BLOODLINE OF THE SOPRANOS

Look Sicilian, look Suspect, look Soprano…

 

On a good day, Malindi is the honeymooners’ paradise of Kenya. And for good reason: Sand, Sun & Fun; that’s according to St. Hans. When an invite came in for me to go visit, there was no way in this world (this or the next) I was going to say no. So I bundled up my backpack and jumped on a Malindi-bound Scandinavia bus.

The Scandinavia leaves Nairobi a little early (7am) so as to get to Malindi at a decent hour. I slept the first few hours of our journey till I got to Mtito Andei. Smooth road, and when you are riding solo, there is nothing much to do but sleep or listen to music. As tradition demands, Mtito Andei is a must-stop for all buses headed down South. The setting of this ancient ritual is the Mobil Petrol Station at Mtito Andei. When the bus comes to a stop at the said ritual site, the driver will most certainly bark “dakika ishirini”, twenty minutes and the conductor repeats the same two words. No indication of where the bathrooms are or even to get refreshments. Some great customer-care service this!

If you are starving and looking for variety, you may be out of luck here. There is a choice of one - the not so clear open-air cafeteria adjacent to the gas station that serves only Coastal cuisine, strictly. I have eaten here before. Tongue-numbing food that tastes like dry paper and an accompaniment of smelly toilets is just about all you can get here. 

Mtito Andei has a drawn-out history of cholera, typhoid, and other deadly food-borne maladies. I know for sure that I will journey to meet my maker one of these good days but heaven forbid, I will not die of food poisoning. So food is a no-go zone for me here. I decide to buy a bar of Mars and some yogurt. Hopefully, I won’t throw up on the bus, annoy lots of people, and have a story to write. The rest of the passengers seem quite hungry and are gorging themselves with food like they just checked out of famine-stricken Puntland.

There is this noisy crowd of girls from a school that shares a fence with State House Nairobi. They are a sight (and sound) to behold. Everything at their age is nice and rosy and you can tell by the aura of self-importance, they think they are on top of the world. Takes me back, way back, to the days when drama and school trips were to die for. Nostalgia, we would have given an arm to meet this crowd. They are still as noisy and just as snobbish. The more things change, the more they remain the same.

The road to Mombasa is now bearable after the repair of most of the Mariakani-Mombasa stretch. A little tricky when the occasional trailer stalls on the diversions. We get to Mombasa at about 5pm and the bus takes us to what must be the River Road equivalent of Mombasa; they call the place Majengo. The bus people are efficient and we drop off a few passengers before setting sail for Malindi.

Malindi is a short step away from Mombasa (that’s about 120 km). The tarmac road is awful but the beautiful countryside takes away some of the pain. Never thought sisal could look so good… My host in Malindi, Hans, the self-proclaimed bad boy of Malindi is waiting for me at Club Lena. I am thirsty alright; had to down me two dark beers in a hurry before I can muster the patience or strength to listen to his rendition of the Malindi club scene. Hans is picking up his friends at the Malindi Airport after which we proceed to the Kenyan Golf House down at the Palm Beach. Hans drives like a maniac. He has no feelings for cars. None whatsoever! We get to the Golf House some minutes to 8pm.

The Kenyan Golf house! This cozy homely palace doesn’t deserve the tag of a house. The Golf House is nestled next to the Palm Beach Golf Club about a hundred meters from the beach. This palace, even at night is amazingly beautiful. I must get some pictures during the daytime. For now, I will quietly enjoy the glittering lights on the pool, nice little diamonds. The trees too, look awesome! They're floodlit from below with bright golden yellow lights to great effect. 

The queen of the palace, the beautiful Moriella is there to meet us. The concierge shows us to our rooms. Wide spacious rooms furnished in excellent taste. They've really outdone themselves - sprinkled bougainvillea petals on the huge Malindi beds. Not sure why, how of when these Malindi folks fell out/in with the poor bougainvillea... Dio Mio! They have the abject flower everywhere - on their dinner tables, beds, windows, flower vases, bathtubs, toilets, literary everywhere. The ambiance tonight at the Golf House is oozing "honeymoon" but I didn't get the memo. Anyway, came here chasing business, so romance is the last thing on my mind. Still, I'm a little forlorn to see the flowers end up in the bin. 

