Buckingham palace golden-ness

Buckingham Palace

Flowers 🙂

Guard who did not flinch lol

Westminster Abbey

Houses of Parliament

Big Ben. Just look at it. My dream of London was not complete without seeing that big clock.

Churchill overlooking the Houses of Parliament

The super crowded Borough Market

Yay, I’m on a double-decker.

Real English Breakfast. At this joint, I felt like I was on Tom Mboya Street.

Fish n Chips!

Oxford Street

da Tube

I made an appearance on Oxford Street just because my colleague insisted it is the shopping street of shopping streets. But mimi I don’t leave my Ukikuyu behind. I did not buy a single thing on that street. Too expensive. I’d rather come back with my pounds. But if I was super rich, I’d have bought every item in the GAP store.

I got on a double-decker bus that night. And as expected, I got lost. I got off the wrong bus stop and had to let Google take me round in circles before I got back to the hotel. LOL.

Loved the fish and chips!

Remember my Arsenal teenage love? Of course I had to get on the tube and go to Arsenal. I mean? Plus my brothers are cray Arsenal fans, so I had to grab a few things for the men in my life who support the club.

Also, my friends, I love the British Monarchy. Buckingham Palace was a must. Just watching those guards matching back and forth across the courtyard for no reason was interesting. It is totally crowded though so getting a clear pic is hard work. Plus the whole Westminster area with the Westminster Abbey and Big Ben (which totally confused me because I had forgotten it is under construction).

In short, that was pretty much most of it. I would go back to London again and again. Hopefully I can see the Tower Bridge being lifted then. And it will be summer. And I can go to 221B Baker Street. And I can dine at The Shard. And Madame Tussauds.

Lovely London First of all, I know their ancestors were our colonizers but I love a lot of British things.

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shikungigi · 5 years

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Joburg in a Jiffy

I have stared at this white space for a minute now.

A lot can go through your mind when you have a lot to do. And when several new things are happening in your life.

Like when you get into a flight and find familiar food, because it’s KQ and you’re at home in the air. And you can now be easy on them for always delaying flights.

When you land and people clap, because you left the…

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shikungigi · 5 years

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29 at 29 As I enter my 30th year, a a few somethings from 2018: You may start the year with all the resolutions in the world (even when you've never been a resolutions kind of person), but the year may shock you in both good and bad ways by giving you its own resolutions for you.

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shikungigi · 6 years

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After getting lost in Madrid, I came back to my comfort zone for a week then headed out the next Saturday to Marseille. I was very anxious about this trip to France because it was going to be loooooong. When I say long, I mean very long. Why? Because cheap is expensive. As a newbie, I am not an expert at looking at the best flights with the shortest layovers, neither was my friend. Plus we let these flight booking sites trick us with their cookies. So much so that we later discovered that people who booked different flights months after, all got even cheaper rates and better flights. SMH. So it’s not even a matter of cheapness, it’s inexperience.

Anywho, the day came and I got relieved a bit. Etihad Airways is a cool airline with female and male cabin crew that sport very striking lipstick and perfect hair cuts respectively. And it was my first time on such a large plane. I sat next to this American girl who was quite chatty at the beginning, with some braids on her blonde hair. LOL. Total hippie. Plus since we booked these flights via Alitalia originally, I could not book seats in advance so I ended up next to the lavatories. LOL. So you keep hearing that loud vacuum flushing all the time. I can’t seem to remember what I watched during this leg. I think it was The 15:17 to Paris. I had to Google the title now. I was not sleepy yet, the best was yet to come. I got to Abu Dhabi at some minutes to 9. A few minutes into walking into the terminal, I met up with this other Kenyan who had an even longer layover, but we lost each other at the security check.

Abu Dhabi International Airport is a real swanky airport. They have poured a lot of their abundant money into making it the airport of choice for layovers. I was going to spend 6 hours here, so I decided to find the best seats in the terminal of my next flight. If I was sleepy, these would have been very helpful. I was not. Yet. I grabbed something to eat and chat up my people. I am not exactly sure what I did for the rest of the six hours. What I remember is too much a/c and people running across the terminal to their flights. I finally moved down to my gate about an hour to my flight. I was obviously starting to get real tired, so I did not like the next flight much. But hold that thought.

Real nice, right?

I think this is when I watched The Greatest Showman in my utter fatigue. And even then, I was so enraptured by the movie, even in this poor airplane quality amidst that continuous annoying drone, I cannot stop playing the soundtrack album now. A Million Dreams is playing in my ears right now, while I’m in the belly of a different drone — a hairdryer. I will not deny I watched it on and off, between dozing off, trips to the loo and munching some bits and pieces of Etihad supper. That notwithstanding, I really had to fight off my tears, an endeavour I failed at miserably. I ended up with a serious lump of pain in my throat by the end of it. If you’re into musicals or looking for a movie you can watch with little ones, I think this is it. I am definitely rewatching it in better quality soon.

