How Senegalese wrestling became a modern martial arts sensation

The crowd is buzzing as the unforgiving Dakar sun beats down and the stadium fills past capacity. The air is thick with tension — one fears to step on anyone’s toes. The drums pound louder in anticipation of the historic match that is about to begin. Two loincloth-clad wrestlers prepare in an expansive ring, their feet deep in the sand. Each grappler is joined by a maraboutor two, spiritual guides who lead their men through rituals that, while steeped in traditional culture, also borrow heavily from the mystical Sufi Islamism practiced by most Senegalese.

In the ring is Fodé Doussouba, the 6-foot-2-inch, 330-pound star of traditional Senegalese wrestling sans frappe (without hitting or punching), who has enjoyed an undefeated, 11-year reign. He walks through a wooden loop four times to ward off negative spells.

His opponent is the heavy favorite, Bory Patar, the 6-foot-5-inch, 265-pound champion of wrestling avec frappe (with hitting or punching), the modern, commercial version of the sport that combines elements of wrestling and bare-knuckle boxing. Patar, who is wearing leather charms and amulets, douses himself in an oily liquid handed to him by his marabout — a potion to increase his strength, make him invincible and assure victory.

In the stadium’s seat of honor sits a regal man in a grand boubou — Bassirou Diagne Marème Diop. In a few decades he’ll become Le Grand Serigne de Dakar, the leader of the Lebou people, fishermen who are the original inhabitants of the region. For now, in 1961, he’s a rogue wrestling promoter who has rigged the match between old and new, giving the fighters different contracts that require each to compete in his own style, while filling the stadium with fans hungry to see what type of fight it turns out to be.

4, 3, 2, 1 — wrestle!

Patar lashes out. “He punched me!” yells Doussouba, holding his head in shock.

Diop rushes into the ring and loudly berates Patar. “Why did you hit him? You know this match is meant to be a traditional wrestling match — no punching!” As he walks away, though, he whispers to Patar: “Next time, hit him harder.”

4, 3, 2, 1 — wrestle!

Bam!

This time, realizing he’s been tricked, Doussouba reaches for a big stick and uses it to beat Patar. The event descends into chaos as the fans start fighting in the stands. The match is stopped, but a winner can be declared: the modern style. From that point on, the dominant wrestling in Senegal is avec frappe.

To read my full article for Ozy click here. 

The story of portraiture and photography in Saint-Louis, Senegal

There has been increasing interest to unearth and understand Africa’s photographic history in recent years. Whether this is driven by the growing treasure trove of black and white images from the continent resurfacing; a need to dispel myths about what Africa is and is not; or a growing interest in photography for storytelling purposes in the Instagram-obsessed age, this journey promises to be an interesting one.

The latest treasure to be revealed on that journey is the Saint-Louis Photography Museum in Saint-Louis, Senegal, which opened last November. The museum hopes to eventually build an extensive collection of historic portraits, but has started off with the impressive personal collection of its founder, Amadou Diaw, a Senegalese businessman and founder of Groupe ISM, one of the region’s most respected business schools. The striking collection, mostly dating from 1930 to 1950, highlights the country’s rich and deep photography tradition.

Many of the most well-known photographs from West Africa were captured by Malick Sidibe, an internationally renowned photographer from Mali who captured iconic black and white images of the region in the 1950s, 60s, and 70s. Sidibe died in April 2016. But the history of photography in West Africa stretches further back. It begins in the coastal town of Saint-Louis in the north of Senegal, where a photo camera, believed to be the first to be used in West Africa (link in French), was sent by the French Minister of Marine and Colonies in 1863.

Saint-Louis was a leading urban center established by French traders in the 17th century. To maintain their stronghold, French colonists relied heavily on the establishment of a metis (mixed race) society. This society was born out of a union of French traders or soldiers (who usually had their own families in France) marrying local women (usually of a high class) to further their business interests. These women and their female descendants, known locally as the Signares, are an important part of Saint-Louis’ culture and history.

To read the full article, please follow this link to Quartz. 

Alone time in Tokyo - Harajuku, Meiji shrine, Akihabara, Roppongi

Tokyo had revealed to me just how exhausted I was after all our crazy backpacking. I was almost never able to make it for any of our morning group plans in Tokyo. All I wanted to do was sleep, sleep and sleep some more. I recall Mouna asking me, “Did you come to Japan to sleep?” Death..My friend has a way with words. So I took my Tokyo trip into my own hands and decided that I was not going to let this be an expensive sleeping trip, but really take advantage of the fact that I was in Tokyo – Tokyo of all amazing places with Natsuno as our fabulous tour guide, and I was going to explore the city.

I spent a few days wandering around Harajuku – the home of Tokyo street fashion. A long walk down Takeshita street – revealed lots of fascinating and amusing people and shops.

I spent a lovely afternoon visiting the Meiji shrine – Tokyo’s most famous Shinto shrine dedicated to the late 19th century emperor who opened Japan to the West. The shrine is dedicated to the spirits of Emperor Meiji and his wife, Empress Shoken. In the Edo Period (1603-1867), the site had belonged to the Kato family and Ii family, both feudal lord families. In the Meiji era, the shrine was built in 1920 at the site and the inner garden – Yoyogi garden.

I marveled at the 40 foot high gate at the entrance to the 200 acre park Meiji shrine is in. The gate is made of 1500 year old cypress…..Japan must have the most polite termites….you’re telling me wood can survive that long?

I wondered about the hundreds of wine barrels near the shrine. Turns out that Emperor Meiji who had embraced western culture, was a lover of wine and particularly loved wine from the wineries in Burgundy.

When I finally got to the shrine, I enjoyed the tranquility of it. It was very understated compared to Akasuka shrine that I had visited only a few days back. Everything was more moderate. There was the budhaa with the two angry genies next to him to chase away evil spirits. There was a little place where coins were dropped into for good luck. There was smoke and incense.  

I also spent half a day at Akihabara – the gadget/tech part of Tokyo.

In the evening me and my roomies walked to roppongi hills – a really popular area with great restaurants, an amazing club scene etc. and enjoyed a calm dinner in a really great restaurant before walking back home and calling it a night.   

Don't play with your food...unless it's running noodles in Japan

We all know that you are not meant to play with your food, but there are rare exceptions to this rule. Running noodles in Japan counts as one such example. No better way to explain this, than to have you watch it for yourself. 

Disclaimer: No food was wasted in this game. All noodles, tomatoes and cucumbers were eventually eaten after the game. 

The grand feast of Ohira

Having spent a wonderful day with the kids at Natsuno's former high school in Ohira, the afternoon was all about passing out. 

All 18 - 19 of us MirozinJapan were going to stay with different families during our time in Ohira. We were staying with 4 different families. Afternoon nap time was amazing and was to prepare us for what Natsuno had described as a night of feasting in each of our individual homes. When it was dinner time at Natsuno's, she told us to dress in pyjamas, "because we are going to eat a lot and you need space."

