Kibokoni Hotel, Malindi

After 3 weeks of generous hospitality staying rent free and with luxurious exclusivity of cousin Julia's in-laws holiday home, Zawadi House we decided to move out. We had decided to remain in Malindi and do some free consultancy at a local orphanage/school/hospital that we found just around the corner and realised that for us to appreciate the community a bit more we'd have to venture out of the safe and cosseted environment that is Zawadi House. Zawadi House is a beautiful 3 bedroomed traditionally styled Kenyan building with a towering pointed roof thatched with palm throng tiles. Ventilation is achieved with gaping roofed openings in the sides of the roof a little like dormer window without the glass, frames or structure - actually not very much like dormer windows at all but very picturesque all the same. There are two floors, both open plan and both with an inordinate amount of sitting/lounging apparatus. I estimated that there was arse space for approximately 54 people, not including the bedrooms.  We were getting in to the habit of watching the National Geographic channel on the satellite TV every night and while I will sorely miss the thrice weekly episodes of "Monkey Thieves" (worth the whole subscription I am sure) we decided to look for a place with more independence and lower walls. Besides, we were beginning to feel that we were getting under Peter the houseboy's feet as we were clearly interfering with his nightly soccer fix on the satellite TV.

So after talking to a few of the locals and laughing hysterically at the prices of other self catering places on offer we jumped at the chance of seeing a small apartment just down the road in a complex called Kibokoni Hotel. It was actually Peter the houseboy that found the place for us, only hours after we had dropped the hint that we might be moving out! Malindi is a small town but the convenient location of Kibokoni Hotel was just perfect - only a 5 minute walk from where we were working and the staff seemed friendly enough. When we were shown around by a slim woman in nothing but a bikini and a towel, everything seemed OK to me. Everything seemed to be in the right places, well proportioned and pretty tidy over all -  and the apartment wasn't too bad either so we took it. We ended up paying about 40% over the going rate and foolishly agreed to pay 2 months in advance - something we were to truly regret only days after moving in. The interior decor of the place was ropey (tangerine and pistachio?) but pretty spacious and outside the place was in state of typical disrepair. Bizarrely, there were a number of reproduction early 19th century paintings of English fox hunting scenes on the wall and a set of Russian dolls covered in dust on a shelf in the kitchen. There was enough seating for at least a dozen people which judging by our social life in Kenya up to that point in time seemed about 10 spaces too much.

Televisions in Africa are still quite rare. Their scarcity is generally compensated for by being always on and set permanently at full volume. The two TVs at Hotel Kibokoni, one in the  open bar area and one by the pool, are no exception. "AfricaMagic" seems to be the favourite channel which shows shitty soap operas made with a shaky camcorder and very bad actors who constantly shout at each other in Swahili and cry a lot. All stories seem to centre on money problems and or infidelity along with a few witch doctors thrown in for good measure. If we're lucky we get a bit of National Geographic, but never any Monkey Thieves.

Once we had paid two months up front the pleasantries ended and we are treated like anyone else in this country - isn't that what we wanted? Yes but...
The kitchen was pitifully poorly equipped, the TV we were promised finally got connected a week later but only showed what was being watched in the bar - yes you've guessed it, witch doctors and shouting black people. The bed also took a week to be installed properly as it was missing a correctly fitting mosquito net and the swimming pool has gone green. To top it all the gas ran out after a few days and after being told that all the bills were inluded in the rent we were told to go the the petrol station to get ourselves a new cannister if we wanted to carry on using the cooker. We were sharing the appartment with 3 or 4 geckos and thousands of ants and the locked interior door to the next appartment was warped so badly that we quickly became intimately acquainted with our neighbours lifestyle, music taste and bowel movements. The Landlady from Hell, Marcie (a true She-Devil, if ever I met one), sacked Dominic the member of staff that tried to warn us that she was trying to con us when we mentioned the gas bottle episode as some kind of demonstration of who has the power round here. She fixes you with a don't **** with me stare when we make the slightest complaint although she did begrudgingly agree to pay for the new regulator that we had to buy for her own bloody gas cooker.

The only person working at the Hotel that actually seemed to do anything was Amissi, the general gofer and maintenance man. We would regularly hear his name being shrieked across the hotel as he had instructions randomly thrown at him throughout his 11 hour days. He never seemed to complain, always greeted you with a smile and a cheerful "Jambo" and was usually dripping with sweat. I suppose working for the She-Devil, you would have to be  a certain type of person, and Amissi clearly needed the two pounds a day that she paid him. It was Amissi who ended up inheriting a lot of our cast offs, which he seemed to greatly appreciate and would hurriedly squirrel them away before the She-Devil spotted him with anything.