Off to Fiumicino, Aeroporti di Roma (Rome) a.k.a. Leonardo da Vinci, my last and longest layover before Marseille. And the 8 hours were tortuuuuuure. I got there some minutes to 7AM, Sunday. And let us not forget crossing time zones just makes it even more confusing. Abu Dhabi is an hour ahead of us. Rome is 2 hours behind us. I think. And remember, I have not really slept since 8AM, Saturday. We all squeeze into the transfers hall which seems a bit too cramped for my liking and I already know I will not like my stay at this airport. The only flashy things that could not help me one bit were the luxury stores across Terminal E on two floors. I was in Italy, after all. Dolce&Gabbana. Pandora. Gucci. Burberry. The seats were not going to help in my sleepy misery, so I just sat there and played with my phone until my flight was finally displayed on the screens. I went through passport control as I was now really entering the Schengen area and went on to more shops and uncomfortable chairs. Try as I might, I could not sleep. So, again, I do not know what I did with those 8 hours. This is also mixed with the fact that I could have sworn I watched Modern Family for hours on Netflix but I can neither confirm this from my watch history nor from searching on Netflix. I was definitely not day-dreaming because my Google history tells me I was on Netflix all afternoon. But the other Google says Modern Family has never been on Netflix. Wacha tuachie hapo kwanza. What I am sure about is that I finally found myself inside a small Alitalia flight to Marseille in the early evening. I sat next to a polite boy who was all Bonjour on me. That was the first time I acted like I learnt French from my mum.

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———————————————————— Marseille is definitely hot. It’s a coastal town. I have never been happier to alight from anything in my life like I was when we did at Marseille. I just wanted to sleep! The immigration lines were so long I almost gave up. But since I had already got the stamp in Rome, the guy did not look at my passport twice. I ventured out into the Arrivals hall to wait for my people to get me. We headed out into the Alps (Alpes in French) some minutes after that. This is where we were going to spend most of the time in France. Destination, a little village called Saint Jacques. Why? Wedding Bells!!!!! How? All under the auspices of my dear loving friend Leilah and her very beautiful family. Just writing this almost made me tear up, so let me stop and will pick that up later. In private. Where no peering eyes are wondering why this crazy black girl is crying on a plane. LOL. I have clearly written this post for many days in different places and spaces, so don’t even try to envision my writing pattern.

So from Marseille, the capital of Provence-Alpes-Côte d’Azur region (south-East France basically), the roads are a delight. They literally pay for them highways at toll gates. Cars stick to the right here too. I will never get used to that. The drive was a feast for my sore eyes as we drew nearer to the Alps. I temporarily forgot I was tired and sleepy. My new road trip friends offered some very sweet bread too. I mean, how else was I to really know I was in France? There was a bit of a drizzle too. Darkness had covered the mountains by the time we got to the village. And that is to say a lot considering the sun goes down late. Again, a warm welcome awaited us as the family ushered us into the most ageless home I have ever walked into right next to a church. I remember walking in and commenting on how I smelt history around. And great food! And books! And French! Oh my goodness. Was I not supposed to be sleepy btw?

After the warm dinner, mamé walked us to what we would call home for the next few days. I was in awe. This was the second most antique home I had ever walked into. She showed us everything and kept apologizing because she believed this was not good enough for us. I was confused. Why was she apologizing? This was like walking through a dream for me. Like walking into one of those fairy tales I had read as a kid. Red Riding Hood, perhaps. Or living inside the set of Once Upon A Time. Just look at these pics and tell me I am wrong?

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Anyway, I finally got over my awe and slept like a log. I think we woke up at 11 the next day. On a Monday. I mean, what else would I want in life than to wake up like that and open wooden shutters into the most awe-inspiring view of the Alps outside. Sigh. I want to go back.

Monday was chill, with more bread, cheese, chicken and sausages. We had lunch outside in the luscious green compound outside the main house. Then we attended mass in the church. Legitimately the most ancient church I have walked into. The experience was made all the more exotic because most of the mass was in French. I could not wait for the next day, wedding day!

