When in Rome . . .

Mombasa Nights

I spent most of Saturday night, or at least 3 hours of it, in a Mobil gas station parking lot with a motley crew of people chewing on twigs.

It was one of those scenes where you occasionally ask yourself, "Now just how did I wind up here?"

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The day started out normal enough. 6 of us (4 wanawake and 2 wanaume) went to explore Tiwi beach, about an hour south of mombasa island when you travel by tutuk's speeding through the streets, an overcrowded passenger ferry that starts to leave before you are all aboard, the omnipresent matatu/dalladalla/bemo/mini-van/public transport, and taxi.

Tiwi beach was beautiful with crystal clear water and sugary white sand. Best of all, it was mostly deserted. We were able to simply relax on the beach and enjoy food and drink from Twiga lodge. It was a great afternoon. The extra-amazing part is that, despite the presence of the Vervet monkeys hanging about, I came through completely unharmed.

Around 5pm, a fellow classmate and I left the wanawake on the beach and headed back to Mombasa for 'Nyama Choma' or burned/grilled meat. We met up with our TA and his cousin (who goes by the alias 'Big C') for a great manly meal at the Camel's Joint restaurant. I'm not sure what animal parts I ate, but they were sufficiently choma-ed and surprisingly tasty. From the Camel's Joint, we were invited over to Big C's house to meet our TA's auntie and uncle.

This is where things started to get a little weird.

The family was incredibly hospitable and welcomed us in with arms wide open, despite the blackout that hit their part of town. After my eyes adjusted I could see that the room was filled with Big C's family and several family friends, including -for reasons I still don't quite understand - the family's Islamic teacher. We -zungumza'ed (or chatted) for quite a while. The uncle can best be described as a cantankerous old coot of Pashtun/Indian/Taliban/Maasai ancestory. He was hard of hearing but big of heart, had difficulty walking but loved to give people a hard time. Quite the character.

After an hour or so of -zungumza'ing, he declared 'Lets go to the Petrol Station!' at which point the whole family sprang into action. Big C, my TA, classmate, and I were in one car while the Uncle, Auntie, Islamic Scholar, small child, and neighbor went into the other. The cars sped off into the night toward the Mobil station. And then we just parked.

The scene was pretty amazing. The whole edge of the gas station parking lot was lined with people sitting in cars. According to Big C, being the ony 24 hour petrol station in town, this was the spot to see and/or be seen. "You can see all of the lovely women going to the clubs here, it is very fun." he said. Uh-huh, fun. Perhaps if you were chewing Miraa non-stop, this would've been very fun.

Miraa. That is where the twigs come in & what pushes this whole sit-n-watch scene over the edge. It is a popular/traditional custom here to chew the skin off of the miraa plant for its relaxing yet stimulating effects. Chew away they did, grasping a bit of plant skin in their teeth and pulling it away to create spahgetti like strips that they'd then chomp into balls of cud, held together by pieces of juicy fruit gum.

It was quite the scene . . . Uncle and Auntie chomping away. . . Security guards asleep in their company car next to us . . . the Islamic Scholar chilling out in the grass . . . Big C talking non-stop with one conspiracy after the other . . . slowly sipping soda while twigs were flying out the windows. . .

About 12:30 am, exhausted and with a full Sunday ahead, I asked to be driven back home. Big C obliged and then, from the reports I've heard, they returned to the parking lot and kept on watching, chewing and -zungumza'ing until well past 3.

The whole thing was quite the interesting experience. Very welcoming yet a little bit odd. In other words, a truly authentic Mombassa night.