 

So, over the 7 - 8 weeks that  we stayed in the Kibokoni Hotel, we slowly but oh so surely fell out with the owner and her partner, Sam. The gas bottle was the first problem, then our repeated requests for the bed to be fixed, the TV scam, the murky green swimming pool (picture was "before", didn't get a chance for the "after" - the broken pot is cemented on to the edge of the pool), refusal to fix lights that stopped working in the appartment ("but they were working fine when you took the place"), constant lack of water as they wouldn't refill the tank until somebody asked (we were always the somebody) but as we got to know our fellow inmates we learned that it clearly wasn't personal. One girl, a Kenyan that was working at another NGO in Malindi had ended up paying 3 months in advance and had since been told by "the management" that she would now have to contribute to the electricity bills, would have to pay to have her rubbish taken out of her room, and would have to pay if she used the pool or  watched the public bar TV that was permanently switched on anyway. She was too scared to complain as she could not afford to get kicked out. She also said that most of the other residents were in the same position, but there was nothing anyone could do without having to bribe officials for any kind of support.

The last straw came unexpectedly and brought an  abrupt end to our stay at this salubrious residence. One evening, we returned to the hotel after dark in a tuk-tuk. Unfortunately, we managed to leave the key to our appartment in the tuk-tuk so we were locked out. When we asked Sam, the She-Devil's 6 foot 9 partner for assistance (by this time she had stopped talking to us entirely) there was a complete absence of even a hint of giving the remotest of a shit. Not only that, but it turned out that the last residents had lost their key also and we had therefore been given the spare. Sam sat there and with out the slightest irony made us the generous offer of a special rate on another room. When we told him that we were not prepared to pay for another room on the basis that it was his responsibility to keep a spare key, he told us that we would have to spend the night under the stars. He also told us that we would have to sort out a locksmith in the morning if we wanted to get back in to our room - thanks for the advice Sam, nice one.
In the end, Peter the Zawadi House Houseboy came to the rescue and put us up for the night. In the morning he helped us find a locksmith and we were back in the appartment before 8:15. Our hosts didn't surface until 9.30.
In the local bar that evening, we shared our story with a few of the locals and the unequivocal advice was to go to the tourist police and report the incident, which I did. Actually, the police were surprisingly interested in the issue and promised to look into it - the officer I spoke to ending the conversation with a request for me to send him a Man Utd shirt from the UK when I  got back.

It all came to a head the following night - yet again, there was no water as they hadn't bothered refilling the tank, it was a hot and sticky night and I needed a shower. I went into the bar area to tell Sam. As soon as he saw me, he leapt up and immediately started shouting at me about ruining his reputation around Malindi. Apparently he'd heard about our visit to the local bar and he was not happy. The last thing I remember doing was launching into some rant about paying rent and having rights and firmly standing my ground as he loomed over me. I didn't see the first blow coming, and to be honest it was the last thing I was expecting. He then slapped me in the head again as I was scurrying around trying to get the hell out of there while the She-Devil herself did her best to block my escape. In the end, it was Jessica the diminuitive barmaid who grabbed his arm and let me get some distance and a few words in edgeways.
So to cut a long and rather tedious story short, I called the Police, they came, Sam and the She-Devil denied everything and the witnesses said they saw nothing. The Police left, telling us all to go down to the station in the morning. The following morning we moved out, I got an apology from a sober Sam and I dropped the charges knowing that I'd never be able to afford the bribes to see justice done anyway.
A couple of days later we caught the train from Mombasa to Nairobi and as we passed through one of the Game Reserves we accidentally threw the last remaining key to the appartment out of the carriage window.

I never thought that our last couple of days in Kenya would turn out like an episode of one of those crappy soap operas on AfricaMagic.On the bright side, it gave me a fascinating insight into how things work in small towns in Kenya and how quickly news travels. It's the law of the jungle - if you have money you have influence. If you are bigger than someone you fall out with, you hit them. If you want European standards of service, you find a European run Hotel - suddenly it dawned on me why all the white tourists stayed locked up behind the thick white washed walls of their private residences. With people like Sam and the She-Devil towards the top end of the food chain, why the Hell would you want to venture out anyway?

Volunteering at Rainbow

Wednesday 29th April will be our last day of volunteer work in Africa. Here is a quick summary of the main activities we have been concentrating on since we have been here at Rainbow. In our experience of small NGOs in Africa, Rainbow is well above average in terms of successful achievement of its objective (Hospital, School and Orphanage). The work we have been doing has been to try and further streamline already functioning processes to try to incorporate some 'tried and tested' commercial work practices.

 

Construction Project - 2 Extra Classrooms

When we arrived this project had been suspended. It had spent the total budget originally estimated and provided by the Italian sponsors (approx £12000). The sponsors were confused how the budget had been spent and the classes were incomplete. The estimate of a further £2000 had been given to complete the job.