After a quick shower, we're headed to Hans' place for dinner. Malindi is sweltering hot, even during the night. I must have been sweating like a pig. Hans didn't even ask, just fished a couple of cold dark beers from his fridge and opened them without a word. I promptly decimate several of them frothy Irish blessings to quench my thirst. I tried to engage Hans in small talk but he wouldn't have none of it. He was firm and categorical, "First we eat, then we talk!"

For a brief minute, I was lost in thought, mulling over my mission to Malindi,  sipping my beer while listening to the sounds of the night. Methinks, the crickets and frogs in Malindi must be in rival bands or have really serious beef. Tonight, for some reason, they are trying to outdo each other. And then there is little Marsha! Marsha is the shortest, cutest, most irritable dog on the planet. The dog is angrily, eerily, and annoyingly barking at everyone and everything - guests, owner, plants, shadows, even imaginary ghosts! The little elf is behaving like a spoilt brat with heavy self-esteem issues. Either that or it's mating season and her hormones are wreaking havoc. Someone, anyone, please get this dam a stud! The mosquitoes are also on a roll. Do they think I'm a talent scout or some? Why else would every mosquito within a ten-mile radius be trying to catch my attention? The little demons made sure to hum in my ear and nip at my ankles all evening! Remind me to buy a bottle of the most lethal mosquito repellant on the market on my next outing here. 

By the time dinner was served, I was a little tipsy. Dinner in Malindi is a festive affair; four courses, no less, served on some really beautiful crockery. The main course consisted of delicious-looking prawns and other wiggly sea creatures that must have cost our host a fat leg. From experience, seafood doesn't exactly sit right with me. Confession: this urbane village boy is yet to find his sea legs. Other than genuine and certified tilapia from Lake Victoria, I don't consume anything else that looks reptilian. The thought of food poisoning and a watery stool sneaked across my mind for a jiffy but I managed to quickly banish it by focusing on more important stuff like how to make money from this trip and balance my finances.

Consuming these scary squiggly sea creatures is going to be a mighty but surmountable challenge. I  quickly summon my wits and sensory faculties for a brief pep talk. I'm not one to act like those ungrateful obnoxious city guests, making odd demands, or figuratively, looking my gift horse in the mouth. See, I didn't grow up like some wild weed by the sewer; I was brought up by some truly strict parents and attended some really nice missionary schools. My handlers made sure to ram some manners down my throat. Years later, I'm still constipated on that severe diet. But I'm not complaining...

So tonight, Ima put on my big boy's pants, plaster a brave toothy smile on my face, and sample this luscious culinary delight of smelly sea fish, anthropods, crustaceans, and other unidentified wiggly sea creatures. I will dig deep into my theatrical talent from my high school drama days and pretend to be enjoying this strange feast and will do whatever it takes to keep it down. Thereafter, with honest glee, I will offer my profuse and heartfelt compliments to Hans and the chef and promise to write a glowing review of this otherworldly experience in my weekly travel column. So God help me!

 

 

After dinner, it's time to hit the town like a level 9 earthquake on the Richter scale. First stop, The Malindi casino. This casino is a scene straight out of the Godfather. The Malindi casino rivals the biggest casinos in Nairobi (who knows, maybe Las Vegas?) and is by far the busier. What, with all the “big kahunas” checking into town! I am half-expecting to run into Naomi Campbell or some Wiseguy of the Sopranos bloodline from the neighborhood of Palermo. The Malindi casino is not about gambling. It is a social scene for who is who in Malindi. That doesn’t count if you are native. There is an aura of obscene extravagance around here. The big boys are loaded like money is going out of fashion and they are not afraid to spend it. All the tables are bee-hive busy. Roulette tables, blackjack, bingo, poker, video poker, Caribbean stud, incredibly noisy slot machines, and the buzz of a thousand carefree Italians.