When we got downstairs, we realized that Natsuno had not been joking. There was so many different types of food and at least 7 different types of alcohol - including 3 types of sake. Her family was not playing games. 

Family time was amazing. We ate to our hearts' content and drank to our fill. Natsuno's dad played the guitar for us, we looked at photo albums - made fun of Natsuno's childhood pics and had merry night. After all this we slept very soundly till the next morning. 

Japanese Alps, Shirakawago, natural hot baths in the mountains…

Early in the morning we left the theme park public bath we had slept at and went to the Nagoya castle. It was a very lovely castle. Shortly after that we traveled by car to a city called Gifu to participate in a boys’ festival called Takebana Matsuri. We walked a lot, tried all sorts of delicious foods and spent a leisurely day walking through the streets to different parts of the carnival. There were some huge fascinating traditional cars being pushed around during the festival. We asked one of the guys pushing the carts, what the significance of this particular festival was, and he said he had no idea. That was quite amusing – given he was pushing this gigantic car for the festival. In the evening, we drove to the village of Shirakawago. On our way there we finally found a shop that sold the famous Babyfoot. We stocked up on that and food too.

Early in the morning we spent some time working with the sweetest old ladies who had a crafts shop and taught us to make table mats. Given language barriers, a lot of the work was done in silence. It was lots of fun just watching, imitating (as best as we could) and making table mats that were not too terrible looking.

After this we drove to the Japanese alps and took the ropeway to the mountain top. We had not really realized how cold some parts of Japan would be. You should have seen #mirozinjapan freezing as we prepared to take a group pic on the top of the mountain.

Our next stop was Roten Bura – natural outdoor hot springs. It was a beautiful sight seeing these natural hot pools in the middle of the freezing mountains. We started off at one pool that was a bit enclosed between cliffs – this was the women’s hot spring. There was also another enclosed one elsewhere for men and a huge exposed one for both men and women. There were naked men sitting around with a small towel placed on their crotch’s for modesty’s sake. Our large group eventually ended up in the outdoor hot spring as that had the most lovely view….but we kept our costumes on;-)

Shortly after this we went searching for cherry blossoms. We eventually did find a tree of two that was still blossoming. They were beautiful. We went back to our lovely home in the UNESCO village of Shirakawago and partied till 3am. Japanese drinking games are lots of fun!

The day when sleep never saw us

Natsuno summarized this particular day so well.

“The folks woke up at 4.30am (I uncovered Lorna's futon to wake her up....gomen ne haha), folded futon and caught 3 trains and 1 metro in Tokyo to go to busy Tsukiji Fish Market. Just before the market, we saw bankers cleaning the street in front of a brunch of a bank and Patricia wondered why they don't hire cleaners (lol welcome to Japan). We wandered around the tiny streets in the market, and had sushi for breakfast. Then we rushed to Tokyo Station to catch a bus to go to a lake near Mt. Fuji, but we were  rushing so much that Nawal fell down on a zebra crossing ("yako" Nawal, but that was a funny moment!). We were so lucky to see beeeeautiful view of Fuji.....and Ciku and Mou Na learned how to ride a bicycle. On our bus ride back, Nyamwathi made new friends. Then, Sir-Ben Ngene had the moment of excitement - Shinkansen ride to Nagoya. One of the folks lost her Shinkansen ticket, but JR found it on the platform (#japaneseefficiency). We then had local Nagoya barbecue for dinner, and caught another train (so many train rides today) to head to a "theme park of public bath." On our way there, Edel got her dream item: a Japanese mask! She put it on and became a proper nihonjin (Japanese person). On the local train, a cute drunk Japanese woman kept talking with us. This drunk woman took off her artificial eye lashes, and asked Péchou to exchange her braided hair with the used artificial eye lashes. lol By the time we got to the public bath theme park, we were all tired and ready to fall asleep, but Ciirù opened her eyes because she got excited to see the crazy things in the theme park. From the morning to the night, people kept asking us where the hell we all came from ("Where are you guys from?" "We are from 6 different African countries." "Oh, sodesuka (I see). Welcome to Japan!”

First public bath in Japan, zen meditation at the temple and sleeping in the temple

I had been fascinated with the concept of onsens/public baths since the first time I heard about them. You’re telling me everyone just gets naked and bathes together? If I was going to get into a public bath in Japan, it was definitely going to be with mirozinjapan- that way in case of any staring, the stares would be shared. In the words of my lovely Senegalese friend, “Yeah. Everyone is naked, but what if this is the first time they are seeing a black butt?” It was an important point to consider – you could all be naked, but some of you might be more of a novelty than others:-). My other friend did have some interesting concerns, “You know in Senegalese culture it’s considered bad luck to see someone’s butts. I don’t know if I am ready for all this bad luck.”

After the tea ceremony we all dressed up in kimonos and did amusing photo shoots. In our attempts to look dainty and demure as the Japanese ladies who had led us through the tea ceremony, we sometimes ended up having pics that made us look like sheep about to get slaughtered. FAIL.

Natsuno had managed to get media to join us for the day. They were fascinated about this group of 18 or so mirozinjapan who were traveling together and wanted to hear about our first impressions of Japan. Later we sat with Jokan – our monk friend, drank tea and chatted a lot about his path to becoming a monk. He was so interesting and calm. We all enjoyed being with him.

We walked half an hour away for dinner at a local restaurant. Before getting in to the restaurant, we took off our shoes. This would become the norm in most of the restaurants we went to in Japan. I found it strangely calming – as if you were entering an African home and had to take off your shoes before stepping on the carpet. It made the restaurants seem more intimate – like someone’s house rather than a hotel. The dinner was delicious and we had yummy sake after that. Gift giving was very big in Japan and Natsuno had reminded us to bring enough trinkets to give as gifts as everyone else would alsobe giving us gifts. We were each given delicious boxes of wafers and in return we gave an assortment of our gifts that represented the diversity of countries we represented. After dinner we walked back to the temple and picked our bath essentials. We got to the public bath house. We walked into a giant room (women-only) where a few naked women were sitting on green buckets soaping themselves. We followed suit – soaped ourselves sitting on the green buckets – still not sure why this has to be done seated. (Maybe it's also bad luck in Japanese culture to moon people?) We rinsed off a bit then jumped into the giant bathtub. I believe that the bath had been set up to boil lobsters – cause that water temperature. I was only able to stay inside for five minutes before I started to fear for my life. I got out of the bath and had to drink lots of water to rehydrate. We wore our pyjamas at the bath house and walked back to the temple in our pjs. We got to the temple – made our futons for sleeping then proceeded upstairs for a session of zen meditation. It was quite relaxing. I believe most people were already half asleep five minutes in – after our long day. It was quite hilarious when in the midst of chanting, the monk hit the gong. Some people almost fell off their seats as they were already drifting off to sleep. We slept at 12:30am and were up by 4:30am for an adventure filled day that would start off with eating the freshest sushi and sashimi at Tsukiju fish market.