Our initial task was to plough through all the receipts that had been spent to date and verify the total expenditure. We then needed to verify the new quotation. This was done by a thorough review with the foreman and the structural engineer. By planning the materials for each individual task we estimated that the cost to finish the job would actually be another £5000. This was the budget requested after we had obtained all materials quotations and secured the lowest prices on each item. This was signed off by the Italian sponsors. We then needed to plan the tasks and materials purchases according to the budget availability plan.

Throughout the build the time and materials were tracked.

Our biggest challenge was employee responsibility. The original estimates were given to the charity in order that the construction team would win the business. Because there is no formal operating contract here, if the build is not completed on time or the original materials estimate is incorrect, the construction team does not care. Given the complexity of the relationships in the tight communities, firing or the threat of is not an option. The charity will lose out and there is no real leverage on the builders. To avoid any difficult conversations, the builders would rather lie about

deliverables knowing there will be little or no consequence to them when we discover they are very wrong. Above left, the classrooms approx 3 weeks after we arrived. Above right, the classrooms just before we left (2 weeks before completion).

     

School Fees Administration

When we arrived, the school children that were sponsored received subsidised tuition. All pupils made a form of payment to the school for lessons (approx £4 per month for non-sponsored children, £2 for sponsored). As the record sheets for payments were all paper based, it was impossible to track payments and debts. In order to implement a computer based tracker for the fees we first needed to improve the spreadsheet skills of the two administrators.

Following this we developed with them a tracker for the fees. We discovered that the school was approximately £7000 in debt to unpaid school fees. After further investigation it was discovered that some of these children had left the school and their due fees were still being falsely recorded as due. Therefore the debt was much lower than first thought. The parents of the offending children were followed up and the majority of the outstanding debt was collected. However, this process had actually uncovered another couple of issues with the overall system. It was possible for children to leave the school without the management's knowledge; it was possible for some children to start school without ever paying fees or being tracked and it was possible for children to have large debt for months or years without being followed up. Improvements to this process in the following section.

The main difficulty with this activity was that we do not realise in our daily lives how much we know about IT and take for granted. When trying to teach someone the fundamentals of computers, it is difficult to step back in to the shoes of someone who does not use or understand the fundamentals.

School Admissions Process

The above issues were identified with the fees process along with others for admission: it was possible for children to be mixed up if they have the same names and it is possible for children to change their names. Therefore we realised it was necessary to implement an admission number process. This would be used for the administration of the child while they are attending the school.

Along with the head teachers and administration staff we digitised the student photos with new admission numbers included; created new admission/sponsorship forms to reflect the new process; created a communications process for feedback to the Italian sponsors and reinforced several school processes and policies.

New Photo Format with ID included

Hospital Digitisation

Before we arrived, all the patient records and drug stocktaking was paper based. The charity had expressed a desire to computerise the records and stock system for ease of operation.

  The initial stage of this was again to train the main operative in the fundamentals of Word; excel and computers in general. These new skills were then used together to formulate a process for recording patient treatments and the stock system for the hospital.

Picture below of Dee (the founder of Rainbow) with her adopted son Harry. He has foetal alcohol syndrome which means he has numerous physical and mental problems, the most obvious of which being his arms.

 

To the far right  in the picture below is a pupil who was housed at the orphanage and schooled at Rainbow. She has moved on to secondary school and is in first position in her year.  Her friends are admiring her exam results.

I Love Zanzibar!

Over the Easter week, we decided to do a bit of tourism/travelling and have a break from the volunteering. To be honest, Malindi has been getting us down a bit. There is nothing more depressing than an empty tourist village. It is like a ghost town. With not many tourists around the locals are more miserable with the reduction in opportunity to make some money. Malindi is not extreme enough to be exciting, but not comfortable enough to be like home.........how can I be content in a place that sells bars of Galaxy chocolate, but at 70p each and a pack of 500g butter at £5?

We loved Zanzibar! From a tourism point of view, it had everything we look for in a place to go. When we arrived immediately the people were friendly, and although we got the odd hawker shouting "my friend, my friend" the hassle was not to the extreme that you get in Malindi.

On the first evening when enjoying a cold drink in the "Mercury bar" on the harbour all the local children gathered at the harbour wall.For 2 hours, one after the other the children frantically threw themselves in to the water as if they had never been swimming. It was such a joyous sight of pure fun. They reminded me of lemmings, flinging themselves in to the turquoise water and with no hesitation between they would get straight out and perform the very same immediately after. Never tiring.