And it came! A beautiful summer morning with everyone getting ready for the occasion. Leilah looked exquisite! She has always had a way with elegant gowns. Speaking of elegance, the wedding was the epitome of admirable simple-elegance. Sorry, what did you say? I can’t make up words? Not today. It made me rethink my whole wedding dream. I do think that the fact that we were already in a naturally beautiful place that needed no expensive and unnecessary decor contributed to this. And the people who streamed in to share in this joy. What else do you really need? Nothing. It was a lovely ceremony which included the baptism of the couple’s adorable baby girl. You should have seen me singing along to French hymns! 😀 You would have thought I had been there for months.

After the church ceremony, we spent some time out in the sun on some drinks and snacks. We then headed out to the wedding party. It was an intimate affair, not much different from the Kenyan ones we know with speeches and good food. Let me not talk too much about this from here. I will let the pictures do that for us.

The evening was wonderful! I never thought I could dance in public until this night. I guess I was still in a dream. We danced for hours in the open to all kinds of tunes, from African to pop, to reggae and samba. Suffice to say, my limbs were in pain the next day. I got over that real quick though as we headed out for a little hike in the Alps that afternoon. The views here are to die for, even when you’re not into climbing stuff. Worry not. You can just come here to stare.

The weather has a funny way of communicating, because after all the sun, the Alps decided it was time for rain on Thursday. So we tucked in and spent the rest of the day just making some Kenyan noise and eating. I could have sworn I had gained many kilos during my stay here but I actually didn’t.

We headed back to Marseille, with a short stopover at Gap. A little town that left nothing imagination, especially after experiencing dreamy Alps, but I did love these!!!

I got to experience Marseille for a few hours when the temperatures had dipped a little this time. The sights from Basilique Notre Dame de la Garde were amazing, including the sunset.

I also got to feast on the biggest burger I have seen in my life. Generally the short experience in France encouraged me in my quest to learn French. And to experience the love of a people brought together by love that supersedes all the many unnecessary complications we insist on bringing upon ourselves. The next time I am back there (because there will be a next time), I will have more to say about the city. Or maybe even drop by Paris. No, not maybe. Definitely. By then, I will be a master of French.

For now, I bow out, with a dreamy smile on my

&nface. À bientôt, mon amis!

An Alpine Affair After getting lost in Madrid, I came back to my comfort zone for a week then headed out the next Saturday to Marseille.

#Alps #France #French #Love #Marseille #wedding

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shikungigi · 6 years

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It’s been a while since I wrote. I guess I keep saying that. But oh well, here we are again.

Anyway, this post is going to be about Spain. A week ago, I was in Madrid (Or rather, when I started writing this post it was a week ago). And that was fun. Let’s list the fun stuff.

The first thing that hit me when we landed in Madrid (after the air conditioning) was the heat. And then how normal it seemed. I am sorry but I am one of those people who have always thought the West is this amazing place that has another kind of look and feel that is nowhere near Africa. Like maybe it is full of the bright HD computer generated scenery we see on TV. For starters, the air was the same air. And I was still the same person. LOL. Ushamba nayo?

Madrid was haaaat. Super hot. 40 degrees hot when I checked. Our flight there was not my favourite in my short experience flying. EgyptAir. The only thing I really loved from that was the layover in Cairo, not because it was a superb airport or anything but because the view of Cairo from above the amazing. It’s like they live in these many organized box-like estates that look like symmetrical cuboids from above.

When you land in Madrid and get to customs, they don’t even ask many stories. Passport, stamp, welcome. Everything was planned out for us by our lovely colleague when we got there. The driver could speak English. He drove like a Kenyan though, going way faster than the speed limit signs. We got to Santo Domingo at about 5 on Sunday. The apartment was lovely! Definitely straight out of what I see on TV and what I want mine to look like. All I wanted to do was sleep. The last time I had slept was Saturday morning at 8AM. Everyone else went out. Yeah, I am the not-fun one. LOL. So I don’t really have much to say about that day. Oh, apart from the fact that when I woke up to have dinner at around 10pm, the sun was just setting.

I was so excited when I saw this just outside the apartment!

The next day was Metro day! I am very excited about the Metro and you will see why shortly. It saved my life.

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I am picking this post up many weeks later, because everyone will keep wondering why I said I will blog and I didn’t. The reason I decided to pick it up is my aunts who were all like “Urandeheire ki wathii Dubai?!” :joy: I swear my aunts will kill me with jokes one day. Seriously. How did I end up in Dubai? I bet that’s where everyone goes nowadays.

Before I tell you the Metro story. Some titbits.

The coffee comes in these little pods that you pop into these coffee makers I have never seen that mix it up really well and give you a cuppa. I took A WHOLE LOT of coffee here because of this.

The sockets are the two prong thingies, EU standard. Something else I did not know. I got the message from a colleague about it just when I was at JKIA, so I ended up buying an adapter that cost me an arm and a leg, but needless to say, it has saved everyone and their mother in these EU countries. Slight exaggeration, but let’s go with it.