I fell off a horse today

[flashback from July 2016]

I fell off a running horse today. I should start by saying I'm 100% ok..My lipstick didn't even smudge - Mac is the 8th wonder of the world.

I was always afraid of falling off a horse. You know that's how Don Draper's dad died. I think he fell off a horse and it kicked him in the face. Mine was less dramatic than that.

I think what happened is that my horse - Oasis - has been watching Usain Bolt and was inspired. We were three riders - Aurelien Chu who is an expert rider. Mou Na who is also a novice like me, but loves speed. Me who has ridden a few times but only with very calm horses that rarely/never gallop.

We start off, it's lovely - Aurelien is galloping, me and Mouna are mostly strolling or trotting.i see signs very early that my horse is an overachieving leader - never a follower. Oasis wants to be ahead of everyone while me I'm ok with staying close to the reassuring presence of the guide. By the ocean, she wants to run in and play around. I can appreciate that - I'm a water baby too..

Then the excitement begins. Mouna wants to go fast but her horse (my horse's twin) will only gallop for 5 seconds then chill. My horse on the other hand wants to go for gold. Every time anyone gives the call for their horse to run, it's my horse that goes off running. At first I'm freaked out by the speed - then I start to enjoy the adrenaline. I learn to lean forward when she's galloping and really squeeze my thighs hard so that you don't lose balance. We are at an ok rhythm - she gives me that nice adrenaline rush but when i kanyaga brakes, she stops. Everytime Mouna or Aurelien tell their horse to run, it's Oasis who runs fast.

Women, they never tell you. Wear a sports bra for horse riding. The ladies had long escaped from their prison.

Then we are galloping and she decided she has to be number one. So me I'm kanyagaing brakes telling her number last is ok. She wasn't having any of that. Now she's trying to overtake Aurelien's horse - sibling rivalry has already made her pass Mouna's horse. She's flying (at least that's what it felt like to my novice self.) She sees Aurelien's horse in the distance and says "bilaz! It can't end like this." Now she's really flying - I'm pulling the reins saying "Arrête! Arrête!" forgetting she's more conversant in wolof than in French. I lose balance and feel myself fall...

Oh my gosh! I've fallen off a running horse. I roll as far as I can - I don't want her to land on me! Turns out I have no need to worry, Oasis didn't even look back.. I thought we were friends! I petted you before the ride. The guide saying "Elle aime les câlins"/"she loves cuddling"…Me too! We have some sort of sisterhood!

Naaa aaah - this girl went for gold:-) Are you ok? Yeah - except my ass really hurts. I landed on it - which is a good thing.... Many worse ways to fall. I stand up ...hold up! What is that noise in my ear? VOK? Turuuuuuruiiiiii turuuuuuruiiiiii

.. Why do they sound so far? I fall on my ass again... .i momentarily remember there a major connection between balance and your ears.. After a few minutes I'm ok to stand up, get back on Oasis and finish the ride - with the guide holding her reins..

Oasis you're cool - we cuddled and took a selfie and all after that, but please don't judge me next time when I take Mouna's horse. It's not you.

It's me.

Up close and personal with sea creatures

Two months into my Dakar move, I heard about a grand annual race that takes place from Dakar to Goree island – a distance of 4km. I love swimming! Me and a few friends decided to start training for the race by swimming from Ngor to Ngor island and back a few times a week. I still recall that first time. It was something from a bizarre comedy. This was my first time swimming in the ocean. Of course I have swam in the Ocean a few times, but it’s more of jumping, catching waves etc. – not intentionally leaving the shore to swim into the deep of the ocean – get to an island across and swim back. I have also swam in other water bodies including a river in Arembepe, Bahia in Brazil. There I was enjoying the swim in the peaceful river when my friends called me back. “Watch out for the snakes!” So river swimming – yes there are risks. My favourite open water swimming was in Lake Tanganyika in Rumonge, Burundi. That water was perfectly clear, freshwater lake – no salt, calm…and I was told that in this particular part there are no hippos or crocodiles. It was such an idyllic place to swim.

The ocean though – I had my concerns before. What about the salt? I was going to wear goggles but you know you can never trust those things – the number of times they get misty and you can’t see anything. What about the waves? We were going to swim at 7am and the waves were not expected to be terrible. What about the sharks? There have been only 4 shark attacks in Dakar from 1828 – 2004. Basically if I got attacked by a shark, then it was fate.

There were 5 of us the first morning. We got to the water at 7am. The view was lovely – the sun rising over the ocean, rocking boats by the beach, a nice view of the island we would be swimming to. We began swimming and everyone got to their natural rhythm. We were all swimming at different speeds and doing different strokes. I chose to do breast stroke as it was the easiest to breathe in, given the waves coming in from the side. I would have drunk too much water if I tried to do crawl – and crawl is tiring for a long-ish swim. Everything was going perfectly up until I was really close to the island. One of my friends is an outdoors rockstar. She had already done the Dakar to Goree swimming race twice, rides a scooter, surfs all the time……ooooh and by the way, she also happens to be an amazing project manager at DalbergJ, in addition to being a really nice, kind, fun person! Before we started swimming, she warned us “When you get to the other side, there will be rocks but don’t worry. They appear much closer than they actually are.” At that point, I had wondered why rocks should be something to worry about – I would soon learn.

I got to the rocky part – the rocks were still far beneath me. With my goggles I got to see lovely small fish swim past me. I was marveling at nature. I went a bit further and because the tide was low, the rocks were much closer to me. It was becoming hard to swim as the water was now really shallow and the rocks were touching my thighs. The obvious instinct was to walk on the rocks…..

But……

The rocks were covered in poisonous sea urchins.

At first I didn’t see the sea urchins. I stood on the rocks a bit. At this point, Tania (the rockstar) turned back and told me – “Ciku don’t stand. Keep swimming. Swim flat so that you don’t touch the rocks. There are urchins on them!”

Up to this point, my interaction with sea urchins had been limited. There had been a plate full of live urchins that my crazy cool Japanese friend – Natsuno – had ordered the first time we went together to Point des Almadies. Those things are ugly! So I knew they were ugly and move like something from a nightmare.

I had later learnt that on top of being a very creepy meal, they are extremely dangerous. Two weeks before, Tania had been surfing and landed on sea urchins on a rock. Her knee had been the size of small football for 4 days.

I knew I wanted nothing to do with these urchins – not on my plate, not under my skin.

“Ouch!”

“Did something sting you?”

I replied, “Yeah. My foot hurts and my finger too.”

“Oh no. You’ve been stung by sea urchins. Let me see if there is a way to get to the beach without having to pass these rocks.”

By this time I was petrified. I had no desire to get to the island anymore – we were close enough, but would have to go through poisonous territory to get there. I decided to turn back and swim back to the mainland. By the time I got to the mainland, my foot and finger were stinging. From an inspection of my wounds, we suspected that my finger had been stung by a jellyfish, while my foot had sea urchin spikes in it. Tania got a needle, heated it usinga lighter and got to work. I thought I would need a shot for the spike removal but it wasn’t too bad.