We stayed in a backpackers hotel (Princess Salme) with very friendly staff and a lot of charm. This was another advantage of Zanzibar in that there were very luxurious places to suit big budgets and charming places like our hotel to suit a smaller budget (approx £16 per night for 2 incl. breakfast). On the first morning after our lovely breakfast on the roof terrace we joined a spice tour. The spice tour was arranged by the hotel and we joined a young couple of trainee doctors from our hotel. After a bit  of conversation we  discovered that they were from Leamington Spa as well. How funny - we had not spoken to another English person for nearly our entire time in Africa and then we met two from our home town. The spice tour was excellent fun and great value.

 

There is a gorgeous night food market around the square near "Africa Hotel" where the barbequed food is laid out traditionally but with a slight tourist edge (in that it is all in one place and a large selection).Unfortunately it was low season and we noticed along with the fact that no locals were eating there but that a lot of food was being packed away for the next night after being cooked. Edd had eaten some prawns which he immediately thought were bad and stopped eating.......but he still got the inevitable food poisoning. Poor Edd. He was in bed for the next day with a high temperature, the shivers and aches and pains. It does seem that it is always the same anywhere that is set up for 'passers through' rather than locals. There were however selections of yummy chocolate pancakes and other delights that were cooked fresh and totally safe.

After a couple of days we headed north.We didn't manage to find out about a public bus in time, so we took the tourist's minibus paying approx £6 each. For the journey back we found the locals bus which was only £2 each and was much more fun! In Nungwi on the north tip there are perfect white sandy beaches and pale turquoise seas. Lying on the beach all day isn't really for Edd and I so we went on a snorkelling trip instead. The trip went in one of the traditional Dhow sailing boats. It was beautiful. The fish and coral we saw on Mwembe island were better than the diving we did in Watamu. It was just beautiful, and so much less palava than diving :-)

On our sailing boat we met 3 great people. 2 Europeans and a girl from Burundi. Both the Europeans were working for NGOs in Burundi and all had come to Zanzibar for the week to chill out. We had a great laugh with them and the single guy was particularly enjoying being on the boat with 9 very attractive young nurses from Denmark sunning themselves as we sailed. 

Considering we had all been in Africa for a while and how important it is for us to make our finite supply of cash stretch....none of us fancied paying tourist prices for our evening meal twice in a row (approx £13, when we had had a scrummy lunch of local dishes for £1.20 the day before). So we persuaded one of the Dhow's crew to source us some squid and octopus and cook us the food himself. We was very happy to earn a healthy surprise bonus like this. We sat there by candle light on the beach waiting until 9:15pm for our food to arrive, beginning to believe that as usual we had made the mistake of paying up front and he had 'done a runner'. But what a lovely surprise it was when he turned up after all with a sumptuously spiced meal. Maybe there is some hope after all on this Continent!

Anybody considering a week in the sun should seriously consider Zanzibar. You can live nearly as cheaply as you want (if you're prepared for local's canteens and backpacking accommodation) or as luxuriously. There is beautiful beaches, culture, activities (sailing, fishing, diving, spice tours) and friendly people. Flying to Dar from London  should be straight forward also. Being in Africa, it provides the slightly more adventurous edge than the Med which also means a complete lack of chavs! And there are wild monkeys - need I say more?

See the Monkey whisperer above. Don't get too comfortable David Attenborough!

Not another boat trip!

For the Easter week, Edd and I travelled to Zanzibar in Tanzania. It can take 1 day on the coach (if you don't stay overnight in Mombasa) and 1/2 day on the boat. The coach was quite an experience, but that's another story.

At the boat desk in Dar, we found out we had to pay three times the price for our ticket as nationals do. We felt a little bitter about this considering we were paying in the same currency as everybody else and sitting in the same seats as everyone else. Imagine if we implemented this triple fee policy for foreigners in England - do you think people would have a problem with it?

We were advised to get on to the boat 1.5 hours before we left to "secure our seat". The journey was a similar story to the Zig/Dakar ferry, except that it was only 3 hours and during the day. Africans just don't have the same concept of personal space as us. Edd and I sat on a row of 4 looking back at the sea, taking up 2 of the seats but hoping we might have the 4 seats to ourselves. A woman opposite had lain across 3 seats and was pretending to be in deep sleep as her personal land grabbing strategy. Therefore the next woman to come along placed her chicken under my seat, herself next to me (bashing me as she sat) and her child on the next seat. Every minute of the journey the woman pushed harder and harder on my left side as she squirmed and shoved a continuous stream of toffees in to her child's mouth. I held firm and tried to maintain control of my single seat staring with determination at the sea hoping not to get seasick this time.

20 minutes in to the journey I noticed the woman quickly pass her child to another woman opposite who was a complete stranger to her. The woman was very smartly dressed in a red dress but she willingly took the child in a natural maternal embrace. I was momentarily confused by this and then soon after my puzzlement was answered. The woman to my left then started throwing up in to a plastic bag only inches from my own face. She did this with such loud retching noises that the whole boat became aware, even above the roar of the engine. In fact it sounded more like the sound of  a throaty motor bike than an actual female being sick! What is the problem with just being a little more discrete about these things? 