The statues and monuments in Madrid are to die for. From Puerta de Alcala at the independence square that we walked past everyday, to all the ones we took pictures of during a scavenger hunt, the history here is rich. Even the architecture says it all. The doors, the paintings, the museums, the different entities celebrating centenary milestones. The buildings we spent the day in had this ancient lift, you know, the kind made of wood and glass and a metallic door that you close first before starting your ascent or descent.

Cars here stop for you, not the other way round. I remember a lot of us Africans trying to run across the road even at a zebra crossing, even though the lights had turned green for pedestrians. Even on the smaller lanes without lights, drivers simply stop, even when you’re not on the tarmac yet.

The parks. Oh my. Beautiful and free. And green. And expansive. Apparently, this is possible because people here are taxed bigtime. And all these taxes get ploughed back into the system for the good of everyone.

There were black guys everywhere hawking bags, sunglasses and stuff like that on the sidewalks. :O That surprised me, but I did not ask too many questions. I just assumed there are those guys we hear about who survive near-drowning on the strait of Gibraltar. Sad.

I did not like Spanish food. Period. Thank you. Or maybe I need to give you a reason… Let me think if I should.

Well, for starters, paellas. My goodness. The closest thing I found to flavour is one that had beans inside. But this was still a far-cry from pilau, for instance. Then they have many versions of this paella dish, including black paella which acquires its colour from squid ink. Squid ink, ladies and gentlemen! Lots of seafood. Lots of food I do not like, generally. Eventually, I had to put something I did not like in my mouth. I ate a clam. Bleugh. So in the end, we had a lot of Subway (lol) and other un-Spanish joints.

You can bet I did not eat this. I tried the one with the normal colours.

Apparently, to get in here, you pay 30 EUR.

Lots of Spanish flags on balconies. According to my Spanish colleague, it’s a message to Catalonians that Spain is “baba yao” or something of the sort. Oh, which reminds me, I did enjoy rabbit meat. Apparently, Ispania means the land of rabbits. When the Romans came to this land, they found lots of rabbits thus the name. Another thing I learnt from him. I was like, you know what, Ispania sounds like a Swahili word “panya” that means rat though. And immediately he laughed, Oh, that’s more like Catalonia. And I was like whoa! That escalated quickly. But then he was quick to proclaim that it’s just harmless banter for not spending much money. Also, he is not a fan of Barcelona. He was like, “Who is Messi?!!!” Also, a huge chunk of this conversation was probably misinterpreted because of the clear pitfalls of trying to direct translate Spanish into English. So…

PDA. The amount of PDA in this city, ladies and gentlemen. I just can’t.

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And now it’s Metro time!

So the Metro is the subway train that criss-crosses the city. It has very elaborate maps and in some stations, you can connect to other trains without getting out of the station. It works like clockwork. Very elaborate signs and announcements, albeit it Spanish but somehow you find your way after a while.

So one night, me and my girl are walking from Primark. This store is literally up the same street our apartment is on. We walk down another cobbled street to find a pharmacy, because she needs painkillers. Then we begin to walk back up and get derailed by this songbird who is singing so beautifully on the other side of the street. Up ahead, we find a souvenir shop and walk in. Lots of souvenir shops around here. I want to get a snow globe of Madrid but I’m like, no, let me check out another shop. So we keep walking. We eventually get into another shop and I get my snow globe.

I think this is when it happens. We take a wrong turn or the street morphs into something else. But if we’re being honest, I think the former happens. So we’re walking and suddenly I feel we’ve been walking for too long. It takes me a loooong time to admit we’re lost. Utterly and completely lost. And, even though we have been here for days, none of us has a SIM card for data/calls or Wi-Fi, so no, no Google Maps. So first reflex tells me I can turn in a certain direction and home will be right around the corner. I am wrong. Also, this is not an English-speaking country so asking anyone will not help much. I get the bright idea to immediately run towards any Metro station we see and find our way from there. My girl does not think that’s a good idea. She thinks we should take a taxi. We cross the street and try to tell one of the drivers to drive us there, but he keeps pointing and saying something we think means it is just around the corner.

By now, I am laughing and feeling stupid at the same time. My girl says we should just go back further and maybe then, a taxi driver will accept to take us home. Looool! I am telling you people malfunction when they are lost. By now we’re desperate and have been going round for maybe 30 minutes. She is in pain. I am still being a bit nonchalant about it because I cannot believe we’re lost going around in circles.

So you will never guess how we find our way back.

Yep.

The Metro.

