PICTURE THIS;
I walk into a room full of bikers. It is an alcoholics
anonymous's equivalent of a meeting for people who are addicted to motorcycles. It is my turn to
share about my riding experiences and this is my story!
The Truth about bikers.
My name is Ken "Wakili Timam" and I am a "bikie!" I
have been riding for 251 days. That's about eight (8) months. I ride a Ninja
Turtle (Kawasaki's 300); a nice little highly underrated gift to humanity from the
Japanese people. "Domo Arigato Japan!" I call it R2...don't ask. A
nerd would understand... R2 and I have covered over 21,000kms in 8 months. And
that's pretty much the only notable riding that I have done on a motorcycle. I rode
bicycles for 14 years (including riding from home to campus) but that's a story
for another day.
You may wonder how I got here. I have always loved travelling.
But it can be quite expensive. I drove a taxi for about two years upon completion of
my law undergrad in Eldoret simply because I loved driving around and getting paid for it. Yes, my parents supported my quest to start fending for myself at an early age...it was all about learning about responsibility hands on. That experiment worked and went quite well until curtains closed on the taxi business rather unceremoniously. I know what it feels like to lose a dream. After that, I pretty much hit rock bottom and
being a value for money kinda guy, I shifted my attention from cars to
motorcycles.
The end of an Era.
I started dreaming about bikes in 2013. I'd had a Green Kawasaki
Ninja motorcycle as my office computer's wallpaper for almost two years. The
dream was far from reality but I never gave up. I even bought my kinda famous
white full leather suit over a year before I got R2.
I was almost literally gifted with my dream bike🚴, and it transformed our lives significantly.
So I had been trying to acquire a beginner sport bike for about three years in vain. There were just way too many complications along the way. During that time I interacted extensively with this biker, Ng'ash, your friendly neighborhood biker and chief troll. He is the guy who almost single-handedly kept my biking life hopes alive and topped it all by introducing me to Godsend who sold me R2. Yes, it was a gift from God but I had to pay for it 😀. I must give my main anchor Turu, my brother Bri and my boss Ben credit for giving me the much needed push to reach out for my dreams whereas most of the important people in my life were blatantly standing firm against the idea.
R2, the Ninja Turtle arrived on the evening of Thursday, 27th July, 2017 at around 05:25pm. What a sight. Gee had taken the best care of this little beast. It looked sparkling clean, clocked approximately 14,000kms in mileage and was absolutely ready to hit the road with its new owner, your truly, ME! After some formalities and a photo session, I was immersed into the biking world. I had completed my rider training and had full protective riding gear (except proper riding boots) prior to this day but no amount of preparations can render a person ready for this biker life.
I always ride in my full gear all the time. Bikers call it riding ATGATT (All The Gear, All The Time). I might have done a trip or two without a helmet in a bid to avoid carrying an unprotected pillion passenger. But I don't let just anyone hop onto that seat. If I am not riding, I am most probably not going anywhere. I ride to the office, to meetings, to court, to visit Turu, to my family members and friends, for fun, alone, with my people, in the rain, at night, in and out of civilization. I hate using cars and it takes a special reason for me to board a car nowadays.
I had my first near death experience on the very first evening. I rode home safe, geared up and hit the streets ready to start honing my skills on the road. Obviously, I was riding too slow and when someone overtook me dangerously, they prompted my newbie instincts to almost countersteer me into a steep roadside trench along Convent Road. The following day, I lost control of the bike at a corner near the Embassy of Angola along Red-hill road and went off-road on the oncoming traffic's side of the road on my first group ride. I recovered without stopping and rejoined the group safely.
What I am trying to say, is that bikers crash a lot. A whole lot. It's already too easy to make a mistake on your own and mess up your life with an accident...now add the following:
1. Inconsiderate drivers, 2. Bad drivers (by choice), 3. Learner drivers, 4. Random drivers trying to race you, 5. Almost all other drivers, 6. Animals, 7. Trash (yes, littering is equivalent to attempting to murder a biker!), 8. Grass (wet plants in particular), 9. Potholes, 10. Crosswinds(winds are notorious biker killers), 11. Rains, 12. Darkness, 13. Rain + Darkness (worst culprit in my books), 14. Punctures, 15. Other bikers (especially bodaboda riders), 16. Unmarked speed bumps, 17. Unmarked roads, 18. Bad luck, 19. Oil spills, 20. Mud, 21. Sand, 22. Pebbles, 23. Stones, 24. Slippery surfaces in general, 25. Partial Blindness, 26. Distractions (please don't give a biker unnecessary attention. You might kill them with it), 27. Debris on the road and many other factors combining their efforts in a bid to drop you and your bike each and every time you hit the road. With all the above in mind, please remember that I am still a newbie. There's a lot of things I don't know at this point.
