The ocean in Kenya

Second day in Kenya and it was time to head to the most exciting part of the trip: the dive.

Wrecks are always special, and this one was no different: the water was murky from the recent rains and approaching storm, but the wreck was beautiful. Thriving with curious batfish and snappers, and the low visibility gave the dive a mysterious quality.

^A curious batfish inspecting Sarah, the dive instructor.

We ended with a beautiful reef dive, where the dappled reds and blues of the corals blew my mind away. As always, emerging from the water is difficult. During the last moments of the dive, I feel purged of all negativity, all pain. The salt water is my safe space, and when you ascend to the light, I feel a tug at my heart: I don't really want to leave. It's so simple, down there. Where the water embraces you, and you respect its softness and strength.

I was stung by hundreds of small jellies (sea lice if we want to be gross) and it was time to go.

High on the feeling of lightness from the dive, I wondered what next. Given the short amount of time I had before I headed downward to Diani beach, I took the hotel's recommendation to visit Haller's park, which turned out to be some sort of zoo. I'm not a fan of zoos, so I didn't linger there too long, but as I hurried out, I was stopped in my tracks by a family of elands.

They were grazing peaceably, and I foolishly stayed rooted in place - I was even stupid enough to sit down. The dominant male turned to me, and for a split second I thought, this is it, he will gore me to death and I can't even run. That split-second look at him was terrifying and humbling: this is the arrogance of humans, thinking we can tame everything, control everything, befriend everything.

The magnificent creatures turned and left me, sitting there like an idiot among the trees. I'd never be part of their world. And the world I was part of was being stripped of its majesty and magic, for the loftier goals of 'growth', 'progress' and 'development'.

Sigh.

Onwards to Diani. A chaotic matutu and rickshaw ride later, I reached it and raced for my dinner reservation. It was at Ali Barbour's Cave Restaurant: a restaurant in a natural open-sky cavern that I'd heard was a must visit in Diani.

I was apprehensive for a moment as I stepped in: beautifully furnished, lit by soft lights, and with an opening to the stars, this was a romantic place - maybe it wasn't for me. But Hans, the owner, had cleverly saved me a nice spot that was great for people watching and stargazing. And a goat's cheese soufflé, a mango-and-rhum flambé and multiple glasses of wine later, who cared? It was wonderful.

Mellow AF.

I was happy, exhausted and full (and very much tipsy) when I stumbled in bed that night.

My last day in Mombasa dawned with a dewy sun: the storm was finally coming in. When you have barely a weekend in a place, the pressure of doing as much as possible in as little time is harrowing, but I settled on going to the beach.

I discovered a secluded spot by a mosque, hidden behind huge baobab trees. You have to cover up (no bikinis unless you're in the water!), but can move a bit further away from the mosque if you want to avoid being insensitive. It was beautiful: the Indian Ocean rolling into the large, empty stretches of beach.

For some reason, I found the muted colours of the water and the sand, protected by huge baobabs instead of palms, more evocative than the traditional white sands and swaying palms that are more common of the Indian Ocean.

The beach was free of hawkers and hecklers (you only have to pay a minimal fee to the men in dishdashas by the mosque for the parking), which was a relief. And it seemed that you could even rent these, err, recliners...

I opted to forage for some mermaid treasure instead.

Having had a final dip, I sat in front of the ocean, letting the sound of its waves settle deep, deep in the corners of my being, calming down my anxieties. Gazing eastward, I realised that a few hours beyond the waves, was home. There's something so powerful about being alone with the sea that I was moved to put my hands together in prayer.

To express my love for the sea, my respect for its vastness and my gratitude for how relentlessly it sustains life on earth, producing oxygen, food, joy. Knowing I would have to say goodbye and go back to a land-locked country in a few hours, I felt a longing to be by its side which will never quite be quenched.

And I reaffirmed my commitment to do what I could to protect it.

These sentimental musings were cut short by some locals attempting to skin me for a coconut. I attempted to drink coconut water without a straw, much to the amusement of the locals, who insisted on capturing the moment (yay for spontaneous photoshoot!).

They really had fun with my camera...

Photoshoot over, and we sped on to the Shimba Hills reserve. The dude at the gate tried hard to extort money, so if you're planning to go, make sure you're with a reliable driver who can spare you this pitfall. We couldn't quite get down to explore much but I was lucky enough to catch a rare glimpse of the reserve's most prized species: the sable antelopes.

The time to my flight was really ticking down, so we rushed to Mombasa. I wish I had more time to explore the old city: the smell of incense and fried sweets wafted tantalisingly towards me, but I was cutting it too fine to my flight.