A Wrinkle in Time in Iceland

I started this blog to document my fellowship with the Aga Khan Foundation Canada, breathing in the Nairobi air and exhaling some of my experiences over my year in Kenya. As I am no longer in Nairobi my Nairobi Narrative (Chapter 1) comes to a close, but I am opening up a new chapter as I start my life in London as a MSc student at the London School of Economics studying Media, Communication and Development. But not a new blog.  Still the same Wanda. Just different home base.

So I bring you this transition blog post, featuring Iceland.

“Iceland?” you may wonder. “I thought she said London.”

Yes, but in order to get the cheapest flight to London, I had to travel through Iceland. (What up, Iceland air? Seriously smart economic move to bring in some tourism dollars.)

My option was a lay-over of 2 hours (enough time to get off the plane, get a coffee, be bored, get back on the plane) or of 10 hours.  Clearly I chose 10 hours.

Trans-Atlantic flying always make me feel like a time-traveler. Or a tiny bit of a glimpse into the lives of Mrs. Who, Mrs. Which, and Mrs. Whatsit in Madeleine L’Engle’s “A Wrinkle in Time” (shoutout to Grade 5).

I arrived in Reykjavik, Iceland at 6:30am OR 1:30am in Toronto. (Seriously! Where do the hours go?) The Reykjavik airport’s tourism information is tailored for flyers passing through and I soon signed up to spend my lay-over at the Blue Lagoon – Iceland’s Geothermal Spa.

So as I sat contemplating the weird little twists and wrinkle in times that bring us to places here:

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Nairobi – the City I came to call home

What makes a city different and yet so similar to what I know at the same time? How to describe it?

When I was leaving to go back to Canada after a year in Nairobi and should have been focusing on tasks at hand – packing, cleaning, tying up loose ends – my mind traveled to Nairobi the city, Nairobi my bubble. Nairobi my interpreter as I could easily communicate in English and check my Swahili at the door when I didn’t want to struggle any more. And this is what I thought:

Nairobi, you and your City Park and my local produce.

You and your elephant orphanage and my Chemi Chemi.

You and your Kibera and my work with the Kibera News Network (KNN).

You and your dress makers and my new favourite skirt from Esther.

You and your Sheng and my proper Swahili classes with Oloo.

You and your Art Caffe and my laughter with friends on the patio sipping red wine. (Did you change me from white to red forever? Or did I adapt to you while in the moment?)

You and your matatus and my feet tapping on the metal floor to the music, feet warmed from the engine breathing underneath.

You and your art and culture and my work with Gallery Watatu.

You and your swag and my bling ring that I bartered for.

You and your traffic and my curses in a taxi when I didn’t think the driver was aggressive enough.

You and your night life and Tusker Malts at Gypsy’s.

You and your flyover highway and my fist pumping when I drove over it for the first time.

You and your City Market and my earring maker Ben.

You and your malls and my 5-minute walk, to the left or the right, to get to one.

You and your restaurants and my birthday sushi dinner.

You and your cool evenings during Canadian summer months and my complaints that I’m getting hypothermia and will never survive another Canadian winter.

You and your Nairobi National Park and my first sighting of a hippo out of water.

You and your gated apartments and my conflicted feelings of caged confinement and safety.

You and your fancy hotels and my dirty martini with extra olives at the rooftop of Sankara.

You and your street children and my encounters with Margaret.

You and your disabled street beggars and my half smile of acknowledgment as I walk past.

You and your technology and my fumbles with mpesa.

You and your Mt. Kenya and my falling on 12 different times while descending from Pt. Lenana.

You and your food vendors selling corn and cassava with chilis and my lunch.

You and your runners who dart traffic and my Nairobi Hash House Harriers.

You and your bustle of the working world and my own office life.

You and your people and some of my new best friends.

You and your beauty and your movement and your realness and your adaptability and your busy streets and busy minds and elegance and sorrow and laughter and j-walking and the grass beneath my toes at Uhuru Park and the view of the city from the KICC and the DVDs sold on the street (bought when I was home sick) and early evening darkness that limits my personal mobility and public transit system that gives change (TTC take note) and bright purple jacaranda trees that line the sidewalks and a year of memories meshed together in my mind’s eye as I dart from a matatu to flag a taxi to get to the Hash on time.

Nairobi and your independence that has made me see mine.

You independent city and a place that became my home.

Overlooking the city and the Nation Media building.

Motorcycled snapshots

The world is constantly in flux. Constantly changing. And perhaps that’s partly why I enjoy riding on motorcycles (on the back, I’m not that badass yet) because you get to view the world in these split second snapshots where one moment you’re in it, and the next you’re not, because you’re on to a new scene, a new expression, a new landscape. And to fill the void of the lack of motorcycle taxis in Nairobi, whenever I would leave the Big City I would make an exerted effort to use public tansit in the form of fuelled two-wheelers.

When I went to Arusha, Tanzania for a hashing weekend in early May I was almost as excited about reuniting with the moto as I was about the hash to a beautiful waterfall. But alas, the last day arrived, and I had not ridden on the back of my trasit of choice because there really was no need. Oh well, at least it was a fun weekend. But wait! In true hash fashion, at the 11am departure time there was only one person at the bus… after floating around for 1/2 an hour and no more people showing up, I ensured the bus wouldn’t leave without me, and commissioned a moto driver to take me on a tour of the city.