Some spikes were really deep inside and Tania advised to call a doctor home to come remove them immediately or risk getting really swollen and having to deal with lots of pain. A doctor was called and I needed quite a bit of language support from my friends as I could not even pronounce what got me Les oursins (sea urchins) et une meduse (jellyfish). I kept on saying Les Oiseaux (birds.) Clearly the doctor must have been wondering how “birds stung the sole of my foot.”

Aaaah. I got up close and personal with these sea creatures! Be warned. These stings get worse day by day. On the first day I thought “this is not too bad.” By the 3rd day it was really painful to walk. I had to bail out of a weekend trip to Gambia.

Sea urchins, next time I will eat you.  

Adjusting to a different culture and finally getting rid of a certain bugga--boo

The afternoon of the day The Terminator went hard on the non-compliant teachers was a Friday. At lunchtime, everyone went to the mosque for prayers. I was left at the beach to kill time – there are definitely worse ways to kill time:-). After that we went for lunch at a small roadside place. I had the most delicious fish ever – everyone insisted I should order it and said it was rare and a specialty in Comoros. It was called “poisson rouge” which translates to “red fish.” It was only months later during a French class that I learnt goldfish are poisson rouge. Comoros has rare goldfish that grow to a full size. That fish was delicious and so soft! There was a lovely baby at the restaurant. I could see the fascination in our driver’s eyes. He told me how much he loves babies – and he had many of them. When he had come to pick me from the beach earlier, we had met his wife and one of their small babies. He was such an affectionate father. Later on the streets we had met one of his daughters and he had called her over, hugged her tenderly, exchanged kind words with her and given her some money to go treat herself. Comorians were really warm. We kept on stopping everywhere along the way to give people lifts.

We had some official meetings later in the day. Given that some conservative muslim men don’t shake women’s hands, I had chosen to take the cue on what was appropriate from the interviewee. Most times I would simply bow my head and do a small hand wave. If they reached out for my hand, I would shake their hand too – but I would never stretch out my hand first – just in case they did not shake hands with women. You can imagine my confusion when one of our government interviewees cheekily asked me to kiss him on his cheek after a meeting. It was quite strange. It would have been less strange if he had just initiated the cheek kiss – a lot of Franchophones greet in this way – but asking for it just gave me a very creepy feeling….plus he was sitting down and I was standing – so I had to bend down to give this awkward kiss – with a few men standing behind me. I had already began to get self-conscious about my work clothes in Comoros. In many other countries, my work pants and skirts would be normal, but in Comoros the women generally covered up quite a bit and I instantly felt like my regular work pants were suddenly waaaaaaay too tight – when I compared them to the other women’s dressing.

On our long drive, we passed a lovely lady who came to greet our driver. Instantly from the way they interacted with each other, I knew they were an item. There is a certain energy that’s around two people who have a thing together. I think he noticed I noticed and decided to entertain me and the local consultant with the highlights of his love-life. Yes, this was his girlfriend. He has 2 wives, 2 ex-wives and 8 children in total. I have no idea how anyone manages all these close relationships. All those wives, lovers and babies. When do you sleep?

In Comoros, I also experienced for the first time the faux pas of not knowing how to behave in certain situations in a muslim country. For example, sometimes we would walk into a government building for meetings – find our interviewee in the middle of prayer and my first instinct would be to wait outside till they finished. My Comorian colleagues for the trip however would tell me it’s ok to wait in the room as the person finishes praying. I felt like I was intruding.

There was another thing in Comoros that I never quite figured out. Most of the areas we were visiting were extremely remote and we were using latrines. For some weird reason, all latrines had 3 holes. 2 small ones and a bigger one. What was that all about? One small one and one big one would make sense, but why the three?

Later in the day, the local consultant declared his undying love for me in a long soliloquy. I did what I usually do in such situations – I feigned ignorance and acted like I thought he was telling me all these things in a platonic way.

My salvation was to come later in the day. In the next island we would be in, the hotel I was to stay in was more expensive than the one he was to stay in (he had already been paid his part and that was to cover his accommodation too.) He tried to be cheeky and call our other consultant in Moroni to insist we need to stay in the same hotel so as to be more productive. He was told that this would only happen on his own budget.

When I met the local consultant after he had been told this news, he almost had tears in his eyes. I sympathized with him as much as was polite to do so, but secretly oh secretly I thanked God for saving me from all this awkwardness I had been dealing with in the past few days.

Do you really speak French?

You know that moment when you feel like an impostor? Actually those moments are many. What I should really say, is “those moments when you are actually caught being an impostor.  When your 40 days are up….Siku za mwizi ni arobaini (a thief’s days are 40) and me I was on my 39th day – and I didn’t know. This was what happened on my first day of field work in Comoros.

Thus begins the day….

I woke up at 6am. I had successfully not given in to the big bad wolf the previous night – despite my thirst for something stronger than mango juice. I was to leave the hotel for the airport at 7am. The driver had not understood this. He thought he was to come at 8am. Mini-crisis, but it was averted. He managed to still get me to the airport on time. On the way to the airport I noticed the strangest thing. Lots and lots of women were walking around the city with yellow/white pasty facemasks on. Yes, proper facemasks in broad daylight. You know the ones I’m talking about. Every romantic comedy has a scene like this. Girl is chilling in the house in her most comfy “seng’eng’e ni ngombe” t-shirt, that leso that has a hole, a headnet and a green face mask. Unbeknownst to her, her Romeo is coming over to surprise her. Ding dong! She rushes to open the door – just like that – cause you know Nairobi is so safe, you just open the door without first carrying out a background check on the person behind it. Alas! It is her prince charming. He has come to surprise her with a bunch of roses and a pair of tickets to Paris! He had a crazy revelation when he was chilling drinking his Jameson with the boys at Tamasha. “She is all I need! I am tired of this life of debauchery, mismatched bedsheets, bachelor meals. I need to marry her now…..All this money I have been saving to buy a pro-box to use for biashara…..Yote ni vanity. I am buying us tickets for today to fly to Paris and propose to her on top of the Eiffel tower!” Later in the day you can see his love interest has gotten over her earlier mortification at being found with a green face mask on. They hold hands as they board their evening flight to Paris.

Ok. Snap out of it. Which African is this getting a visa in a day to anywhere in the world?

Ok, but you get the point – yes, that face mask that women only put on in the privacy of their homes to exfoliate, detox, open pores etc….some women in Comoros are walking around with it on the streets daily “to keep their skin from getting damaged by the sun.” That’s the official word on the streets, but I did tend to notice some tell-tale signs of bleaching in some Comorian women when I did see their faces and compared the color with their knees and knuckles….This bleaching thing is really affecting black people worldwide. 

Anyway, we get to the airport and turns out the local consultant we have hired – he knows everyone in Comoros – including my driver.