Polite Request: Please stop telling us that bikes are dangerous. We know. And we always ride with that in mind.
Today, after slightly over 21,000kms of riding, I have dropped my bike 5 times all at
zero (0) kph. Please don't get me wrong. When I say dropped, I mean that I placed the bike down gently to avoid hurting myself. With no noteworthy damage to the bike whatsoever. Okay, I did bend my gear lever twice on day two...and that's why it's unwise to have the bike down on its left side. I am a significantly strong chap but even i don't wanna mess with a 170 something kg machine while on the wrong footing. In all these occasions, I felt that it was the wise thing to do.
I dropped R2 thrice just outside my house on my second day of riding before I got used to handling its weight. Then I dropped R2 again while parked at a road side somewhere in Othaya as my friend Mr. Djo Thefu and I were lost at night. Then once more in an extremely muddy road between Bura and Hola in Tana River county during my most memorable ride to this day details whereof shall be told within this story.. I almost dropped it a sitcth time at the entrance of the Eldoret International Airport but Djo Thefu's big bike did not let my stupidity prevail. I have been so lucky not to have a bad accident and I continue to thank the almighty God for this.(Please note that I had paused typing the rest of this article to rethink why I still do this biking thing)...
I dropped R2 thrice just outside my house on my second day of riding before I got used to handling its weight. Then I dropped R2 again while parked at a road side somewhere in Othaya as my friend Mr. Djo Thefu and I were lost at night. Then once more in an extremely muddy road between Bura and Hola in Tana River county during my most memorable ride to this day details whereof shall be told within this story.. I almost dropped it a sitcth time at the entrance of the Eldoret International Airport but Djo Thefu's big bike did not let my stupidity prevail. I have been so lucky not to have a bad accident and I continue to thank the almighty God for this.(Please note that I had paused typing the rest of this article to rethink why I still do this biking thing)...
Since my addiction kicked off on 27th July, 2017 it has
been a small piece of heaven. A Ninja 300 is a small sports
tourer...designed as a fancy looking means for commuting around congested urban areas in style. But I choose to have
none of that. I have been to all manner of places on this little machine. And it has never disappointed me. I've done countless trips to my home county of Meru through all roads that lead there. I have done a couple of randoms to Nanyuki, particulars whereof are highly classified. In December, Djo and I rode to attend the East Africa Biker's meet via our own route which took us through Nairobi-Nakuru-Kericho-Kisumu-Awasi-Chemelil-Nandi Hills-Kapsabet-Eldoret-Iten-Kabarnet-Marigat-Nakuru-Nairobi. We then closed the year with a trip to Moyale(Ethiopia). (Please find a link to that story at the end of this post).
I intend to travel through all counties in Kenya. I have already been to 39 counties meaning that I only have 8 more counties to go namely: Mandera, Wajir, Turkana, West Pokot, Narok, Bomet, Migori and Nyamira...but not for long...
I intend to travel through all counties in Kenya. I have already been to 39 counties meaning that I only have 8 more counties to go namely: Mandera, Wajir, Turkana, West Pokot, Narok, Bomet, Migori and Nyamira...but not for long...
Which Counties haven't you visited?
The Most Epic & Fulfilling Ride of My Life!
I recently did a trip from Nairobi to the Kenyan coast and back during the 2018 Easter weekend. I have no Go-Pros or mounted cameras to enable me document this trip. I rely on my decent memory, photographs, screenshots, SMS notifications, regular whats-app updates sent to various friends and phone call records to stitch this three day ride's story together. It is a very long story. I have decided to invest in the details. I hope that you'll brave it to the end.