The orphaned child, slightly alarmed but calm, watched her mother, blinking as she sat patiently on the guardian woman's lap. The woman to my left continued to throw up every 20 minutes then for the entirety of the journey. In between gags, she then of course was able to lie down on the TWO seats she had now been able to secure. Mmmmm, A bit too convenient I thought! I had by this point became slightly less persistent about resisting her ground creep as before for fear of being covered in vomit.

What surprised me the most was that the mother to my left was perfectly comfortable with the inconvenience she had bestowed on the woman in the red dress. She confidently left the lady with the baby for 2 hours, with no apparent sign of apology or gratitude for the help. In between her puking fits, she would pass more African doughnuts or toffees to the contented child. The red woman would smile awkwardly as she was obliged to unnecessarily feed the child more and more, increasing greatly the likelihood that her smart red dress would be covered in greasy baby goo.

At the end of these two hours this patient woman firmly passed the little child back to the mother to once again take responsibility for the child. I have no doubt that most other passengers on the boat felt some compassion for her obvious malaise, but she really had pushed the tolerance to the limit. At this point I then felt a tap on my leg. The woman picked up her child, and plonked her on my lap and lay down again to get comfortable. No words were spoken. It was obviously my turn to play baby sitter. I placed the child straight down on the seat next to me. Not because she wasn't a little sweetie, but because I wasn't going to have this woman take advantage of me too. The child sat there quite happily apart from the odd sharp kick of its leg into her mother's bum, in her own vain attempt at grabbing her mother's attention once again. This disturbed complaisant woman's two seated sleep. I enjoyed that :-)

We arrived, and then this crazy man redressed himself in his electric blue socks. Just what one needs in 35 degrees c of heat! He completed the activity while staring at me with a deranged grin the entire time.

Well, after 7 months in Africa I have learnt a saying amongst ex-pats which applies in this scenario."I'm surprised I'm still surprised".

My Mercury Mecca

So, after a torturous 3 day journey from Malindi via Mombasa and Dar Es Salam (Tanzania) we finally set foot on the hallowed ground that is Zanzibar - birthplace of Farrokh Bulsara otherwise known as the late, and very very great, Freddie Mercury. Now, don’t get me wrong – I am not obsessed with the guy, it’s just that he was a very good friend to me throughout my teenage years and someone I will never forget. I’ve never really seen the point of pilgrimages, but you can’t knock something until you’ve tried it so, in the name of religious empathy, I decided to give it a try. It would be just like being a Muslim – except without the prayer cap. Er, and the abstinence I suppose. And I suppose there was less probability of getting crushed too.

The final leg of the journey was a 4 hour ferry crossing from the main land. As we were "foreigners", we were expected to pay $20 - about twice the going rate for the locals which pissed us right off before we even got on the boat. Having to deal with loud vomiting, squawking chickens and fat Muslim women trying to slowly nudge you off your seat for the whole of the trip was probably slightly more annoying still, yet the thought of being merely hours away from completing my own personal once in a lifetime pilgrimage stopped me from getting too uptight about it all. Soz on the other hand, was ready to start throwing burkas over board before we were half way there.

Once we had checked in to a very basic but friendly guest house (The Princess Salme if anyone’s interested), we made a b-line for "Mercury’s", the bar on the beachfront dedicated to my hero and apparently full of memorabilia and trivia about the man himself. Well, in typical African style, the reality was nothing like the promise and other than a couple of black and white posters and a few faded and blistering photos there really wasn't much to differentiate the place from anywhere else on the seafront. Quietly disappointed, yet forever my upbeat positive self, I asked the barman what exactly they thought they were playing at. It turns out that they only called the place Mercury's after lots of teary looking Europeans suddenly started turning up on the boat from the mainland sometime in the early nineties asking directions to where some bloke called Freddie Mercury was born. Not many people on Zanzibar had ever heard of this Freddie bwahna but not wanting to miss out on a valuable opportunity to attract custom, the enterprising proprietors of the bar promptly renamed the place. The barman also confessed that he really didn't rate the music that much and much preferred traditional Swahili but failing that he's generally happy with a bit of hip hop. Tourists were always giving him Queen CDs which although he has always politely accepted he never bothered playing. After a cold beer, I got to the point and asked directions to Freddie Mercury's home. He bluffed an answer which turned out to be completely wrong and we left in search of Mecca.

