8

Some halfway-there thoughts from somewhere in Nairobi.

I’m sitting on a bed in a little hostel somewhere near Nairobi airport inside a giant blue mosquito net that my blurry, rubbish eyes are seeing as a kind of big blue haze. Bewildering, but quite nice. It’s like this room’s way of saying: ooooooooh Nish… isn’t this weird? And it really is, Room. It really is.

Blue Haze

Things always seem a bit surreal when you arrive in a completely new country; a feeling I thought I really loved until I stepped under a freezing cold shower, scribbled on myself with a microscopic soap slice for a bit and changing my mind. Stupid Nairobi. I can’t wait to get on the connecting flight.

(Offputtingly, we’re watching one of those appalling English-dubbed dramas – the background music is a kind of swelling, over-emotional string orchestra but the dialogue is all delivered in a really unnerving monotone like:

Sandy: Why are your eyes suddenly bulging with anger Mary Violet.

Mary Violet: Because I hate you Sandy. And I am in love with your husband. I will make sure that you die.

Sandy: You are saying words that might affect our friendship.

Which is making me laugh. But anyway. Anywayanyway.)

On the first flight, I ended up sitting next to a man who astonished me by making his way through about twelve cans of Coke – probably enough to paralyse a child or small animal – before the plane had even left the ground. He also felt the need to bellow everything he said to the two friends sitting less than a metre away from him and had no qualms about doing so all throughout the night, non-stop, even when he was the only person on the plane still talking, even when everyone else was pretending to be asleep, even including the people he was talking to. And because he’d started tipping rum into his drinks, he got louder and impossibly louder until he was literally drowning out the engine and everybody around him, sleep-deprived and miserable, imagined as one what it would be like to plummet down into the sea in a ball of flames and never have to hear his voice again. At least though, they thought, at least I’m not sitting right next to him. Not having that consolating thought to fall back on, I just concentrated on not swinging round and punching him in the face until I eventually drifted off to sleep.

Some time later, I felt someone jabbing me in the arm.

Me: Uh?

Bellowing Coke Man: IS MORNING. GOOD MORNING.

Me: (barely conscious) Whu?

Bellowing Coke Man: WE MEET YESTERDAY! SATURDAY. NOW SUNDAY, ISN’T IT!

Me: It is, isn’t it.

I closed my eyes and started to breathe as if I’d fallen asleep again.

Bellowing Coke Man: *jabjabjab* WE MEET YESTERDAY! THEN NIGHT, ISN’T IT?

Me: Then it was the night, yeah.

Bellowing Coke Man: AND THEN? EH?

Me: Then… then it was the morning.

Bellowing Coke Man: (delighted) NOW SUNDAY! AND WE MEET YESTERDAY, ISN’T IT?

Me: We did, didn’t we.

What I wanted to say, of course, of course, was: it’s called THE PASSAGE OF TIME, you utter, utter bell-end, and thanks to you I’ve been acutely, suicide-inducingly aware of it for nearly eight hours. But I didn’t.

I don’t know how Liam and I made it from there to this room somewhere in Nairobi, but I’m so glad we did. I’ve had a very peaceful afternoon of falling asleep, waking up, thinking, argh! I’m in Africa! and then falling asleep again.

Our flight to Madagascar is in a few hours. I wonder what’ll happen when we get there.

3

Meeting Man With Glasses and Captain Proactive

After our quiet day in a Nairobi hotel, things got a touch complicated. After we were dropped at Nairobi airport we were told that our connecting flight to Madagascar had been cancelled, with no further flights available until Tuesday.

The man who told us this did so with a casual grin, offered us no options and was thoroughly unhelpful. Luckily we had nowhere to go and nothing to lose, so he eventually asked Man With Glasses if he could sort out an indirect flight via Johannesburg.

Since then, the journey has taken a dramatic turn for the good. We were given food, for a start. Nish got a window seat and Johannesburg at night is beautiful from the air- like glitter in a lake. Captain Proactive met us straight after the flight and marched us to a complimentary room in the airport hotel, which is gorgeous, comfy and entirely necessary.

Johannesburg

We’ve also realised that this means we’ll get to see Madagascar on the approach, as our flight will be during the day instead of at night. Really unexpected and absolutely fantastic. Couldn’t be more excited. :)

3

A letter of complaint.

Dear Air Kenya,

We are angry. As you may or may not be aware, the island of Madagascar has historically been regarded by the British as a distant, beckoning land of unattainable riches; merchants and sailors during the 17^th century even spoke of the ‘dream of Madagascar’, so-called because it was always perceived as slightly out of reach, slightly difficult to get to. That was before the technological ingenuity of air travel. Now, thanks to Air Kenya, it’s literally, literally impossible.

