Beautiful Country

And so it's home time.

The streets of Nairobi are relatively quiet as we drive through to the Mvuli House B&B I have booked for the overnight stop. It's an unusual situation. When I arrived, two weeks ago, it took over 2 hours to drive the 15 kilometres to the city centre.

But today is different. The roads are quiet going our way. There are queues the other side of the road, but on our side things manage to keep moving. So quiet are the streets in fact that Wilberforce, my driver from Kenatco, the government run taxi company who operate from Jomo Kenyatta International airport, thinks I am a lucky man. “Mr Tim, God is on your side” he says. And means it.

All things considered, it was fortunate indeed that the normal Nairobi traffic had chosen to clog up roads elsewhere, as Wilberforce ran me speedily to Mvuli road, Mvuli Park and a number of other Mvuli's, before stopping to ask someone if they knew where Mvuli House was.

They didn't

Eventually Wilberforce asked me if I had a number for the place. “I do” I replied, and passed it on to him.

A phone call later and the problem had been established. We were in Westlands, on the other side of Nairobi to the airport. The guest house though wasn't on Mvuli Park, Mvuli Road, any other Mvuli or indeed anywhere near Westlands. It was in Nairobi West, just 10 minutes drive from the airport.

And so we made our way back across town, through the traffic queues, around the roundabouts, just about avoiding contact with the matatus and their drivers, who I swear have to pass a test in a dodgem car before they are allowed on the roads.

Mvuli House, it turned out, was pleasant enough. The room was clean, the staff extremely friendly, the wifi free and surprisingly quick and the location, close to the main road, made the transfer from the airport simple (unless you go via Westlands).

Best of all, it is at least half the price of the many international hotels in the city centre.

We eventually arrived at 8:30pm, I checked in and arranged to meet Wilberforce again the following morning at the ridiculously early time of 5:00am, to ensure we were at the airport in good time for the flight home.

I asked the receptionist if there would be a discount, as I would be leaving before breakfast the following morning. “It's no problem” she said, “I will put you down for early breakfast. Is 4:30 ok for you?”

The TV in the lounge area was showing Man utd vs Benfica. The first football I had seen in 2 weeks and even better when I found out the score.

I enjoyed a cold Tusker and started to relax.

After the game I went back to my room wondering whether to bother with the mosquito net. I have never been bothered by mozzies in Nairobi, though I generally get bitten to death in Kisumu, especially in the rainy season when it seems soft white flesh is the requisite hors d'ouevre for insectkind. On this trip I suffered a number of bites around my ankles, elbows, wrists and knees. I can understand my elbows and wrists, as they are generally exposed, but it must take some kind of special commando mozzie to suck blood from my knees through trousers.

“Platoon, Ten Shun! To the Knees, Quuuiiiiccckkkk Flyyyyyyy!”

As I considered the need for the net I heard the unmistakeable sound of mosquito song. It's not the most tuneful sound, a single note, held for as long as flight is maintained. The silence is worse. It's then you start to wonder where it is. Your skin becomes extra sensitive and you feel it biting all over, when in truth it's probably just landed on the wall for a bit of a rest!

I decided the net was required, and began untieing it and tucking it around the mattress.

It's quite cosy, snugged under a mozzie net. It's like the feeling you get wrapping a duvet around you when the rain is beating on the window pain on a wild, stormy night. You know things are out there, but you feel safe and sound.

And I slept. To the sounds of Mombasa Road and the song of a lone mosquito.

About 10 minutes later the alarm went off. It may have been a little longer, perhaps even four or five hours, but it seemed like 10 minutes.

I dragged myself out of the mosquito sheltered coccoon, washed and dressed and made my way to “early breakfast”

The kitchen was alive with activity. Bacon, sausage, beans, some funny root looking thing, toast, eggs, juice.

As I walked in the waiter turned the dining room lights on and gave a cheery “Habaria za asabuhi?” “Nzuri” I replied sleepily.

I don't know if they are up at this time every day, but it was really nice to be looked after.

I decided it was too early for baked beans, and anyway the people on the plane may not welcome an unfavourable tail wind, so rustled up a bacon and sausage buttie from the assorted trays.

At 5:00, on the dot, Wilberforce arrived for another tour of Nairobi suburbs.

I checked out with a warm, friendly and smiling receptionist and got into the car.

I chatted with Wilberforce on the short journey back to JKIA. It turned out that he had been working all night, since he dropped me there the previous night. In fact, he had been working since the previous morning. The taxi company run a system requiring 24 hour shifts to be worked. He would finish work at 9:00am and then report back tomorrow morning for another 24 hour shift.

In spite of this he was happy to be working and chatted all the way to the airport.

My experience of Mvuli House and Wilberforce is common to all my experiences in Kenya. People are really friendly, nothing is too much trouble and if you need breakfast at 4:30, well then so be it.

It's a beautiful country, made all the more special by the ordinary people who struggle to make a living in it.