It wasn't long before we happened across a shop selling all the usual East African tat that every other tourist shop in East Africa sells, and of course the wife insisted on investigating further - just in case there was something inside that she hadn't seen in the 50 plus other African tat shops we've already shuffled around over the past few weeks. As I loitered outside making small talk with the security guards, I noticed that the building was called Mercury House - surely not another cynical attempt to cash in on the sacred memory of dear Farad! Actually, it turned out that that Sozzle had accidentally found the building after all, so, on this occasion, I was happy to go in and help with a bit of browsing. The sleepy looking staff in the place shrugged enigmatically when I asked if it really was the birthplace of Freddie Mercury, although there was hardly a reference to the man inside the place and not a single patent leather hat with a chain across the front to be seen.

It wasn't until after I had made Sozzle take a photo of me having a pee in a toilet in the house, that it dawned on me that the building was way too modern to have been Freddie's home and that we were probably just at the same address.

A hundred yards up the street we came across a photography shop full of black and white prints of visiting dignitaries and ex presidents which looked like something dating back to the 1950s. Inside was a wiry middle aged, Indian looking man with a big moustache (slightly Freddiesque to be fair) who lent over the counter chain smoking while he nonchalantly surveyed the street outside through narrowed eyes. I recognised the place from a documentary made on Freddie's life so went inside feeling quite excited. After 30 seconds or so of looking at interesting (but not Freddie-related) black and white prints I asked the chain smoker why I recognised his shop from the documentary and he explained that the film makers had interviewed him about the Bulsara family a few years ago as his father had taken the very first photograph of Freddie as a baby when he was only 6 months old. Again, he really didn't see what the big deal was about the man - after all, he had never returned to Zanzibar since being sent to school in India as a seven year old. Two or three passport sized prints of the photo were under the glass of the ash covered counter in front of me and he explained that a larger print was kicking around somewhere but he had put it away due to the amount of sad white tourists that would come into his shop just to look at it. What is it they say about when opportunity knocks?!

How very odd, I agreed, still it takes all sorts I suppose. Clearing my throat, I took a deep breath and asked if I could perhaps buy one off his photos myself. Eventually I left with a print of a photograph that his father had taken of the street from outside the shop some time in the 1950's, possibly around the time of Freddie Mercury's birth. In the photograph the original building still stands, the house where Freddie was born and lived - modest and understated, just like my hero. It's the one with the black car outside it...

Did I feel complete now that my pilgrimage was over? Did I consider myself a more worthy fan? Would I endure 72 hours of public transport and crap hotels for something I believed in ever again? Probably not. Can’t see myself converting to Islam either.

Hook, Line and Sinker

 