POLITE NOTICE:Please erase everything that you are expecting to find here from your mind and let me tell you how that actually went... #RESIST
PART ONE: Decision Making & Planning
It's Monday, 26th March, 2018. I had a rather interesting ride in the Mt. Kenya & Aberdares regions this past Saturday (Please find a link to that story at the end of this post) followed by a rather forgettable Sunday. I'm going through some dark blue Monday blues. It turns out that I am potentially going to be free over the Easter weekend but it is not confirmed. The confirmation follows on Tuesday. I have plans for Saturday but I feel the need for some time out. This calls for a ride. A serious road trip. I wanna do something BIG and the choice is easy. I'm riding to the Kenyan coast.
I assume that at this point you're already thinking about the traffic and hazards on Mombasa road or how it would be safer to fly or do the S.G.R Train etc. I Told You To Resist and Delete Those Thoughts!
The choice of the route is way too easy for this one. This trip has got to take me through six out of the eight provinces in Kenya. I will go through Nairobi-Thika-Garissa-Hola-Garsen/Minjila-Lamu-Malindi-Kilifi-Mombasa-Lunga Lunga-Mombasa-Voi-Taveta-OLoitokitok-Emali-Nairobi. I don't know anyone who has done this trip before but the biker community has always been informative so I quickly share the route on several bikers' fora and await feedback. Bikers are almost more informative than Google Maps. I get so much information about various sections and a couple of offers for biker escorts across some sections. I am stoked. It is settled. I'm starting this trip in 72 hours.
The choice of the route is way too easy for this one. This trip has got to take me through six out of the eight provinces in Kenya. I will go through Nairobi-Thika-Garissa-Hola-Garsen/Minjila-Lamu-Malindi-Kilifi-Mombasa-Lunga Lunga-Mombasa-Voi-Taveta-OLoitokitok-Emali-Nairobi. I don't know anyone who has done this trip before but the biker community has always been informative so I quickly share the route on several bikers' fora and await feedback. Bikers are almost more informative than Google Maps. I get so much information about various sections and a couple of offers for biker escorts across some sections. I am stoked. It is settled. I'm starting this trip in 72 hours.
The Road Map
The route has not been jumbled up. It's well thought through. I even consider doing a 121km stretch northwards from Garissa to an area past Daadab where Wajir county is situated but I don't wanna risk breaking my bike in bad terrain on the first day and there is a bit of a security concern. I also get a security update about Lamu and quickly scrap it off the Map. The trip takes me across the Kenyan coast to the boarder with Tanzania. I have never visited these neighbours. I intend to get into Tanzania via four different boarder points for good measure, sampling some of their local cuisine as a formality. Holo Holo, Holili, Loitokitok and Namanga earn a solid place in the map just like that. There's also an 80 kilometer stretch of rough road between Taveta and Oloitokitok which I will risk and take only on condition that it shall not be raining simply because nothing beats a ride around Africa's highest peak. KILIMANJARO!
I am tied up with my legal work during the week. I leave the office at 12:45am on Tuesday and Wednesday to ensure that my workload for the week is sorted. I arrange to have the bike serviced on Thursday ahead of the planned 5:00am departure on Good Friday. All goes well until Thursday evening when something extreme comes up. I can't believe it as I am caught completely unawares. I tentatively cancel the trip to enable me deal with it. Andrew, the biker who is to escort me to from Nairobi to Garissa is also unwell and will not be joining me. The trip is so cancelled that by Friday morning at 01:30am, I can be spotted in a night club along Thika Road dancing my two left feet off (in my riding jacket and my boots)....Something I do less than five times a year. I hit the bed at a few minutes to 03:00am well aware that I am not going anywhere the following day.
PART TWO: Testing The Waters.
It's 01:45pm on Good Friday. My energy levels are at "battery low". I have decided to pull myself together and do this trip. I am almost nine hours behind schedule. I pass by Oyaya's garage for a final touch on the bike which takes approximately 15 minutes. I really admire how this guy treats my bike. He's not perfect, but he has never let me down. Several bikers are at the garage. One of them gives me contacts to a biker based in Garissa town where I shall be spending the night due to a change of plans. It's 2:30pm. I fuel the bike and confirm the tyre pressures at Ruiru and then I am off. I do a quick stopover at Landless in Thika to make a phone call. It's 03:03pm. It is on! There is no turning back now.
My first stop is at Mwingi town. The road has been smooth until the turn off towards Kitui after which it gets uncomfortably bumpy and stays bad. I take a couple of pictures and refuel. It's 4:36pm and I am approximately halfway to Garissa town.