Destination: Mt. Meru – or a view of Mt. Meru as the driver said it would take to long to drive to the mountain. So he drove, and I held on to the back handle and took photos.

As the clock ticked to after 12, I began to get nervous about the time. I mean this was an hour after scheduled departure time. So we headed back to the hotel where all the hashers we’re being picked up from. I really needn’t have worried. We didn’t depart until shortly after 2:30pm.

Passenger Picture Taking 

 

The places in between

Having finished my contract in Nairobi at the end of May, I set off for some good old fashioned vegabonding with a very good friend and a representative of the famjam. June was an incredible month of travelling that took us to the Indian Ocean in Kenya, travelling down the coast by bus to Dar, ferrying to Zanzibar for the night and spice markets of Stonetown, finding my inner adrenaline junkie at Victoria Falls in Zambia, safari-ing in the Ngorongoro Crater, Serengeti, and Lake Manyara, before proudly showing my guests the charms of what has become my hometown – Nairobi.

The destinations were beautiful, filled with wonders (or in one case one of the Wonders of the World), and places that you visit and remember. But what I find just as, if not more, enticing than the destinations themselves, is the journey to get to them. What happens along the road, the rail, or in the air, and the places you visit in between getting to your big ticket items.

When I first came to Kenya I read: “The Places In Between” by Rory Stewart – the story of a man who walked across Afghanistan in January 2002. An account of the people and places he encountered along the way. I thought about the book a number of times over the month, and just how the title makes so much sense. About what we discover between our preconceived ideas of destination.

 

Clouded sunrise. I told the clouds to move, but they didn't listen. They've grown on me though.

 

Wild, Wild West – Kisumu 1/4

Kisumu is a city in western Kenya along the shores of Lake Victoria. We went to explore the port town home to Africa’s largest lake, or the second largest freshwater lake in the world.

The Easter tag team (myself, Sam, Jess, Caitlyn, and our newest Canadian snack-providing-rapping-sleep-on-our-couch-anytime visitor Soo) started our travels by taking the overnight bus from Nairobi to Kisumu town. As a note, it was a mission trying to get those seats for five people a day before travelling. I lucked out at my third bus company, where the attendant told me I was very fortunate to be getting the seats, as they were the last ones on the bus, and it was the last bus to leave. The pre-thinking that is necessary when travelling on holiday weekends!

The actual bus ride was uneventful, and we arrived before the sun came up. Soon we were picked up by the owner of the guesthouse we were staying in, eating breakfast, and fighting the fatigue that comes with overnight bus travel.

Enjoying the view at Kiboko Bay

A short walk and we were on the shores of Lake Victoria at a lovely restaurant, part of Kiboko Bay Resort. If I wasn’t minding my Easter change, this is without a doubt where I would want to stay in Kisumu. The grounds were charming,  the tented accommodation looked so nice, and the restaurant never failed to disappoint (we kept returning as it the only restaurant where you can sit and enjoy food or a drink while over looking the lake).  Further, that’s where I saw the hippo previously mentioned while having my dinner.

The next stop was Hippo Point. We hopped on boda bodas (motorcycle taxis) and I was immediately thrilled to be in Kisumu, as I am anywhere where I can ride a boda boda. Short trip later, we arrived at Hippo Point, where you can negotiate for a boat ride on Lake Victoria. Jess put her expert bartering skills to good use, and we arranged for a sun-rise boat ride the following morning to spot the early morning fishermen, birds, and (eeeek!) hippos!

Boda boda stand - ah, how I miss you in Nairobi!

At this point, it was not yet 11am, and my bus travel was catching up with me. So I hopped on a boda to the guesthouse for an afternoon nap. Not really refreshed, but anxious to explore Kisumu town, I splashed some cold water on my face, and took a boda to town. What fun to ride through a more residential area of Kisumu, over a couple bridges, dirt roads to paved roads and end up in town.

I met up with the others at a rooftop restaurant over looking a very animated crowd gathered outside, shouting and clapping in a Good Friday service.

We left the restaurant to walk around and couldn’t resist the allure of the mtumba (second-hand) market. Who can am I to deny an attendant calling out, “10 bob! 10 bob! Blouses, 10 bob!”?? Oh, I was in mtumba Kisumu heaven!

Total damage: 3 shirts + 3 scarves = Ksh 60.

Tusker Malt beer ad - delightfully refreshing

After mtumba fun, I headed to the Nakumatt to pick up supplies (read Tuskers and banana chips) and the others went to scout for an afternoon lounge location, which ended up being another rooftop. Not a restaurant rooftop, but a guesthouse rooftop. Sooper Guesthouse! And yes it as super… so much so in fact that we ended up moving there for the rest of our stay. They let us simply chill on the roof, as we fashion-showed our newest purchases and watched the sun set on Kisumu town.

Bodas back to our initial guesthouse, dinner at Kiboko, hippo on land encounter, and an ETB for our early morning boat ride the next day…

Dinner delight - fresh Lake Victoria fish

Are you hungry too?

Good evening Kisumu! On Night 1 guesthouse porch.