It was a really quick flight to Moheli – on a small plane – it took around 30 – 45 minutes. Once we arrived at Moheli – we were picked up by the head of the teacher’s association in the island. He was a fiery old man – I really liked him. He was extremely passionate about education and required excellence and dedication from those working for him. You can imagine that this is no easy feat in a country where teachers’ salaries hadn’t been paid in over 3 months at the time of my visit. He immediately took us to a focus group meeting with other heads of the association. It was during this meeting that I heard snatches of conversation from our local consultant saying I would lead the interviews – which were to be in French. I thought I had heard my own things. We had agreed that he would be the French expert. We had questionnaires translated into French – he was to lead the interview and I would support given my limited language skills – especially when it came to issues such as vocational training, efficacy of the curriculum changes, teaching pedagogy etc.

I was screwed.

The next meeting started and I was told to start – it was so embarrassing. I couldn’t even pronounce half of the words on the questionnaire right. After a few minutes, the local consultant realized that he was indeed going to have to do his job. It worked out much better once we switched because then I could focus on listening to the responses, understand the meaning, take notes etc. – rather than sweating as I tried to understand what the respondent was saying, think of how to ask a follow-up question, take notes and wonder how I was going to get through the next question that had so many words I had never seen before in my life….Le sigh….Impostor

After this we had 2 more meetings with groups of teachers numbering 4-5. The local consultant had all sorts of questionable habits – like hitting on the female respondents thinking I didn’t understand what he was doing. We then went to another school, but as soon as we got into this village – there was a very somber mood everywhere. It turned out a 30 year old guy in the community had been unwell – he had just died and the whole area was in mourning. The school had even shut down for the day. I quickly learned how small and familial everything was in Comoros – everyone knew everyone; everyone was somehow related to the other or at most one degree of separation from the others. That’s not surprising though given the population on all the 3 islands totals up to less than 800,000 people. In this particular island I was on, the population was 54,000 people.

We went to yet another school – in this particular school – it took over an hour to find any teachers or the school directors – the head of the teacher’s association gave them a proper lecture. It was a bit awkward being there for this “Vous-etez parasseux”/”You are all lazy!” I pretended I didn’t understand just how much trouble they were in.

This was only halfway through the day and it was turning out to be very eventful….

The face of 14th century traditional Senegalese wrestling in a changing world

It is dusk. You are one of the thousands in the roaring crowd at Demba Diop stadium in Dakar. You catch snippets of conversations in Wolof and some French – but such sports events rarely need explaining. You look down at the stage to see the two opponents preparing for their big fight. Each has a marabout or two who leads him through a series of rituals that while steeped in traditional Senegalese culture also heavily borrows from mystical Sufi Islamism that is practiced by most Senegalese. A huge well sculpted loin-cloth clad wrestler walks through a wooden loop four times to ward off any negative spells that might have been placed against him to cause his defeat. Another equally huge sculpted loin-cloth clad wrestler wearing leather charms and amulets douses himself in an oily looking liquid handed over to him by his marabout (spiritual leader). This potion is to increase his strength, make him invincible and assure him victory. The match is about to begin and there are hundreds of people in the sandy stage below. You take a minute to assess everything else that is going on there – just a minute – any longer and you might miss the actual fight. Awrestling school’s members are run-dancing a lap round the field. They are clad in their jerseys – every so often they stop and break out into the most amazing dances – each wrestling school has their own signature songs and dances. To the right you see a drumming troupe – the crowd gets more excited the faster the sabar plays. Near the drumming troupe there is a dancer who moves as if he has no bones in his body – the drumming tempo increases, he dances with even more vigor, the crowd is elated. Near the center stage there is a group of women singing. You are taking it all in then you remember that the main event is the fight. You look back at the main fight – they have started. Years of preparation for the wrestlers, hours of smaller fights and the side-shows at today’s event – all culminating in this one large fight. If you are lucky it might last four minutes. If not so lucky it might be a quick fight where one wrestler simply knocks the other on the head and within less than 5 seconds the whole match is done – once the wrestler falls to the ground howling out in pain (as was the case the evening I watched a match between Ama Baldé vs. Gouy Gui). In any case, you will have been fortunate to see a 14th century Senegalese wrestling match come alive right before your eyes in a 21st century stadium.

La lutte or laamb as it is known in Wolof has existed since at least the 14th century in Senegal when the first known wrestler – Boukar Djilak Faye lived. While traditional wrestling is also common in other West African nations, La lutte is unique in how it has managed to grow, adapt to the times while still holding on to the interesting cultural and mystical elements that make it a must watch. It is one of the few bare-fisted wrestling forms that exists worldwide. The fame of modern day wrestling in Senegal is attributed to a wrestler called Tyson who started off in the 90s. He is credited with changing it merely from a sport to a real business becoming the first Senegalese wrestler to earn lots of money from the sport. Traditionally wrestling served various purposes In Senegal. It was a form of entertainment – after the harvest season villages would organize wrestling matches against each other. It was sometimes a way of paying homage to respected leaders – wrestling matches could take place at funeral remembrances of community greats. Sometimes it was used during initiation, to court wives or a show of masculinity. The sport has now grown to become even more famous and attract larger sponsors that football.

In a country where at least half of the population is unemployed. The fame and fortune that wrestling promises attracts many fighters – especially those from less privileged backgrounds. But what really is the potential earning from wrestling? There are around 3000 registered wrestlers in Senegal. Of these, only a dozen or so earn the legendary figures sometimes quoted of $100,000 - $300,000 a fight – and most times these wrestlers will only earn that once a season – wrestling season runs from January to end of July. Majority of the other wrestlers make around $2000 per season (which is still significant in a country where the UN estimates of annual income per capita are less than USD 1000.) As such people who are turning to wrestling might still not be wrong in thinking that this might be a good alternative option for them to create a livelihood.

But what about all the violence that such sports encourage? It might be counterintuitive but with high unemployment and frustration, violence is typically on the rise (as seen in many countries.) To create an outlet where people can channel these emotions within a controlled environment might calm some of these tensions. In reality the option is not really between wrestling and formal employment for many, but really wrestling and unemployment (or underemployment.) Senegalese society is also quite peaceful in general. Even during the matches themselves, people are not out for a bloodbath, but really for entertainment. Many Senegalese will speak of a wrestler known as “The Butcher” with derision – he was known for leaving his opponents bloody – the fans did not like it. During the matches, people are not baying for blood but really for an entertaining match that combines skills, culture and technique. Violence among fans as a result of the sport is also a concern, but the incidences reported are nowhere near as serious in magnitude as those witnessed in European countries after English Premier League matches or even sometimes in my home country (Kenya) after some football matches. Past incidences have been attributed to the fact that betting on the matches is really high and a vast proportion of youth from neighboring environs who place bets get violent when they lose their money – if the match does not end in their favor.  Increased security at the matches can ensure that they remain safe for all who wish to watch it – sports betting globally increases with popularity of a sport.