We don’t have money to throw away at poker, so we head for the counter and order cappuccinos. Hans says they got the best cappuccino in Kenya. The barman at the counter is courteous and politely asks for our orders. I am quite surprised when our host calls him by his female name. She has got to be male this one. You can hide a lot of things under layers of clothes but you can’t hide your hands. Unless of course, you can pass off the hot & humid Malindi night for a cold winter night, I don’t think gloves are an option. This girl has some honest male hands. And you know what they say, “Hands don’t lie”. The coffee is truly top of its class. With little else to watch other than a bunch of animated gamblers throwing dice, we are ready to hit the next hotspot in town.

Stardust is a has-been and it is polite, subdued, and mellow, a distant cry from its feisty old self. Not much of a hotspot now. It plays great local tunes but the money seems to have taken a leave of absence from here. The revelers are mostly native with a sprinkling of non-citizens. On a good day, many, many light years ago, the place would be fizzy like a cow with rabies (cows don’t get rabies, do they, now?). We had some beautiful times here, brought out our dates here, night after night… So tonight; we just make a technical appearance here perhaps to sign the visitors’ book and show solidarity with a worn-out comrade. 

Il Fermento is the place to be. So we check in there a little past midnight. The bouncers are all in dreadlocks and there is an abundance of nocturnal girls in the skimpiest of belts that they confused for mini-skirts. Either, one Malindi is stifling hot and they are just weather compliant or two, they have a girl-fever and are trying to catch the breeze or there is some local by-law that strictly regulates the length and amount of material that can go to a skirt. At this club, they give you this ‘meal card – quite similar to what we had in high school; you then can order drinks and the barmen just check off the pre-printed amounts on the card. At the end of the evening, the bouncers will not let you out unless you produce your card as proof of consumption of the over-priced alcoholic beverages on sale at the club.

The music at Il Fermento borders on the exotic but the crowd is intoxicating like they have been talking with some suspect Colombian brothers. The aria is ecstatic - great music, expensive drinks, and a plethora of beauties. They say you can always tell an Italian from the way he carries himself. There is a sense of arrogance, a cockiness, and a sense of flamboyance that is irrefutable and distinct to only them. There are two types of ‘non-citizen’ folk here. There are legitimate rich boys with tons of money but there is another stingier lot that survives on charity from their benevolent folk back home. In the event of post-divorce pain or a run-in with the law, a family could maintain one of their own in Malindi in relative comfort for just a few thousand euros. That then reflects in the lifestyle they lead here (and girls they date). Nevertheless, these guys love wild partying & beautiful senoritas.

Talking of girls… The story goes like this: The Somali girls, for some strange reason, are at the top of the food chain. The Kikuyu girl is a close second and then there is the rest of them. The Somali girls are beautiful and expensive to maintain. The Kikuyu girls will do anything to get and keep their man but are demanding and there is not too much trust invested in that direction. The kawaida (normal) girls have their niche too. Many long-term tourists will usually go for a normal run-of-the-mill girl who doesn’t cost too much to maintain and serves the same purpose, really.

Oh, and there is also another genre of ‘girls’, the male kind. They are rare but are easy to distinguish in the crowd. They dress up strangely and have girlfriends. They are competition for the girls and you can see the green in girls' eyes when a ‘same-sex couple’ is waltzing away on the dance floor. There is this particular one that is dressed up in tight pants, hipsters, they call them, and an equally tight blouse. The hair is just right for his orientation, nice straight curls like he’d been to the salon earlier in the afternoon. But his shoes just blew me up. He has these pointed catfish shoes on 4 inches of heel, honestly, all he needs now is a sex change and he’d be a bona fide female.

 

 

The last time I was in Malindi, the Masaai morans (young men) were en vogue. Many an enterprising non-morans took the dive; dressed up in Masaai regalia dyed their hair in red ochre and went ahead to pose for the marauding female pensioners. The trouble was that they were not sufficiently dark, tall, angular, or skinny like the authentic ones. The pot-bellies and light skin easily gave them away. The old girls must have gotten tired of doing quality control half the time and just settled for the macho dreadlocked brother. Dreadlocks are now in fashion. Three out of five young black men in Malindi are now sporting dreadlocks. I guess it gives them this bullish, dangerous, I’ll-gore-you-up bad-boy look that is a good tonic for hypo-libido (just guessing)! Age is catching up, I can't possibly be parting till dawn and 3am is a good time to sleep.  There is Stars & Gutters and Club 28 are somewhere on Malindi’s Golden Mile but my bones are tired.

