Highway to the Danger Zone

Our bus leaves Malindi at 9am. We've decided to take Takwala, a coach line owned and operated by Muslims, because their buses are the least molested by bandits. About 45 minutes into our trip, the bus stops and takes on a soldier, complete with camouflage outfit, army boots and a standard rifle. VSO, taking a cue from the British High Commission's safety reports, has declared the Malindi to Lamu overland route a "no-go zone" for volunteers. The latest VSO newsletter says: "For security reasons, and also because of the condition of the roads, visitors to Lamu Island are strongly advised to travel by air. Buses and other vehicles on the road to Lamu have been attacked by armed robbers and must travel in convoy on the Malindi-Garsen-Lamu section. Cattle rustling and banditry can affect rural areas, especially the more remote parts not normally frequented by tourists." But air travel is costly and people travel this route all the time, I rationalize, and what are the chances they'll chose our bus to rob? Once the guard comes aboard, we drive another 15 minutes then turn off the paved highway onto a dirt road. Only one hour into the trip and we're on dirt roads. They'll remain dirt all the way to the island. And the driver doesn't let up. He keeps us rolling over the rutted road at 80 km per hour. Perhaps to discourage any bandits from stopping us. Every 40 minutes or so, we pull into a hamlet and take on a new soldier, the old one alighting. We pass several police checkpoints where they inspect our baggage holds and let us move on. The scenery is absolutely amazing. It seems deserted, though there are any number of tribes living out in the bush. With the tall, tall pines, that divide and branch out at great heights, and the low, grassy swamp, it reminds me of the Florida Everglades, only prettier. The sun kisses occasional water surfaces amongst the grasses and trees and winks at us from the roadside. No wonder this route is susceptible to bandits. It's totally isolated. At one clearing, near a bridge, a group of men stand under a tree. This isn't a town or a hamlet, but we stop and the men move toward the bus. One young man rides a wheelchair with three legs, self-propelled with pedals for the hands instead of the feet. He appears to have polio. When he looks up, I say "Jambo" and he replies in kind. The soldier alights and stands next to the bus, beside the wheelchair. He stands his rifle on its butt and I worry that the barrel is pointed under his chin. He's rather stocky and kind looking. My seat allows me a view of all the guys on the ground and I sit sideways to see everything that's going on. I especially want to make sure they don't take my luggage off the bus. Our conductor jumps off the bus and climbs up a ladder to the bus roof. The local men wait for their goods to be unloaded. The conductor tosses a foam mattress from the roof, but the rope gets hung on the top grill and the mattress is suspended above their heads. Try as he might, he cannot dislodge the rope. He wants to cut it instead and so an old man on the ground throws up the tool used to lock the luggage compartments. The guy doesn't catch the tool and it clangs around then falls through the ladder, almost hitting me on the head. The old man tries again but the metal tool bounces and bangs and lands on the dirt road. The third time is the charm. The conductor beats the rope against the metal guard, trying to severe it. Bang, bang, bang. To my horror, the old man on the ground picks up a huge knife and prepares to toss it up. Thankfully, the rope breaks before the old man can throw the knife. Back on the ground, the conductor opens the compartment and pulls out a box tied with string and two big bags. He also pulls out my red backpack and a suitcase. He replaces the suitcase but not my backpack so I watch to make sure he puts it back into the hold. The soldier stands motionless, then follows the conductor back on the bus. The engine revs and we start to move, but we can't be moving because my backpack is still on the ground, at the feet of those men! When we've picked up speed I shout out to the conductor, not caring that I'm disturbing everyone, "There's luggage back there!" My southern accent is prominent. "Where?" he asks. What the hell does he mean "where?" I yell over heads again, "Back there where you dropped the stuff off!" So the driver slows and the conductor jumps off and trots back. "That red backpack is mine," I say to him through the window. He must trot way back by now because we've traveled about 200 feet. One of the guys picks up the backpack and hands it to the conductor. I watch as he replaces it under the bus and secures the door with his special tool. My camera and money are in the backpack. I make a mental note to never put anything but clothes into the cargo hold of a bus. After three and a half hours, we pull up to the docking area where the ferry to Lamu is moored. It's hectic crazy as guys lunge for luggage, hoping to snag a tip. We crowd onto a wooden Dhow with a motor and cruise for 25 minutes to the Lamu dock. Rounding the bend, Lamu rises up at the water's edge framed with old, white buildings. There are layers of buildings with thatched roofs and flat roofs and some made of tin. The land rises away from the water and the town looks like an ancient and dilapidated Monaco. Still, there's something beautiful about it. Julie and Joseph are waiting for us and they take us right away to Hapa Hapa, a restaurant on the waterfront where Joseph works. Julie is a VSO volunteer working on water and waste management for the town of Lamu. With all the old houses and buildings constructed so closely together, leaving "roads" that are from 3 to 6 feet wide, water is carried away from the homes in narrow drains on each side of the street. Mingled with donkey droppings, the water becomes a health issue. Julie has been here nearly two years and has just extended her work with VSO and Lamu for another year. Joseph grew up in Lamu and he and Julie plan to marry. Julie must get back to work, so Joseph escorts us to a few places, to see where we might stay. After visiting four places, we choose Yumbe House. The price is right and the place is comfortable. I'm especially thrilled with my room, which sits at the uppermost part of the building and offers a broad view in all directions. After settling in, Ed and I meet Julie at Hapa Hapa for dinner. As we dine, Baba J. approaches and asks if we'd like to take a dhow ride tomorrow to see the Twapa ruins. He has a single female client and would like to increase the party. We say yes and agree to meet him at Hapa Hapa at 9am.