Why La Lutte is really fascinating is that it is further evidence of a growing trend on the continent where we are beginning to look within ourselves, embrace some of our unique cultures and find ways to grow them locally and then internationally. It is Africans refusing the rhetoric that arts and culture on the continent never existed before colonialism, that the most interesting thing about our countries is colonial history and post-colonial struggles and that the only good things to be found in our countries are those we got from the West. There is a cultural revolution taking over the continent – one that has started with music and literature and is spreading into even more aspects of our cultural heritage. We need to realize that even across the different African countries, people hunger to know more about other African countries. My education system taught me little other than we had some kingdoms, then we enslaved each other, then Arabs and the West came and took slavery to another level, then colonialism happened, we put up a good fight (The Battle of Adowa, Mau Mau rebellion, and so many other not so successful rebellions including using some magical potions that were to ward off bullets (Maji Maji rebellion). After that the colonial powers left us to our own defenses and we made a mess out of everything – descending into war, famine, disease etc. The West then came back to save us in various forms and anything good or interesting taking place on the continent right now is because of the benevolence of the West.

We as Africans need to change this rhetoric – and what better way to do that than owning and embracing our unique cultures, discovering them and monetizing them (La lutte attracts numerous corporate sponsors, but has still managed to remain authentic.)

La lutte in Senegal is a must see – now my next article will be on this little pesky visa situation that makes it EXTREMELY difficult for an African to travel in Africa. Thank you Senegal though for not requiring a visa for most people – lots of other countries need to take up this initiative.

First published on Suluzulu

Touring Amsterdam - Redlight district, religious tolerance, marijuana laws

We left Geneva early on a Sunday morning. We traveled to Amsterdam through Brussels and Paris. We got to Amsterdam at 4pm - checked into our hostel - a really dingy hostel, but it was on top of a fabulous bar. Winning! But that hostel was dingy! We had to pass through some toilets to get to our room - yes.....who built this place???

4pm - everyone passed out and we vowed to wake up and PARTAAY! Cause, hey - this is Amsterdam......Well, we actually fell asleep till the next morning. All our traveling had finally finished us. The next day we woke up and went for Sandeman's New Europe Tours - amazing free tours in different European cities.

**The tour***

Amsterdam was actually really cool and quite multicultural. I kept on wondering how a country that is bordered by Germany and Belgium attracted so many people of all races, religions , ideologies etc. I also wondered why the people were so nice.  People had been so nice
and friendly even the older generation who usually stare at you with xenophobic suspicion. 

Amsterdam was founded by two men and a dog. History claims that. How two men and a dog were able to build this town is a good question. They built a dam on the river Amstel….Amsteldam became Amsterdam. We  went to check out the old part of town and it dawned on me how fragile the place is. Most of Amsterdam is on reclaimed land. People don't store anything in the basement for fear of flooding. We passed one street where all the houses were toppling forwards. Apparently this was intentional. All houses had a one meter or so beam extending horizontally from the roof. This was used to support ropes to pull up
merchandise from the river direct into the attic when the merchant boats came. All storage had to be done in the attic for fear of flooding. The houses were built leaning forward so as to avoid stuff breaking your windows as it was pulled up. It took the town 100 year to realize that this danger could be avoided if they made the beams longer.

During Napoleon's reign in France, he invaded Netherlands and gave it to his silly younger brother. His brother was not that sharp. The first time he tried to speak Dutch to the people and announce, "I am your King," he actually said "I am your rabbit."  They never really took him seriously after that. Before his time, the Dutch never used surnames. They had names like, "Dirk from Utrecht" or "Jan the baker" etc. A law was passed forcing everyone to have a surname. The Dutch had an interesting sense of humour and took on nonsensical surnames –
"Dirk PeesInTheForest", "Jan TheLaughingCow" etc. It was quite funny then, but many young Dutch of this generation do not find their surnames that hilarious.

Another curious thing was that houses in Amsterdam didn't use to have addresses. They had gablestones. If the dentist lived there, there would be a tooth sculpture at his door. The baker, there would be an oven etc. I found the founding of Amsterdam quite organic. Who says
addresses are the only way to mark houses? It would be nice to know
who lives in what place by looking at their door.

Our next stop on the tour was the Red Light District. Right at the entrance of the Red Light District was an old church. This District is the oldest part of the town. When the sailors came back they would visit the bordellos first. After this they would go to the church, repent their sins, pay for their forgiveness and get a "Get out of hell free" card from the priests. Understanding the Red Light District is an important aspect in understanding Dutch culture. They are very Calvinist, and believe that everyone has a right to live their life how they see fit. It surprises people, but the Dutch are actually quite conservative themselves. They however tend to turn a blind eye/ have a non-inteference culture when it comes to many things. This is why the Netherlands is known as the hotbed for people of different sexual orientations, marijuana-legality and lax immigration laws. They themselves may choose to live what they consider pure or religious lives, but they don't impose their thinking on anyone. I really liked
that. Your reality is not my reality. 

The Red Light District is basically a collection of windows in buildings with red lights, and women on display behind the windows. Pimping in Netherlands is illegal. All the workers here are self-employed. They pay 150-200 Euros a night for their window, and what they do there is their business. They also pay taxes. I thought it was very practical as banning prostitution just means that more people are forced to be sex workers and work under horrifying circumstances, have no basic rights, have a middle man oppressing them etc. In Amsterdam they are unionizable workers just like teachers etc. They also have better police protection than they did when it was 'illegal' but still happening. In Kenya one always hears horrific tales of prostitutes reporting cases of violence or rape to the police, only to be further brutalized -because the police know the women have no one to turn to - as their trade is illegal...

The first three windows I saw were African women. The next one I saw was a woman with bondage gear. The next one was a woman sitting with a huge dildo on. The District is organized into all sorts of different fetishes. I was told there is also a part just for Asian prostitutes, leather, foot fetishes etc. A basic appropriately named "suck and **ck" goes for 50 euros and lasts 15 minutes. These women are making bank. How many 15 minutes do you have in 8 hours?

Another thing that would be worth mentioning about Netherlands is the marijuana laws. In the 60s and 70s Amsterdam was hit hard by the drugs madness. The town had more heroin abusers than it could rehabilitate. The Government took drastic measures. It decriminalized marijuana which it considered to be a pseudo-drug and had stricter punishments
for heroin and cocaine. Though these measures seemed crazy, it helped the town put more funding into catching dealers of hard drugs, and leaving the pot-head down the street alone. Contrary to popular opinion, weed isn't legal in Netherlands, but is tolerated. 'Tolerated' means that as long as it doesn't disturb anyone else then it is fine. I can't tell what the difference between tolerated and legal is. There have been no weed-related arrests in over  30 years.  The
Dutch also believe in subtlety which is why everyone calls these places 'coffee shops.' Netherlands now has half as many heroin addicts, percentage wise as the US. Their experiment was a success after all. It was funny to learn that the Dutch are not even a big consumer of the product. It is now quite a tourist thing. The Dutch themselves rank 7th in Europe on the list of most marijuana consumed. The highest is Spain, France, Germany etc. Also equally surprising was learning that New Zealand is the country in the world with the highest percentage of weed smokers – 16.7%. Everyone had thought it was Jamaica. We were also given a tour of the outside of the Hemp Marijuana Museum and the Cannabis College.