When on holiday, 10am is not too early to wake up. Breakfast is a sumptuous affair. It is served on the veranda that overlooks the pool and the garden at the front of the house. The stunning well-manicured gardens provide a perfect accompaniment to the breakfast. I had seen the Golf House at night but nothing prepared me for its day-time splendor. Whoever designed this house certainly knew his job but its real beauty lies in the décor, absolutely genius! From the flowing curtains, Turkish rugs, and beautiful furniture that was carefully selected and blended to produce a rich mix of French, Italian, and African harmony.  No expense was spared, just what I rich playboy or a couple on honeymoon need to spoil their mate. There is even a bed on the veranda! I wonder what this one is for…

With breakfast out of the way, we take a walk to Palm Beach Hotel, just down the road. This wind-swept beach is a peaceful home of wondrous rolling sand dunes. I thought they only existed in deserts? Karen Blixen is our next stop. The sleepy Malindi town (perhaps still in the hangover throes of last night's indulgence) is slowly coming to life. Coffee, as you can imagine is an essential commodity this morning. Other than the staff, there are not many other black people that patronize Karen Blixen. I don’t think it’s the price, because it’s not much… And why do many businesses in Malindi have animal mascots? There is an elephant, a horse, a camel even a baboon statute… Just one of Malindi’s many mysteries!

Sleepy Malindi is a beautiful place to take a mid-morning walk. So our guide takes us for a walk to the Old District Commissioner’s office. The place was built in 1890 and is now gazetted as a historic site. A little further the road is the Malindi museum and an ancient Portuguese chapel. The Vasco da Gama pillar is visible at a distance. So much to see, so little time. We agreed to visit the place the next time we're in town. Scorpio villas is another gem in Malindi. Cool leafy gardens, many swimming pools, great ambiance, and authentic African designs. The newly designed dining room can hold about 200 guests. Very nice!

Further down the road from Scorpio Villas is the Casuarina suburbs. Invariably, the estate has only huge palatial residences of rich tycoons. Unless you own Formula One or you are a Member of Parliament in Kenya, the prices of land (and houses) are way out of reach for the common man. Well, that is just fine because this place is designed to provide privacy to the ultra-rich tycoons and their kind. Is that Naomi I saw smiling down at me? Our last stop before lunch is the KWS Marine Park. What do we have here? De Ja Vu! We run into the same loud horde of school girls I had met at Mtito Andei. The beach is busy and windy but I would rather be surfing on a lonely wind-swept beach than this beach with all the ingredients of a crowded Nairobi social scene.

 

The Vasco da Gama pillar in Malindi

 

I am famished and that lunch at the Golf house is all I can think about. Our hostess, Moriella, is the epitome of Italian hospitality. Has someone ever talked to you in a language you don’t understand and yet you just feel the warmth and eagerness to please? I guess that’s how we felt… Bravo, banyo, ti amore, bon appetite! Anyway, let me tell you about the lunch; nothing less than a full five-course Italian delight. The miracle called lasagna, pasta, prawns, lobster washed down with the crispiest of white Italian wine. The food here is heavenly, bravo, bravo to the cook! There is a story told about the Vomitorium in ancient Rome. This was a class of rich folk who would go to a special room to vomit in between meals so as to make room for more food. Pity, they don’t have such a room here!

The sages say you shouldn’t swim on a full stomach. But I say, if I must go down, then let it be on a full stomach, no? I plan to try and break my neck later this afternoon kite surfing at the beautiful Che Shale Resort. It is with a distended belly and bountiful memories that I left Malindi for Che Shale. Next week: Pushing the Xtreme

 

CREDITS

This article is dedicated to my friend, mentor, and brother Hans- the bad boy of Malindi, who spent his entire adult life in Kenya, lived like a native, and became one of our own… R.I.P. Hans! This article ran in the press a while ago and received good reviews. Thought I would share it here.