Lamu Day Two

I came to Lamu to be alone. I don’t know why I insist on being alone while on vacation. I’m a funny creature, when I’m alone I think I need someone to share this with, when there is someone I want my space.
One of the ills of tourism (at least in my view) is that it creates a space for the ‘beach bum’, the gigolo, the hustler, the male escort for the woman who travels alone. Of course the same exists for the men too, but I actually find the beach bum stands out more.
Today I stopped to say good morning to someone who I bought some exquisite (but inflated) coconut handicraft from, and I acquired a tail for the day. Well this morning I thought, ‘oh well, I didn’t really where I was going anyway, so what harm?’ by this evening (I write at 7:45 p.m. and I just amputated my tail) I wanted to scream!
I sat and chatted with my coconut craft colleague and some friends of his for quite some time this morning, which must have been when I could be accused of sending the wrong signals. I made the mistake of asking where I could get some yogurt to buy. A seemingly innocent question. The answer of course was more complicated than could be anticipated, this being Ramadan. You see here on Lamu no one is comfortable eating in public during Ramadan, which also means no one will sell you any food. My plan was to buy my yogurt and head for the beach where I would spend the day do some strategizing for my business and my store, until I could eat a decent meal at a nice restaurant in the evening. So when I asked where I could get some yogurt and expected to be directed to the place, I was wrong. Getting my breakfast would prove to be akin to buying drugs, a process that as an outsider could not be easily done. I needed a guide.
This guide lead me down some winding streets around and around till finally we came to a business that was closed, we had to go to the backdoor and knock very quietly till finally someone came to the second floor window. We had to shout out what we wanted and eventually some came down and brought the yogurt. I complicated the process further because my plan was to buy two yogurts, one to eat now and one for the road. When the yogurt was brought downstairs and I realized it was homemade, I sent back one, which meant that they had to make new change for me. When the change came down, I asked for a spoon, and of course the runner had to go up again. He brought down a metal spoon. Of course I’m from a plastic society, so I looked in shock at the spoon, as we were on the street. They had handed me the yogurt and locked the door. What was I to do with the spoon? I looked at my tail, Gitau, and asked ‘now what do I with this spoon?’ ‘We’ll bring it back later’ he replied. Talk about trust.
I now needed to rely on my tail to put me back onto a familiar path. He led up some streets and down some others, pointing various things along the way. ‘Drat!’ I thought, ‘now I have a guide, I’m going to have to pay this guy!’. So I asked him to lead me back to the path so I could walk on my own. ‘Hakuna matata’ he assured me. ‘By the way do you want to sit and eat?’ I didn’t mind. He went up to a compound and knocked on the door and we walked in. The compound was a traditional ‘barrack style’ yard, everyone was seated outside under a tree, while two women were preparing some food. We sat while I ate. What I thought would take 30 minutes ended up taking about four hours! I ate, they bought me a beer, I started discussing some very deep issues with a good looking and intelligent teacher of Swahili, and I think my guide was trying to get a free lunch for us. Maybe the women knew better and decided to cook even more slowly than ever, because we left at 2:30 and the food was far from ready, or maybe that was just Ramadan and the food was to eat after the fast was broken, that I doubt a little because we ate and drank while they were preparing food, everyone including the two Muslim men who stopped by dressed in skirts and kofias (skull caps), and they drank beer too! Behind closed doors anything goes.
The talk was interesting; everything was fine, until they all started to get a little drunk. I don’t drink enough to get drunk, so it’s always a problem for me to be in an environment with heavy drinkers. The scandalous woman cutting the potatoes started to talk more loudly and move her hands more freely as she spoke (with knife in one hand!). By 2:30 I really had had enough, there was no free food that would make me sit for another minute!
We got up and continued our walk to the beach – the long way. I guess that part of the day was okay, but I was HUNGRY! He was suggesting that we pass back to see how the food had progressed. I wasn’t really interested. I had planned to treat myself to dinner that night, and was starting to get upset, you mean I’ll have to treat this bum too? Anyway we walked and walked and walked. Actually to the next town and back. Really there was no other way to go as Lamu Island has no cars. On the way back we stopped at a small shop where I was finally able to get some food, not the shrimp I was dreaming of, but oh well. Not before all of my aches and pains started to appear, first my bad hip then my ankle. I had reached a point where I really could be alone. We were then met by some friend of his who had managed to inveigle 100 shillings out of me this morning. He sat at our table and started to talk about how African he was, and so pleased to meet his African sister and blah blah blah. As it got dark he managed to get another 70 shillings out of me to buy his drink. If you want to get me mad, ask me to buy a drunk alcohol! I know it seems small, especially since men buy each other drinks all the time, but I have such difficulty buying cigarettes and alcohol for people. It’s the moralist in me!
Anyway to cut a long story short, I got fed up. He walked me back to the hotel. It was already dark. I never had my shrimp. He wanted to show me where he lived, but could I leave my bag at the hotel. I said I might as well come one time. Then ok. He continued to lead me down some winding streets till we reached out by the beach. Oh I just live around the other side of the beach. Maybe it was true, but I was definitely not in the mood, and to besides it was dark, my leg was acting up, and he was a little drunk, and no I don’t want to smoke a joint or sit on the beach and watch the waves. So I politely asked him to take me back. ‘Oh no Latifah, what are you thinking? I didn’t have anything bad in mind. I just want to show you where I live.’ Yeah whatever. I wasn’t upset, just a little grumpy because I never got my shrimp (well maybe I got another kind because he was very short!) and never got any time alone. Oh well….