I finally convince her to follow me down to the station. She has a card, but it’s maxed out. So I spend a whole 12 Euro for 10 trips because buying fewer trips is just expensive for no reason. Which makes no sense because we’ll be leaving in like a day or so but oh well. Now, we swipe ourselves inside this station. Looking at the maps and signs, none shows Santo Domingo, but we see a station we’ve been going through severally on our way back and forth. Sol. We’ll get there and find our way home. It’s almost midnight at this point but I am still putting on a straight face for the sake of my girl. We get to Sol. This, in my newbie brain, is like the mother of interchanges, with different arms going to different parts of the city. We walk through tunnels and escalators and then I am like, girl, wait here, let me run around and get you when I find the one that goes to Santo Domingo. By now, I am so full of I-can’t-believe-we’re-still-lost energy that I am running up stairs instead of getting back on the escalators.

Clearly, I found the train, otherwise I would not be in my warm bed in Muthiga writing this, or anywhere else for that matter. 😀 I was so elated, this time, I actually got on the escalators back down to find my girl. And then I emerged on the other side of the railway because I was clearly still directionless. My girl was so depressed but I was still laughing the whole time, telling her these were stories we would tell our grandkids. And then we finally got to Santo Domingo, where we were also lost on what exit would not lose us again, but a guard helped us get back to the right exit. When I got to the apartment, I could not stop laughing, trying to share this story with my other girl. Man, that whole thing was stupid. I laughed at myself in the shower and I laughed myself to sleep.

And just so you know, we got lost with a Madrid local leading us, on some other night because Madrid is truly a maze, even for them. So maybe we were not that stupid. Or I am just consoling myself.

One thing you can be sure of is this: I will never get lost in Madrid again.

Thanks for passing by, as always. :*

Madrid Maze It’s been a while since I wrote. I guess I keep saying that. But oh well, here we are again.

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shikungigi · 6 years

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Someone keeps saying I should do more travel pieces, but I keep fighting it, in the spirit of keeping things under wraps. But something changed this time, and I thought it’s good to talk about travelling in its true unInstagrammable form. It started with missing my flight. You do not want to ever miss your flight, friend. If you are going somewhere in the evening, just make sure you are at JKIA by afternoon, honestly. I fought against my very instinct and ended up leaving way later and then not using the bypass. So once we were stuck in Upper Hill traffic, I knew we were done for and just pretty much gave up.

You will meet drivers who think they know Nairobi shortcuts, those that lead you straight into the bowels of the traffic glut itself claiming there is less traffic in the tiny roads. It is painful. And, I, for one, will never take a bodaboda from CBD to JKIA to beat time. I am not crazy and I love myself too much. To cut the long story short, we ended up at the gate right at the minute it closed. After confusing ourselves for another many minutes and taking the wrong escalators and turns. LOL. Also, I was not laughing that time.

We had to make very quick decisions and pay the penalty for the next flight out at midnight. Through it all, my colleague thought I was in denial. I was so collected – like, this happens to me all the time sister, relax. My dad called and suggested I ask where Miguna had been staying so I can spend the time there as well. SMH. I counted the notes at that customer service desk and it all felt so surreal. The total penalty was more than the original flight cost. But later on my colleague reminded me to count my blessings. It could always be worse. The price of a lesson learnt far outweighs the experience. We might not even have had that money in the first place and could have missed the next flight altogether. I was supposed to be mad at someone for this but I was not. Did I forget to mention the part where I left something in the Uber because of the rush? I had to smile at so many men to go backwards through departures to the starting point to meet the driver at the terminal. This involved leaving my passport behind too and coming back to an immigration guy who wanted to play with my head and freak me out by not giving it back immediately.

Not the perfect start to a travel story, right? Wrong. This is the real deal.

Entebbe. Until this trip happened, it had not hit me that Entebbe is the main airport in Uganda, even with the movies made about the hijacking in 1976. I always thought Kampala had another. It’s like JKIA being in Limuru. I am not even kidding you. It takes about 50 minutes to fly to Entebbe. So when you get your stamp and head out through security, you realize how small the place is compared to where you came from and that you are 40km away from your destination. Also, the cars here are slightly older than the ones you see in Nairobi, but it is another Toyota land. A lot of Ubers and Taxifys are Spacios, Ipsums, Raums and whatever other Toyota that is in this family of cars. The driver educated me a lot during that one hour trip in the middle of the night. Apparently Toyota Wish is now taking over the taxi industry and the people who run the country are about to pass a bill reducing the age of cars allowed into the country like us.