We will never quite understand why we had ‘not been entered into the system’. But as we stood at Gate 30 and watched our second attempt to Madagascar take off and disappear into the ether, an apologetic and powerless air steward asked us a question which sounded like this: ‘Hivya got visas f’Sithifica?’ and it quickly became clear that we were now to get visas for South Africa. (We’ve now amassed a collection of visas, and actually, the only one that seems completely superfluous is the one for Madagascar.)

We were then forced to spend the entire day exploring Johannesburg (or the slightly irritatingly shortened version ‘Jo’burg’ used by people who, like us, find themselves saying the word a lot more than ordinarily necessary). Never mind the fact that only a few hours previously Liam and I had been having a conversation about how much we would absolutely love to explore Johannesburg. Visa-stamped and weary, we came across a driver called Douglas who took us to see the spectacular underground caves at Sterkfontein, one of the most important archeological sites in the Cradle of Humankind. This was an experience so singularly dreadful that we felt moved to take photographs as evidence. You will see us smiling, awe-struck and having a wonderful time in many of these photos. Ignore those.

Later, we found ourselves spending the evening in possibly the most lavish hotel I have ever seen, courtesy of Air Kenya. Given that we have spent many months preparing for life in the third world, imagine our surprise and disgust when we found ourselves ushered to a swanky table, complimentary champagne in one hand, cream-cheese-biscuit-thing in the other, and presented with an unlimited supply of South African red wine and a massive buffet. Particularly offensive was the vast selection of desserts, and I feel able to say that with some authority, having sampled every single one on offer. I would like to make it clear that, as somebody who relishes a challenge and sees the bright side of every situation, I am not normally the sort of person who would write to complain; it is only after half a bottle of wine that I feel able to do so.

At this point, we’re wondering whether we’re destined to ever reach Madagascar. The ‘dream’, so-called, has become the nightmare. I can only express the hope that we do not find ourselves victims of any further errors on the part of Air Kenya, which we can only imagine would lead to a scenario in which we find ourselves swimming with dolphins, sampling a selection of expensive liqueurs and smearing melted chocolate all over our faces while people applaud us and tell us how amazing our hair looks.

Yours sincerely,

Nish and Liam

0

Johannesburg

Arriving in Johannesburg, Nish and I were just discussing who was going to keep watch while the other slept in an airport café, when we noticed Captain Proactive talking to a bunch of people just outside our arrival point. As we drew closer a British family grabbed us and told us that we were being put up, free of charge, in a Johannesburg hotel. I must have cried with happiness.

Nish’s face lit up too, when she saw the size of the beds we each had. Before we went to said beds, we had a quick chat about how we would like to have seen the outside of the airport, having come all this way, and that one day we would return to Johannesburg and “do it properly”.

Now, those of you that know me personally will know that fate has a wonderful way of flirting with me. I am, as a general rule, so lucky that raindrops only hit the warm spots on my skin and pickpockets just steal each others’ wristwatches from my pockets. Nish advises me that her luck is somewhat locally renowned too. It will be no surprise to you, then, that the resulting complications gave us a full day in Johannesburg and another free night at an even better hotel, courtesy of Air Kenya.

So after a mushroom panini and some internet browsing, we decided to go to Sterkfontein Caves, an area north west of Johannesburg proper which is noted as being in the “Cradle of Humankind” – a place in which evidence of lots of different early human ancestors has been found. We negotiated with a taxi driver for a bit, who turned out not to be a taxi driver but a random ‘dude’ who lounges about outside Jo’burg airport just to make sure that everything runs smoothly. Think the Fonz, but black, and with awful teeth and unfashionable brown shoes. Anyway, our actual taxi driver came over and accepted the fare that we’d talked about with Bad Teeth Fonzie, then pushed us into a taxi and started driving.

We trusted him implicitly, because, let’s face it, we were on our way to Madagascar to spend 3 months integrating into a community and relying on the kindness of strangers. We had to get used to trusting pretty much everyone. And, despite my lack of sleep at this stage, I think I could have taken him. He was a bit chubby. His name was Douglas, and Douglas drove. And drove. And drove.

We passed Alexandra, the second biggest township in the world, which was stunning against the midday sun. We passed wealth and poverty, fantastic buildings and horrible bleached simple ones, all floating on this strong, light yellow of the South African soil. I only say that now because it’s such an obvious difference now we’re in Madagascar, and the soil is blood-orange red. We passed many signs saying “no picnics”. Right in the middle of the road. Really. Picnics in the middle of a busy road in an ugly dusty yellow waste in the blazing sun are apparently so popular in South Africa that they’ve designed signs warning people that it might be dangerous.

Douglas the taxi driver spent much of the journey chastising us for not spending every waking moment in Johannesburg wandering around in the Apartheid museum, wailing and sobbing. We managed to convince him that we’d go on the way back, in 3 months time, providing that Air Kenya continue to be as reliable and accommodating as they have been so far.