To be continued......

Cypriot house parties, dentists and partying in Barcelona

Did you know that sometimes lions eat humans because they have toothaches? Yep, toothaches make it impossible for them to hunt game.....and humans are soft.. Why did I tell  you this story? No, I did not get cannibalistic tendencies when my tooth started killing me in Barcelona......but I can understand how a toothache can make you do atypical things...It drives you mad. 

On self-medication I was able to do a few things - until things really got bad. We spent an idyllic Sunday morning/afternoon at the beach. In the evening we went to my friend's brother's place - he is Cypriot. We had a fun house party that included lots of dancing up until the neighbours came to complain about the noise. 5am we got home - all partied out. 

A few hours later I woke up to the worst tooth pain. I frantically went searching the city for a dentist. The first dentist I went to, did not speak a word of English (not their fault - I really should have learnt Spanish, but I didn't know I would be looking for a dentist in Barcelona.) The second dentist did not speak any English, but could understand enough for me to relay the fact that I was on death's doors and would die if she didn't do anything about my tooth. She did some scans and told me to come back at 7pm when she would be able to tell me more. In retrospect the tests were hilarious. I was given all instructions in Spanish and sign language. "Open your mouth." "Turn your head right." "Rest your jaw here." They were quite patient with me. In my distressed state I searched for a cybercafe to print my medical claim forms. 

At 7pm I was back at the dentist's. They had bad news - my tooth was really bad and I would need at least 3 days in Barcelona for them to do the necessary work. Only problem was we were scheduled to leave Barcelona in the morning.....I decided I would have to survive on my own stock of anesthetic until I got back to Nairobi. 

I got back to the hostel, packed my bags and went to party the last night in Barcelona away. Alcohol is a great pain killer. We started off the night in Los Libertias in Universitat for 1 Euro chubidas (shots.) We had quite a few shots. After that we went to Apollo Club for "Nasty Mondays".....Yeah, that name.....they probably meant it to be "crazy mondays" or something of the sort. The club was packed. Only 2 of us were partying. I met some really great guy, we danced till morning (at which point is was time for us to catch our train back to Paris.) I recall my guy walking me back to my hostel (which wasn't far from the club,) and carrying my ginomous backpack to the train station - from which I took the subway to get to the main train station. The guy my friend was with - also tried to carry her backpack, but he was quite annoying. He had been drinking beer on the streets as we walked to our hostels to get our suitcases, yelling and propositioning prostitutes. My friend yanked her backpack away from him and wouldn't let him carry it. Some part of me felt that I should practice solidarity and also not let his friend carry my backpack......but to be honest - it was so great to not have that monster on my back....and really.....when else would I find a guy offering to carry my giant backpack. 

The two of us (The BARacuda) and myself finally got to the train station. We found the rest of our crew there. We got into the train and passed out immediately. We arrived in Paris at 5pm. 

The official Paris tour

Today we finally managed to go for the official free Paris tour. The tour guide was a Dutch guy who seemed really high. We learnt quite a few interesting things - who knew Napoleon was Italian?  Napoleon was born on Corsica on August 15, 1769, just 15 months after France had purchased the island from the Italian city-state of Genoa. Next we spent quite a bit of time learning about the French revolution - whose most bloody memory is the death of Marie Antoinette and 4000 other royals. The French Revolution overthrew the monarchy, established a republic, experienced violent periods of political turmoil, and finally resulted in a dictatorship under Napoleon that rapidly brought many of its principles to Western Europe and beyond. Some of these repercussions included the end of slavery in French colonies.  

 The safety cord was unfortunately able to join as her leg got injured in the previous day's long walking adventures. After the tour, we went to the train station to try and buy tickets to leave Paris for Barcelona the next day. Yet again, we were not able to book any tickets. It was beginning to get very annoying. By this time, most of us were tired of Paris and its unfriendliness. We were ready to leave.  In the evening, we went to a quartier of Paris called Montmarte for dinner. 

I started having a killer toothache - that could only mean one thing. A cavity in need of a root canal. I am an expert at teeth issues. This had to the the worst timing for a tooth to do this to me. On the following day, I was bedridden. Toothache was killing me. I had bought a little anesthetic and was self-medicating. I sent The Little Toe and the Reluctant  to buy train tickets - yet again they were all sold out. Paris was trying to hold us captive. We decided we would have to go to the train station the next morning and find train tickets out of town, however we could. I tried to sleep early, but pain kept me up till 5am. By 7am, we were up and on our way to the train station with all our bags.......and no tickets..

Heading to Paris

We got to the train station quite early for our train ride to Paris, but the journey was delayed as a result of someone jumping on the train-tracks. We left for Paris at 2:30pm on the TGV – one of the fastest trains in the world. The journey was good with a proper lunch being served on the train – there are some perks to traveling with the faster, more-expensive option. I had booked an apartment for us in a place called Chelles. This was the first place I was to find with reasonable prices when I was looking for Paris accommodation. I would later realize that this price meant we stayed quite a fair distance away from the city and the inconvenience of a very long walk to the apartment. From the central Paris station, our stop was around 20 minutes away. This was not that terrible, but once we got off the train – with our heavy backpacks, we realized there were absolutely no taxis in this part of Paris. We asked around at a bar and a restaurant near the train station and we were told that the only option would be to call a taxi from Central paris (which would automatically charge us $40) to get to us. Thus with our backpacks, we began the 30 minute walk to our apartment. This became our daily routine while in Paris (obviously without the backpacks.) A 20 minute train ride followed by a half hour walk to our apartment or vice-versa depending on whether we were heading out or coming back home. On the plus side our apartment was lovely – and affordable. We got there around 10pm and immediately passed out after our long journey.

The following morning we went to town to catch the free city tour, but didn’t get there in time. We instead walked around by ourselves – we went to the fountain at St. Michael the archangel – the most flamboyant statue I have ever seen. After that we went to the world famous museum that houses the Mona Lisa – the Louvre. We then went to Champs Elysees - the beautiful 2km long boulevard which runs between Place de la Concorde and Place Charles de Gaulle and is where the famous  Arc de Triomphe is located. We also passed by the  royal gardens etc. Paris is extremely beautiful. 