Petrol stations. They. Are. So. Many. The whole stretch from Entebbe to Kampala probably has a hundred petrol stations. Or more. Or I am just exaggerating. One person told me it’s because no one travels on full tank here, so they need to have filling stations everywhere when the inevitable happens. There is a good amount of road construction going on to fix the traffic situation this side, but because kids were on holiday, I did not get to see the famed traffic in action.

So we get to Kampala Boulevard, our home for the week and who welcomes us? A napping security guard. No surprise there. I announce our final destination and he offers to walk us up. I almost fall over when he gets up and turns around. A huge AK 47 is hanging from his shoulder across his back. I look at my colleague in disbelief and she gives me the you-ain’t-seen-nothing-yet look – she has travelled to Uganda a lot before. I will have to do further research into how much safer Uganda is with guns as compared to Kenya and our detectors that I have always doubted do much at all those entrances.

The suite is real nice with a great view of this side of the city. The buildings are not as high as Nairobi’s. It’s also not cold. The warmth that I experience the next couple of days just makes me want to stay longer. Even when it showers, the change in temperature is minimal.

Café Javas. My friends. Have you sampled CJ’s on Koinange Street yet? You know, the beautiful new restaurant that’s almost all glass with the most beautiful popping menus I have ever seen and equally good food and service? Well. You ain’t seen nothing yet until you go to one of CJ’s mothers in Kampala, Café Javas. And in case you did not know why it is CJ’s, the two had previously fought the trademark battle in court in Uganda when Java was seeking to register its trademark in the country. Java won and now has branches in Kampala. We already know Uganda is very agriculturally rich, right? I mean, we nearly wept on our way back to the airport looking at tomatoes the size of fists sitting pretty in the sun in various markets along Kampala-Entebbe Road. Meanwhile, we’re buying beat-up tomatoes like gold on this other side of Lake Victoria. Sigh.

Anyway, back to Café Javas. In addition to the huge servings you get, with additions that make you want to ululate in exhilaration like Njugush, it is still cheaper than its equivalent in Kenya. I literally camped here the whole week, despite how packed it could get. Juzi I got a milkshake from Java and I wanted to cry. I felt so cheated. It suddenly felt watery. The shakes at Cafe Javas are heavenly. Did I mention the Pina Coladas! (Without rum, of course.) I guess I will never look at anything food related the same way again after Uganda. LOL. It suddenly makes more sense why the British with all their resources insisted on cutting through thickets, man-eaters, tribes with different temperaments, mountains and rift valleys to get to Uganda, the Pearl of Africa. I cannot even begin to get jealous. Idi Amin really did some serious injustice to the country.

Museveni. My fellow Kenyans, I was mistaken about him. This president is brilliant, very sharp and focused for his age (73) and he does not read speeches. At least he did not read one here. We were at the Africa Blockchain Conference when I changed my mind. Let’s try to forget that our gadgets had to be taken away because he was in the building and focus on this: He was speaking about blockchain and cryptocurrencies from a very informed perspective, referring to handwritten notes he had been making throughout. Before he stood up to speak, the Bank of Uganda governor had read out a very scary speech which had me wondering why we were there in the first place. You know, the usual we will not entertain anything that is about crypto because it is scam. Enter the president. He urged the governor to be more inquisitive about such technologies – not to be dogmatic – and then broke down the blockchain concept in such an easy-to-understand way that I felt challenged. I have been doing everyone who has asked me about bitcoin and blockchain an injustice the past four years. I can now break it down in one simple sentence from the president: The blockchain is like a global organization/sacco in which people trust each other, put everything in public record books so that anyone anywhere can know how many bulls Museveni has in I-don’t-know-where. He spoke a lot of Baganda too, so 5% of the jokes were lost on that.

Allow me to digress a bit. For some strange reason the conference organizers chose to have scams over too, exhibiting and all that. And that is exactly who the Ugandan media chose to interview too. This beats the whole point of trying to educate people about the benefits of new technologies. Dear Ugandans, please stay away from OneLife/OneCoin and any other thing that cheats you out of your money. Seriously. Fight the urge to get easy money. I mean, even a simple Google search tells you what is a scam and what is not very easily. The funny thing is we keep telling people to stay away from these schemes, even in Kenya, but get-rich-quick schemes always have followers. And things always go south. End of digression.

At one point, we went to this French place in a very upmarket part of Kampala. Holy Crepe. From the moment we sat down, in addition to a beautiful view of the residential Kampala, all we saw were people jogging up and down the hill. At 5PM. I found that very strange. At another point, a friend took me to another hotel, Mestil Hotel & Residences. I would expect the prices to be off the roof, and again, I was shocked. A good meal here ranges from USh 28,000 USh to 35,000 UGX. Brethren, this is way under KSh 1000. Sijui nirudi Uganda?