Anyway, we got to Sterkfontein Caves at about 2pm, when the sun was high and mighty. Schoolchildren regarded us with interest. We looked like pale, smelly pirates, and for some reason we were in their country looking at rocks. Or, as the labels called the rocks, “Oldawan technology”. We studied this strange technology, and wondered if it did anything. Other than be a rock. With a slightly smooth face. Or a few slightly smooth faces.

I was just wondering out loud what an Oldawan-period sales pitch would be like -

“Check this out, you’ve got your 110 degree corner there, your 120 here, slightly smoothed side there for all your sanding jobs and a built-in exfoliator… turn it upside-down and BAM! You weren’t expecting us to throw in a slight sharp pointy bit in ABSOLUTELY FREE”

- when our guide arrived and hurried us down into the caves.

…which were quite stunning. It’s amazing to think that these limestone caves were made naturally, and not by some weirdo with dynamite, a chisel, a lot of spare time and a cubism fetish. Big, bold rocks suspended by little more than a tiny corner, and long columns where stalagmites and stalactites joined together centuries ago.

Anyway, check out our photographs, because we love you.

When we returned to Douglas, two hours later, he was still dutifully waiting there in the carpark as he’d promised. He complained that it wasn’t worth going back, because he’d have hit traffic. He also subtley dropped into conversation that he was due to finish work about now, but we still had around an hour to go before we got to the hotel. Whatever, Douglas.

Anyway, Kenya Airways had EXCELLED themselves. What. A. Hotel.

As we arrived, one of the 20 smiling people at the reception desk checked us in and offered us a free glass of champagne. We totally accepted. Then he offered us biscuits with cheese. We totally accepted those as well. Then he offered us free wine in the foyer, and it was at that point that we knew that this whole Madagascar thing had been A Great Idea, if not, then perhaps The Best Idea We Had Ever Had In Our Entire Lives.

As food was funded by Air Kenya, we helped ourselves to as much of it as possible. The desserts were especially good- and there were about 20 different ones. We had all of them, and our favourite was the lemon meringue pie. Surprisingly, the chocolate sponge was disappointing and cried out for a sauce, but the lychee cocktail washed it down quite nicely.

Johannesburg airport in the day was an interesting mix of functionality and horrific exploitation. A café there was dubbed “the watering hole”, and everywhere were pictures of cartoon zebras, elephants and giraffes. There was even a giant giraffe statue next to our departure, and the chocolate shop sold “zebra dropping” chocolates in horrifically cheesy packaging. I could only imagine western travelers buying said chocolates as a joke to show their friends how cheesy and exploitative the airport was… which just goes to show how easy it is to create a market out of nothing, really.

Our personal favourite was a small baby suit which had a dancing elephant and the words “my baby loves to boogie” on the front.

0

Taxi brousse to Vatomandry

After a near sleepless night being attacked by phantom mosquitos, I wasn’t really looking forward to a 8-hour taxi ride to Vatomandry. I’ll admit that. But I was so unbelievably wrong to worry, as it was absolutely incredible.

We caught a taxi to the taxi brousse station, all held-together with tape and wires. I had to hold my bag to stop it from falling out of the open boot. It was the perfect way to start the morning though, as it helped us to realise how beautiful Tana is during the day. Yes, it’s a post-apocalyptic mess of a semi-shanty town, but in the daylight, from a good angle, you appreciate how the colours, sounds, smells and bustle actually turn into a real city. It’s crazy and awesome.

The Malagasy use a term “Mora Mora”, which apparently means “slowly slowly”. It’s kind of a self-deprecating mantra they repeat, as things move so slowly around here that even the patient Malagasy complain. Things like taxi-brousses don’t seem to have a predictable “departure time” other than “morning”, and a journey to anywhere in the country pretty much takes all day. We arrived at 9am, when it was supposed to leave, and proceeded to wait about an hour and a half before the driver turned up.

The journey progressed at a fast pace through twisted and dusty roads- I seemed to be the only person in the vehicle with a seatbelt, which I dutifully wore for the first half of the journey. Then I realised that if we crashed into a tree or something, I would be the only survivor alone in the Madagascar rainforest, with no working phone or any life skills. I would probably be be eaten alive by a giant insect. Or by several giant insects. So I quietly took my seatbelt off.

We saw the outside progress from dusty, bleak wasteland to a beautiful deep green as the taxi-brousse drove on, revealing tiny paradises on the edge of the rainforest. The soil stays bloody red throughout and the landscape itself is fascinating – giant hills covered in forest which dip into little rivers and farmland. The Malagasy people have managed to get everywhere too – you’ll see their small wood and leaf houses impossibly perched on the roadside and on hills in the distance, and small stalls selling freshly picked mangoes, pineapples and bananas to passing cars literally every mile or so between Tana and Vatomandry (which at a rough guess from the length of our journey may have been about a million miles of road).

To date, it was honestly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. A lovely way to be introduced to Madagascar.