Mombasa

Kenya was the first time I truly, really, jumped out of my comfort zone. A few years back, I was broken in heart, spirit and finances (read: unemployed). On impulse, I scraped together the miles I'd accrued and got myself a ticket to Nairobi. My family and friends were horrified. (Mainland) Africa?! My travels alone in Europe were already something they refused to acknowledge (what about the Italian mafia?? ), but ... Africa?! What would people say? I chuckle at that memory because that stubborn trip was what truly triggered my lust for escaping and travelling, or, more accurately, the confidence that I could manage (read: scrape through) in any situation.

Several years later, dear family, I went back to Kenya and live to tell the tale. This time, it was to Mombasa, and its adjacent villages, Kilifi and Diani. It makes me sad that people have such a poor idea of what Africa is, when the scenery I encountered could rival the Caribbean any day:

Before getting to said paradise, however, I needed to contend with... flying. The trip kicked off with the airline announcing they'd overbooked themselves and would have to reroute us via Nairobi (thanks, ET!) which meant we'd miss the whole day. Having no other option, I bonded with the other outcasts - we attempted to catch the Nairobi-Mombasa train, only to see it leave the moment we ran down the station. It kept getting better and better (and I received reports that a storm was rolling into Mombasa).What was meant to be a two hour flight turned into a day-long tribulation. Maybe some of the juju from my last trip to Kenya remained...

Ultimately, I arrived late in Kilifi (thanks again, ET!) and checked into the place I'd booked for myself, realising with horror that it was a backpackers' hostel (my fault entirely, for being so last minute). And worse, that it was crawling with the one creature I abhor besides humans who try to be too woke: lizards. I hate them. Fucking hate them. Give me spiders anytime.

Exhausted from the trip and trying not to feel sorry for myself, I retreated into my room - realising, with a modicum of relief, that it was a single room. And that there were perks to this place, after all. The first being the bevvy of extremely cute and friendly dogs and the second being the nearby creek where bioluminescent plankton pooled. I didn't need telling twice - pulling on my bikini, I made the trip down there.

It was surreal: the path was completely dark and soon the sound of the partying backpackers receded in the background. It was hard not to feel apprehensive: about what, I wondered. The sky opened up in a mayhem of stars above me, interrupted by the occasional silhouette of a coconut tree. If there were spirits in the forest, they were benign.

I eventually stumbled into the creek: a dhow was moored a few metres off the shore, which was lined by a jut of rocks on one side, and shaggy mangroves on the other. I wish I had the equipment to capture the planktons, but I'll have to content myself with sharing this picture from the internet.

I'd missed the peak time for the planktons' luminescence (thanks still, ET!) but this also meant the place was completely deserted. Which meant only one thing...to skinny dip. I think the sensation of the warm water lighting up in swirls of blue and white against my limbs, the complete silence of the million stars above my head, is one of the most surreal experiences I've ever had.

I can't really remember how I stumbled back to my room, falling into a profound sleep that was only broken (thankfully!) by a disturbing sound outside my window... It turned out to be monkeys stealing something from the room next door.