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But on the other hand, that money is confusing. You have so many zeroes in your pocket, but you literally have very little money. It confused me the whole time I was trying to pay for some stuff. I had to keep reaching out to Google to help me convert to Kenya Shillings to see if I was being ripped off. Then every time you get into a taxi (apparently, they also refer to matatus as taxis), the driver will close the windows very fast and rhetorically ask if you want your phone to be snatched. Turns out this is the order of the day in Kampala. Nairobi you are not alone. I also gave up on Uber here and stuck to Taxify. For some reason the latter drivers have it together than their Uber counterparts.

Also, there is no way I am spending my life on bodas. Bodas are so part of the system, there is UberBoda. I had to get on bodas thrice that week. The first time, I felt like I was going to go nuts. I never touch the rider leave alone hold on to him, so I have to find something to grip behind me. And all along way, you see women sitting sideways on these things. I am like, are you kidding me? And helmets are not a thing here either. The second time was riding down to Owino market because everyone in Kenya could not shut up about that place. First of all, it’s not all that but clothing is actually pretty cheap. Everything is under 1000 bob. No one has a mirror or a fitting room when you try on stuff because apparently, they are all doing it wholesale. *Rolls eyes repeatedly* I did not spend too much time here, because we were running a tight schedule, but it reminded me of a lesser organized Eastleigh. And that is saying a lot because Eastleigh is NOT organized. Did I mention the seller dudes who grab your arms and not let go like they are your boyfriends? That annoyed me bigtime. Hata afadhali makanga wa Kenya sasa. Also, people in the market try to speak some Swahili unlike everyone else Kampala. Or probably these are just the same Kenyans we know here.

I might keep going on and on – the little bit of Uganda I experienced felt so different yet so much like home – so let me stop. And I bet I only caught a glimpse – I have not done the city any writing justice. Yet. You can only learn and see so much in a few days.

Road trip to Jinja, anyone? I am ready to see more of Uganda. 🙂

Kampala Goodness Someone keeps saying I should do more travel pieces, but I keep fighting it, in the spirit of keeping things under wraps.

#Blockchain #Travel and Tourism #Uganda #Work

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shikungigi · 6 years

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(Do people still say manenos?)

I was thinking of what to write today then I remembered I should have written about being on a train for the first time in my life. Okay, fine, I have been on the miniature train. The tiny train that remained the biggest reason I looked forward to Show every year as a kid. And if you understand what I meant by Show, you will likely relate, so I will not explain. After I grew up and read about the Kenya-Uganda railway and how it paved way for most of Kenyan “civilization” as we know it today, I wanted to get on the Lunatic Express. That never happened (clearly) and my chance to experience that part of history passed on just like that. So much for procrastination.

I have been procrastinating the SGR ride too, since last year. I never had an actual reason to get onboard and hit Mombasa. First of all, my idea of fun is very far away from coastal temperatures. When most people I know enjoy the beach and swimming. I don’t. It has been a running joke for years now, at work. How, when everyone was swimming I was seated in my coat. (LOL, of course the storyteller exaggerates that part. The very reason I hate coastal weather is the heat and sticky humidity, so why would I be in a coat?) Anywho, the chance to get on the SGR train presented itself last week and without thinking twice, I jumped on it, motivated by the novelty of it all, not procrastinating again and the fact that it was just going to be a weekend thing. In and out before I could catch a headache from the heat.

So this is what happens when you get to the station or terminus, which they call the Nairobi Terminus even though it is miles away from the capital: You literally feel like you are at the airport. So maybe they should just call it a rail port. I believe a ton went into building these big terminals and it is immediately evident from a distance. Oh and btw, we call it the SGR I think because we Kenyans love short and snappy names for everything, but I was trying to explain this to an American and she was like, oh you mean the Madaraka Express? And I was like, eeeerrrr, oh yeah… no one calls it that here though. I could hardly even remember that is what it was dubbed last year. Different strokes.

The Nairobi Terminus is designed in the shape of two trains moving towards each other, apparently with a load between them both. Lol. Makes no sense but very beautiful either way. The first stop before getting into the terminus is a tent, where you place all your belongings on a platform and step away, and then the police walk their dogs by them to sniff out any illegal stuff. After the sniffing, you pass through the machine check. I mean, I have never even seen sniffer dogs at JKIA!