This story should have been written back at the beginning of our trip. It has taken us this long because the embarrassment at our own stupidity would have turned the story in to a bitter rant about how nasty Africa is. But this basically turned out to be our most valuable (costly only really to our pride), initiation course for Africa. I think it is pretty funny to be able to laugh at now that we are not smarting about it any longer!
So, I don’t know if you remember our story about the expensive 5 second taxi ride we had in Dakar on our arrival. I had never been afraid to arrive in a country before. I can honestly say that back in September last year when we touched down in Senegal, being a slightly, but not completely naive traveller and having watched way too many scary films about Africa like “Shooting Dogs”and “The Last King of Scotland”, I was petrified. We were the only honkies on the plane and surrounded by actual Africans who mercilessly stared at me with with no intention of relieving my fear, which they could obviously smell, by reciprocating the smile I’d just nervously given, seeming to rather prefer to make me wonder........this was probably the most scared I have been on this trip. The second sudden culture shock was when well dressed, plump African woman in her stiletto heals struggled to carry her small hand luggage from the cabin lest she may break her long red fingernails. Edd eager to make a connection with this strange nations inhabitants picked up the case for her. She briefly looked at Edd with some disdain and carried on walking quite normally as if to say ‘well you took your time didn’t you?’ As we walked all the way to the terminal building the lady made no attempt to take the bag back from Edd and in fact when he did manage to persuade he to once again take ownership of her own baggage in the queue for immigration, she begrudgingly took the bag with no acknowledgement of thanks. She may as well have tutted, much was her disapproval at the inconvenience once again! In my head the words “Shiiiiiiiit. I really need to harden up here. We’re not in Leamington Spa anymore Dorothy”. The taxi ride was the third domino to go down in the inevitable line to our demise.
On the second night in Dakar, we had moved to a cheaper hotel, which was on the beach (if you can call it that) at the airport end of town. Not nice. The night before we had been so traumatised by how green we were feeling and clearly outwardly projecting like a beacon for all to see, that we decided to go to a safe looking restaurant to hide away and ended up shedding even more cash for the privilege. That night when the electricity power cut we decided to be a little braver and go for a walk to find a more wallet friendly, and slightly more challenging place to eat. We found a dingy little restaurant on the beach adjacent to the hotel. A lone French man called Bruno was sitting drinking Pastis in the dark. He was very 'sympatique' but a bit of a loser. He was full of advice....... and Pernod. He was a painter. "What style?" "I paint houses, well buildings - you know, walls and stuff" "Why are you here?" "I love the African way of life" And also being permanently drunk I guess. The light bulb constantly varied in brightness with the fluctuating power supply, as did the man's interest in making conversation. He was pretty cagey about his origins but seemed very proud of his paperwork and the fact that you could buy yourself anything in Dakar. Knowing what I know now, potentially this is true throughout the whole of Africa!
So, we order some food - after having asked what it would cost of course. The friendly waiter who is mates with Frenchman has to run off to buy the food and drinks. Eventually, we eat after waiting for an hour and a half talking to Bruno the piss head painter. 
Following the meal, a young Senegalese man arrives and in the dim light of a 40 watt light bulb we recognise him from our hotel earlier today. Red cap and blood shot eyes. He’d said “ca va” to us as we were checking in and confirmed that he was the pool cleaner. He was playing with his MP3 player. "Yo my man". Lots of smiles and friendly hand slaps. He also said he had been the guy from the beach the night before offering to barbeque some fish for us. I had through gritted teeth grunted to Edd that there was no way i was having barbequed fish in the dark on the first night when I couldn't see who was cooking it, let alone what I was eating and I was scared enough as it was. So, we already knew this man....he was already our “brother” in the true African sense of the word!
Then Snoop Dog arrives and introduces himself as Baba-ke. He speaks English very well (everyone else only speaks French) so we enjoy relaxing and talking to him. We hear about the 4 pelicans in the village Oscar, mama, and blah blah blah. They go out with the fishermen every other day throughout the week and spot the fish for them. There is a 600 year old tree that is very sacred. All the elders gather round the tree to make important decisions and even the president of Senegal comes to visit the tree [at least] twice a year. Baba-ke tells us that he is in the running to make the council maybe next year. Sam red cap concurs with lots of "yeah, mons". To be fair, the guy is clearly quite intelligent and has an excellent command of the English language. We bask in the enjoyment of being allowed to be friendly to some Africans at last......and who want to talk back to us! He's observant too. He has already noticed that our wedding rings match and he spotted us arriving earlier that day. The fact that we probably looked like CP3O and R2D2 in the scene when they are bickering in the desert about whether to shell out another 62.5 pence to take a taxi or not must have made us stand out even more than the average green/white man. We continue with an hour or so of more conversation and we share a couple of beers. We get offered a tour of the village and personal introductions to the pelicans but as its half eleven at night we politely decline.
"So, you like the fishing?" Babba says. "Oh we really don't have the time, I'm afraid my good man, we have to catch a boat to Ziguanchor tomorrow, so we need to leave at 4 PM, we'll be travelling around for the next 12 months you know, it's all jolly exciting isn't it" Edd replies. "No problem mon, lets go and do hafa day, no problem mon" He pointed to his white boat on the beach which we could just make out. We didn't discuss the possibility between ourselves, but we could tell we were both thinking that it would be a nice little adventure. And how are nice little treats ever going ton happen on this 'year out' if we don't say "yes" once in a while?
Negotiation ensued, discussions between Baba-ke and Sam ensue. Sam asked me if I could a fix the little strap on his very light weight MP3 player. I tried and didn't manage it. We agreed to a 3 hour session and a price, but they were to keep the fish - this was checked 3 -- 4 times during the conversation of course. We even tried to push it out to a 2 o'clock finish but it was pointed out that that would be too late for us to enjoy our lunch on the beach (Baba-ke would arrange for his sister to come and cook our fish for us on the very same BBQ that we had seen our fish cooked upon that very evening. "You just pay for de drinks, mon. We keep the rest of the fish though, yeah mon"
So as we are leaving, Baba suggests we pay half up front to purchase fuel and water for the morning and being the nice polite Brits that we are (well I am, anyway) we hand over 10,000 CFAs as a deposit for tomorrow's fishing trip. Baba writes out a receipt. "Don't let me down Baba-ke, I'm trusting you now"... with a not so serious smile on Edd’s friendly face as he speaks. “Yeah mon”.
The next morning there is a filthy storm brewing. And Edd and I joke about how they probably won't turn up because the weather is bad. But sure enough, just after 10, a red cap is bobbing around outside looking hopeful. Despite the bad weather he says that we will be going out in 30 mins or so, as it is sure to pass. Just as predicted, it clears up within half an hour. We sit on a bench with Sam waiting for Baba a little surprised that he is so late. But we are comforted that we can see that the boat is all set up with rods and equipment.
Conversation on our wooden bench between Sam, Edd and I becomes stilted. All three of us look patiently at the horizon through squinted eyes and when Sam breaks the ice with a suggestion that the boys go off and get some water for the trip, Edd jumps at the chance to help. I offer to come too and Sam insists that I sit, relax and wait for Baba. Sam buys the water with Edd at the local shack shop(with money from his own pocket) and passes Edd the water. Sam then remembers that we need bait (sardines). As Baba took the last 10k for fuel Sam asks for the second 10K payment from Edd and enthusiastically disappears down a shanty town alley........................................................................

