Mombasa Bound

Our bus leaves Kisumu at 9am, headed to Nairobi. For the third time in four months, we head out through the escarpment hills, into the Great Rift Valley and into crowded, muddy, hectic Nairobi. Luckily, the bus station is 200 meters from the train station. Still, it's takes a great deal of skill to navigate the people, matatus and mud puddles. Kenya has received a good bit of rain over the last month. In spots, where there aren't sidewalks, the road side is muddy. I must pull my pants legs up to walk, thankful the Chaco sandals are waterproof and practically indestructible. Nairobi's train station is a throw back to colonial times, including the uniforms worn by personnel. We park our baggage in the train station and are given a good deal. The guy says it's usually 80 ksh each, but he'll only charge us for one. With this, he holds up the 200 ksh note Ed has given him and says, "I'll give you 100 shillings change, right?" What he has done is padded a 20 shillings tip for himself by saving us 80 ksh. On the door leading to the luggage room is a sign reading, "How can we cut down on corruption?" Free of luggage, we again dodge folks on the busy streets of Nairobi to get to the Java House, a very Western coffee shop with beautiful pastries, salads and hamburgers. The coffee is fabulous and we're surrounded by very trendy young people in western dress with fancy jewelry and costly hairdos. They have cell phones and sunglasses. It's a bit of a culture shock, so I choose to concentrate on the gorgeous cafe au lait in front of me. Back at the train station, we sit and watch the crowd get on the 5:30 train to Kisumu. Most are traveling third class and they cram into the cars. And they cram into the cars. They cram until men are standing on the stairs, outside, holding the exterior handles. Once they pull away, our train arrives. We find our first class cabin and explore its full 8 foot by 7 foot interior, which includes a sink with a cover, a fresh dispense that does not work, a mirror and a tiny closet with hooks for clothes. Restrooms are at either end of the car. They're latrines, no toilet to sit on. Urinating into a pit on a moving train is a true test of balance and stamina and never fails to make me laugh out loud when managed successfully. Luckily, ours is the first cabin so the bathroom is right around the corner. The dining car is just ahead of us and offers a nice, open space to sit and watch the landscape go by. It looks like a 50's diner with overhead oscillating fans and Formica table tops. We leave the station after 7pm as it darkens outside. Ed has brought along the book "Stupid White Men" by Michael Moore, to pass along to Julie in Lamu. I borrow the book for the trip and read it until bed time. Ed takes the top bunk, so I spread a sheet on the lower bunk and nestle into my pillow, which I brought from home. We paid 1885 ksh (about $23 USD) for this train trip. That doesn't include food or bedding, so we bring our own sheet. When the porter walks through the cars with a chime, ringing out the dinner tune, we ignore it. I've lifted the interior window cover and see an older white gentlemen, perhaps 70 or so with a large belly, walk past, headed to dining car with a bottle of red wine resting in the crook of his arm. Old white people sure know how to live the good life. The train stops regularly, to pick up passengers and cargo, which is why it takes 14 hours to get to the Mombasa by train and only 8 hours by bus. This is my first overnight train trip and I'm enchanted with the swaying, from side to side, that feels much like being rocked in mom's arms. All night long, it's a wonderful sensation, lulling to the beat of the clanks. I awake and am compelled to look out of the window, as though there's something fantastical waiting for me. So I very quietly lift the leather screen and look into the night, seeing mountains lit up by the moon. No towns, no houses, just land and mountains. I go to the restroom and practice my balancing skills then step into the dining car. Someone has left a window open so the cool air flows in, along with night sounds and the roll, rolling of the wheels. I sit in the car and look to the South for a while, then to the north. A porter comes through the car and is startled to see me, but he's very courteous. "Ni saa ngapi?" I ask him and he says, "4:30." Soon we pull into a station where civilian men gather in a circle with uniformed trainmen, their heads close together. Only minimal light, but I see several women walking across the platform with packages on their heads and babies tied to their backs. Probably taking their goods to market. When we pull away from the station, I stand to leave the dining car. But the cool air moving through the open windows captures me. It feels fresh and significant, bringing Africa's precious aspects to me in the early morning hours when all but the crew are sleeping. I want to remember this sensation...and do. The rocking bunk calls, however, and I return to slumber, waking each time the train brakes into a new station.