After what must have been a 20km walk, we went for dinner at a lovely Greek restaurant – washed down our dinner with delicious Kir cocktails (champagne and crème de cassis.) I begged the team to pass by a French lounge that I had fallen in love with a few years back (Les Soffleurs/the glassblowers.) I had wonderful memories of being directed to this place a few years back when I was working for the German Rail Company (Deutsche Bahn) in Saarbrucken, Germany and was in town for a meeting with the French rail company officials (SNCF). My first night there had been magical – I had spent it drinking lots of champagne with Chantal – the 65 year old Martinique owner, a few musicians from St. Martinique, some French actors etc. The vibe was great. I remember at 5am, Chantal completely refusing to accept payment for my drinks (because she said I was great fun and I was the first Kenyan she had met in Paris) and even getting me a free ride back to my hotel. After that trip, I had gone back to Paris that summer once or twice more to party at Les Soffleurs. One day I will tell you my Les Soffleurs stories. We walked all the way there and were sad to find out that it had closed up. I had been dying to see Chantal again and listen to her funny stories. I realized I didn’t even have her contact details anymore and silently wished that the universe would bring us back together. 

Heal the World - Oktoberfest style

We had one day in Munich before the end of Oktoberfest. We were in a very festive mood. We woke up at 2pm – exhausted from our various trips. One of our close friends from Nairobi arrived shortly after – she would be joining us for the second part of the trip. Her pseudonym will be “The Lady.” “The Safety Net cooked up a storm. We ate to our heart’s content and went out clubbing later to Pimpernel – We had a lovely time and got home quite late.

In the morning we woke up excited about the last day of Oktoberfest. I went with The Lady to the festival around 4pm. There we met up with 2 of my lovely college friends who had come in from Switzerland to join us for the festivities. It was one of those nights that is difficult to explain if one wasn’t there. Key highlights of the night for me included:

·        Me having a mini-meltdown and yelling at my friends when I started feeling frustrated – like I had to be responsible for everything given I was the organizer of the trip. “I am not your mother! People need to start being responsible for themselves – you can’t expect me to know everything, do everything, tell you everything, have all the directions etc.” It was not pretty - especially because I was inebriated, likely slurring and repeating the same thing over and over, but we had a debrief the next day and after that I felt that people were being more responsible for themselves. I can’t really blame them though because I also know that when someone takes charge it becomes very easy to just go along with the flow and not feel the pressure to know anything/do anything for yourself. How many times have I been driven somewhere and not bothered to note the directions given someone else is doing it for me? It’s human nature.

·        Lighting candles with random strangers, singing “heal the world” and hugging people over mugfuls of beer – that closing ceremony was a very wonderful emotional experience – those moments when complete strangers are brought together by the powerful force of alcohol and pyromania and cheesy kumbaya music

·        Going out clubbing alone – determined to squeeze out the most of my time in my beloved city of Munich. Getting lost trying to get to Pimpernel, but making random friends along the way who I partied with till 6:30am

·        Getting home at 7am, packing in a state of drunkenness and us heading off to the train station – Paris bound. 

Scandinavian diaries

After the lovely Berlin city tour , we took at 3:15pm train to Copenhagen. We finally got to Copenhagen at 11pm. Part of our journey included a very posh ride in a great ferry that had shops - it was like a moving mall. We were so exhausted and finally managed to lug our luggage to what we thought was our hostel – Danhostel Copenhagen. After spending close to 15 minutes at the reception without the receptionist finding our booking, she finally asked “Are you sure you are in the right hostel?” “Of course! Danhostel.” “But you do realize there is also another Danhostel out of town. Please look at your booking confirmation.” Aaaaaaaah! Now this does sound familiar. I do have a vague memory of seeing Danhostel Copenhagen and Danhostel Bellahoj online and picking the one of the two that was cheaper….Cheap is expensive. At midnight, exhausted and with huge backpacks, we had to make our way to Bellahoj. We finally got to our hostel and it was like an IKEA showroom – you had to make everything from scratch. The beds were on the walls, and had to be pulled down from there. After that, one had to look for beddings and make the bed. I still have no idea why the hostel would want tired backpackers to take a forced class on masonry and housekeeping!

The following day we planned to take a city tour, but we were all so worn out. We had been invited for dinner by our new Danish friends. Prior to that we linked up with a Kenyan friend of ours who worked with one of our Danish friends. We went to her hotel to have drinks and wait for her to get ready prior to our group dinner. Olale has always been a very great dresser. Her smashing outfit for the night, makeup, manicured nails etc. only made us realize how we all looked like dirty backpackers. It’s funny how a few weeks of backpacking will make one look like those jungus one usually sees in town, emerging from hostels on river road and the neverlands of deep town. I felt solidarity with all my fellow dirty-looking backpackers, the world over.

Our hosts were extremely welcoming and we all felt extremely happy to be in Denmark. We kept on telling and retelling the story of the posh ferry much to our host’s amusement – “Yes….The train got on the ferry…Why is that a big deal?” After dinner, we went for drinks at a bar down the road. Yet again, we were amazed by how tall and handsome the men were. They were shy though – which was very confusing. The Reluctant referred to it as “The gentling of the Vikings.” How did these giants who were once known for their fierce conquests, now get reduced to terribly shy men who would not approach a woman first unless at gunpoint?”

One wonders…

Gurudumu ya tano - the fifth wheel in Slovenia

The one at the front chewing on the bar was probably 9th wheeling

We finally moved to Hostel Celica – the prison turned hostel that we had been dying to stay at. The prison turned hostel was a real work of art and it was a pleasure to stay there. I can't see any context in which Kamiti or Kapenguria could be turned into cozy hostels for tourists....Never ever.  We had to leave our previous hostel early, but when we got to Celica, they told us that our rooms would not be ready till 3pm. We had all been looking forward to napping before heading out to explore the city. We were so worn out that we slept in the lounge at Hostel Celica – not caring for who saw us.

In the evening, The BARacuda and The Reluctant had dates with cute boys they had met the night before at the club. For some strange reason, they invited me along for the double date thinking it wasn’t really a date, but a partying plan. I love partying and I wanted to see some more the nightlife – I went along with them. That was a very silly plan. All 5 of us finally got to the location and it was an isolated romantic rooftop restaurant in a swanky part of town. We were the only people in the restaurant. Feeling sufficiently awkward, I took on my new role as official photographer of the night.

All in all, I can say that this is the last time in mylife that I will be 3rd wheeling or 5th wheeling with couples..It is sucky to say the least. There are more palatable ways to punish yourself:-)

Pretending to look detached while fifth-wheeling

Some comedy for the night was the fact that The Reluctant had picked the one guy in Slovenia who did not speak a lick of English. It was entertaining watching their google translate love grow - as they handed his phone back and forth with lovely sweet nothings:-)

Early the next morning, we began our long long train ride to Copenhagen via Germany. You’re probably wondering why we went to Denmark – given how far it is. By this time we had made good Danish friends in Nairobi, some of my colleagues were Danish (based in Denmark, but at our company retreat in Naivasha, they had pitched Copenhagen really well.) Having left Ljubljana at 7am, we got to Berlin in the evening. We were to sleep over, do a Berlin city tour the next day and then leave for Copenhagen at 3pm the following day. Our hostel in Berlin was annoying – A&O Mitte – they charged us for bedsheets and towels. Of course we are going to need bedsheets if we are sleeping here! Such dodgy behavior.