In Mwingi Town
A few minutes have gone by. I find myself at Ukasi town. This town is approximately 61 kilometers from Mwingi. I realize that I have been flying. I am starting to enjoy the emptiness of the road. The surface is quite bumpy but after a few minutes, I appear t have gotten used to it. I pass the Ukasi Police barrier and forge ahead.
The thing about this trip is that I will be riding solo through approximately 2,000kms of unfamiliar and sparsely populated roads. If anything happens along the way, I am in deep trouble. I can't afford to have an accident or even something as minor as a puncture. Everything needs to go as planned...but I haven't planned the trip well. A simple accident in the middle of nowhere which normally wouldn't have killed you could lead to death via unrelated causes like hypothermia or an animal attack. Bikes don't have spare wheels so a puncture could also spell doom. I realize that there's so much that I haven't thought through. But I am not worried, I overthink to keep my mind busy.
R2 is running on some not so old good quality rubber tyres and I am confident in the reliability of this bike. I am the weak link in this tag team. I have neither carried a medikit nor a tyre repair kit. But I have carried a lot of faith. I am a very faithful believer in God. I am moving by diverse powers and I am so relaxed, you would be tempted to believe that I am doing this on a HUUGE budget, with a diverse support crew and the option of doing the challenge in phases then later on stitching them together to form one complete episode but I don't even get the leisure of wishing as much.
The truth is that I don't want to ride in the dark on unfamiliar roads so I am pushing the bike a little today...and R2 has been absolutely monstrous. It turns out that the thing Oyaya which put into the bike's fuel tank with a syringe which is supposed to revitalize the bike by eliminating carbon deposits from the bike's combustion chamber is working like a charm. "Asante sana Ken"!
I am now approximately 10 minutes past Ukasi town. I find a group of people pushing their Land Cruiser. I stop to help. They ask whether I am a mechanic. Turns out I ain't. I wish my friend Djo was here. He's really good at fixing things. I park my bike and together we push the vehicle until it starts. This team is headed to Hola on a mission. They are surprised by my choice of a route to the coast. They seem to have a transmission issue which they say persists whenever they drive on bumpy sections or when they drive past 80kph. I feel so bad for them. These guys didn't really need my extra hand. But if you are a biker you'd understand. You never leave anyone behind...especially not in the middle of nowhere. We shake hands and proceed with the journey.
I am hauling ass. It's a lonely looking road. I have been waving at pretty much every person I come across on the road. And 99% of the time, I have been receiving positive feedback. These are my kind of people. It costs nothing to spread the cheer. You should see how elated the kids along the way get whenever I wave, hoot or rev R2 near them....priceless simplicity. I overtake a few vehicles along the way. There are no trucks headed in the same direction. I want to see trucks because if anything happens to my bike, they can easily transport R2 to a safe area. The road is now ridden with numerous massive potholes. The saloon cars seem to be struggling on this route. The SUVs are doing better. The bike is thriving. Turns out I only need about six inches of good road to keep my throttle steady...and I am.
I get to a town called Bangal (Banjali) which is 79 kms from Garissa according to google maps. It's 06:01pm. I visit a shop for a quick transaction while asking about the remainder of the trip amidst fear of the looming darkness. "It is safe and the road is better." Says the rather friendly attendant. I decide to share my live location with bikers from one of my bikers' forum upon which I ride on. I have been riding for about 360 kilometers. I come across a Kenya Wildlife Services signpost. I stop to take pictures. I only have a few minutes of day light left. I know that I have got to ride slow from here. I only have 21 kms to go so I am at peace.
It is approximately 06:45pm when I ride past the junction towards Hola and Malindi. I can see Garissa town's lights ahead. I am so happy. I am about to complete the first leg of the journey and it has been smooth. The heat is unbearable. There are thousands of flies everywhere as you approach the town before you cross the River Tana bridge. My first priority is fuel so I ride into Garissa town looking for a familiar petrol station. I stop and refuel. I notice an unread message from my mom. She's asking about my evening. We chat a little. She doesn't seem worried about my being far far away. Her prayers work. We wrap it up after a brief correspondence.
I call the Garissa based biker whose contact I had received earlier on. His name is Dennis. He directs me to a meeting point but I barely know the town having just arrived in the dark. I stop to ask some bodaboda operators for directions. I end up spending another 30 minutes talking about bikes with them. They show me the way that takes me to meet Dennis.