Front – Taken last year

In the bowels

Back

After this point, you can take pictures at the beautiful front then walk into the terminus for ticket checking, making sure you have both your ticket and national ID. There is additional drama that is attached to ticket booking btw. I was going in a group, so I did not experience the actual drama since this work was done for most of us by the leaders, but I heard the horror stories. Apparently tickets get booked like hot cake online. If you make a mistake and tarry, you miss a spot within a few hours. A member of the group even got a ticket indicating the wrong date of travel and had to get this changed last minute. At this first ticket check, they are not super keen on the dates and all. Once you are through another machine check and into the building, you go up a flight of stairs (or escalator) to the expansive waiting area. Again, like an airport, people get here hours earlier, because this train does not wait for Kenyan timers.

The waiting bay just in front of the boarding gates

So after chilling for forever, just chatting, the gates to board the train were opened at 2pm. This train had just arrived from Mombasa at around 1. The first folks to board are the first class peeps who pay a whole 2,300 Kenya Shillings extra for that extra space and comfort. Us KSh 700 folks board shortly after. This is the point your ticket is scanned for you to gain entry into the final stage. And this is also the point you are finally singled out if your ticket has a problem. Once you are through, you walk across the length of the terminus to the flight of steps that lead you down to your coach. The SGR staff are everywhere, directing passengers to the correct coaches.

Mind the gap and enter the train. The first thing that hits you is the air-conditioning. Even locating the seat numbers is very much plane-like. The difference is you are walking through a much wider space and the seats are much more and arranged differently. One side sits four people facing each other and the other has six people, with just a tiny “table” jutting out from the side. There are luggage racks overhead and strip curtains for the windows. You are obviously supposed to sit on the seat allocated on your ticket, but if you can make arrangements with someone else to switch, well and good.

At exactly 2.30PM, the train started moving, gradually picking up speed. This train’s speed indicator was not working correctly on the screen, from what I gathered, but if the the one from the trip back was anything to go by, we were going at about 110km/hr. The trip is mostly noiseless. You don’t even realize you are moving that fast until you look at the ground just below the train. It is quite smooth the ride. So smooth, some clown in our group convinced one girl that the train had no wheels and it was just sliding on the rails. And she actually believed it. LOL. Pretty soon, you are past Athi River station, gliding through vast savannah and sometimes crisscrossing the old railway. At other points, you are parallel Mombasa road. If you pay attention to the road for long enough, you will spot a random SUV trying to beat the train. But that effort is always thwarted by any of the many trucks trudging through the road.

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This railway passes through 7 stations and 23 substations (I read, didn’t count myself. Relax.). I only managed to spot five I think. The 7: Athi River. Emali. Kibwezi. Mtito Andei. Voi. Miaseny. Mariakani. If you are really bored and peer into the wild around Tsavo, you will see some elephants. At around Voi, I think, we whizzed past the other train headed to Nairobi. At first, I thought it was moving, but that would make no sense, as my seat mate explained. It has to stop and let the other pass before it proceeds to its final destination. At every station we passed, there was staff standing by, I don’t know for what purpose. 😀 We also went over many elaborate bridges but I was stupid enough not to realize this until I read about it.

In the train, the train staff will push through trolleys with food, but this food is nowhere near free. BRING YOUR OWN FOOD, BRETHREN. Either already in your tummy or for consumption along the way. The toilets are great, but they block sometimes. They are designed pretty much like plane ones. And just like on the airborne ones, you will always find a rando who will not close the door shut to turn the light red and you will catch them off-guard seated on the toilet. And then they will act offended when they are the ones who did not utilize the lock as clearly instructed. SMH. The coach also has power sockets at one end, but that’s not super helpful if you are sitting near them. So you either go stand there and charge your phone or forget about your phone altogether until you have reached your destination. (I need a new phone!!! Where art thou, Sony XZ2?!) You will also be advised to not move from coach to coach, but please, you will move, especially if you know people in other coaches. If you do not move, you will not be super comfortable, unless you are in the 3000 shillings crowd.

We got to Mombasa at 7.15PM, so that’s like not 4 hours flat, more like 5. Like I said, you get used to the speed that you cannot automatically detect if the train has just slowed down, or has actually stopped, unless you look at the ground by it. This terminus has a huge tower jutting into the air above. It is designed to represent ripples and waves. Does not makes sense to me either but who cares, it’s awesome. However, it only hits you how much more tinier than the Nairobi one it is on the trip back home, because you will not find a place to sit even when you are pretty early. And there will be queues in the only washrooms in this terminus. he You have plenty of time to study the place and just think about what you could do with all the idle land lying around the terminus. Buroti maguta maguta.

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The trip from Mombasa started at 3.15pm and ended at 8.20pm. Again 5 hours. Let me stop there for now.

(I started writing this two weeks ago, when the ticket price was not hiked to Ksh 1000.)

SGR Manenos (Do people still say manenos?) I was thinking of what to write today then I remembered I should have written about being on a train for the first time in my life.

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