15 minutes pass.

Like the closing scene in the usual suspects….all the clues inexorably fell in to place

Some other people start loading in to the boat that was supposedly set up for us. We go over and ask whose boat it is and they say its theirs. With hurt looks on our faces we look at each other as the realization dawns.

1)    Baba never turned up because he already had his 10k
2)    Sam is not coming back but he turned up because he still had his 10k to secure – no wonder he looked so hopeful
3)    Sam’s MP3 player was fake….I hadn’t questioned why it was so light, why didn’t I look at it closer?  But it was to make him look subconsciously like the kind of bloke with enough money to have one and the kind of bloke who didn't need your money
4)    Sam didn’t work at the hotel – he must have just been hanging around in it to see what came down in the last shower
5)    Baba had been so observant about our wedding rings because he had been piecing our spending potential together and how much capitol he could screw us for
6)    Everyone gets the “we would like to invite you to come and see our pelicans” story, the villagers tell us it is a common symbiotic story for the scam
7)    The insistence on them being able to keep the fish we’d caught and the other lengthy details of the deal added to the validity of the deal
8)   We the victims were split up when the last 10k was extracted, which means there could be no chance of conferring about whether or not we should hand over the next sum, especially when they had seen evidence that the wife was a bit tight on the spending front

In so many ways, the whole charade was quite beautiful and we almost have to respect them for their efforts.

Several locals volunteered to find out where they where as they were known as the local heroin users – "they will already be shooting up right now" we managed to understand in our limited French. They all pretended to look concerned, but taking to their mates in Olaf (Senegalese language) they seemed to be having a much too jovial conversation to be discussing our plight from a sympathetic stand point.

So we felt utterly stripped bare. How could we have been so stupid? It felt like the whole world was watching this game show called “How not to do it!” The hilarious reality TV show where Edd and Sozzle do Africa and have their trousers dropped because they are fools!

The lesson: Never give anyone in Africa money until you have got what it is you are paying for…..And this valuable lesson luckily only cost us around 30 quid….a lot more in pride! Our sense of worldliness was instantly sculptured to a more humble size. And you’ll be pleased to know, we are now even more frugal than when we left the UK, if that is even physically possible!

Social Interaction

We have spent the past 4 weeks working for "Rainbow Community Care" which is a school, hospital and orphanage built on the outskirts of a popular tourist town on the coast of Kenya called Malindi. Malindi is full of Italians. In fact, you hear more Italian here than you would on the streets of Rome in the summer. All Kenyans with any kind of involvement with the tourist industry here speak Italian and many of them speak it better than they speak English. Considering that most lessons at school are in English, it's easy to see where the priorities lie. Everyone that approaches you here starts with an "amico" which rapidly turns to a "my friend" as soon as they realise you are not Italian - and once the formalities are over its straight down to business.

The business of most people that work the streets of the touristy centre of town is either prostitution or ripping you off. The latter activity is performed with varying levels of subtlety and effectiveness but generally speaking the two signs to look out for are; firstly - they initiate the conversation, and secondly they lie. As for the prostitutes, I am yet to learn if they are also in the habit of ripping people off and unfortunately Sozzle won't allow me to conduct any primary research of my own. Incidentally, I have been informed on good authority however that they command fees that range from "300 Bob" to 30,000 which is about 3 to 300 quid. The labourers on the school block we are managing at the moment get paid 250 per day so as you can imagine, those of the oldest profession here are pretty far up the food chain. And yes, before you ask - they are also a damn sight better looking than our labourers. We have enjoyed a couple of pleasant conversations with some of these girls in one of the local "piano bars", who once resigned to the fact that we're not potential customers are happy to chat away to you for most of the evening provided nothing better turns up and even they even lie a little less after a while. It's common knowledge round here that Naomi Cambell (she's a super model married to a Formula 1 boss, Mum) used to frequent the same club and according to one of the girls, on the occasions that she did, the local prossies would greet her entrance with exactly the same disdain reserved for any other tall black attractive outsider from Nairobi that fancied her chances making a bit of quick cash in the provinces.

At the beginning of our stay here, it was mildly amusing to have people desperately trying to convince us that they really were studying law in "Sunderland, England" and that therefore we really should exchange numbers and be friends (the charade eventually falls apart when they don't know what their postcode is). Now, however, it's all becoming just a little bit tedious. We still try to keep an open mind however, and now and again there is a glimmer of hope in the void that is our social life here - thank God for prostitutes!