Dennis shows up in one of the most beautiful ZMRs I have ever seen. Some bikers have some sort of "beef" with the ZMR bike. I distance myself from them. The ZMR is a 223cc bike from Hero Motocorp. You may google it if you are curious enough. This particular ZMR is even fitted with projector headlights and some nice supplementary lights. It looks majestic as it approaches in the dark. Dennis leads me to a rather noisy part of town where he's been hanging out with his crew. My helmet and my earphones prevent me from realizing just how noisy the place is. He books me into a hotel room directly across the road from a night club. I am too fixated on the facility's parking lot for R2's sake that I honestly don't notice the noise problem until much later. He orders a meal for me and directs the guys to deliver it to my room from where I eat. I am so grateful.
I am tired to the brink of collapse and I have been sweating profusely for over an hour. The heat in this town at night is unbearable. My hotel room fan is running non stop but it's not helping much. I have noticed at least three rooms where some men are sleeping bare chested with their room doors wide open. There's no point in covering yourself in these parts of the world. All you need is a mosquito net.
I have depleted my water supply but I am too tired to go out and look for more. I take a shower, wash my T-shirt and sleep. Dennis calls me again. It's 10:17pm. He's calling to find out if I am interested to join them. I am unable to. But now that I am awake, I realize that I am starving. The ugali nyama I had eaten earlier on must have evaporated on its way to my stomach due to this overwhelming heat. I take some cash and go to buy more food...a second helping of the same. I buy two liters of bottled water and down one liter. Now I can sleep in peace. But the noise from the adjacent night clubs won't let me. I put on my riding ear muffs and sleep like a baby.
It's Saturday. I wake up at 06:30am. I call Dennis to let him know that I'll be leaving by 8:00am. He is deep asleep. I leave him a message. I am so thirsty. I down half of the second liter of water and carry the remainder in my water bottle. I decide to ride to Garissa University as soon as I check out of the hotel room. I have got a special reason for doing this. I get there at 08:07am. I park the bike at a nearby kiosk and request for something to eat. I am served some really sweet tea and a couple of Chapati. As I down them graciously, I hear someone shouting. It's a guard within the Garissa University's Gate's Guards' booth. He wants me to move the bike. It turns out that bikes are not allowed past the barrier outside the gate. I disregard him. An armed Administration Police officer approaches me soon thereafter. He wants to know who I am and what I am doing there. I tell him about my trip and that one of our neighbour's son who'd been murdered by the Al Shabaab inspired me to visit the University. We part ways and I take a quick picture.
I leave Garissa town. I am stopped by the cops at the Tana River bridge roadblock. They are curious about my bike. They think I have been riding from Wajir. I am flattered. I tell them about the trip and ask if it's ok to take pictures in the middle of the bridge. They say yes. I do not hesitate to proceed.
Off I go again. I know that I am early and that there's no need for speed today. I ride out of Garissa towards Madogo where the Hola - Malindi Road Junction is. I get there in five minutes. I see a crowd gathered. I stop for another quick photograph. There has been a minor accident. A Toyota Probox has driven into a KENHA road sign. Occupants are shaken but unhurt. Off I Go.
It is 08:37am. I am now riding South Eastwards towards Mombasa via Hola and Malindi on a fresh looking tarmac road. According to google maps, this is a 462 km trip that should take me 7 hours and 45 minutes. I know that Google uses information from mobile phone users to come up with this data and that I finish most of my trips with at least a third of the estimated time to spare so I reckon that I'll be at Mombasa by 2:00pm. Hola is 150 kms away. I am so confident... But I know NOTHING!
The tarmac road ends in less than 5 minutes. From This part, it appears to be all about riding next to a road under construction...and the area is filled with thorny bushes. I wasn't ready for this. I can't afford to risk a puncture. I sneak the bike onto the unfinished tarmac. It feels like I am riding on deep sand. At 40kph, I can barely keep the bike upright or steer straight ahead. I drift through this section for another five minutes after which it ends into a very rough patch of tarmac. I am relieved. I stop to take a quick picture.
This goes on for about 50kms. A very short section of it is graced by a much smoother ride. I stop to take another picture.
PART THREE: Reality Check
The tarmac road section has ended. I still have about 100 kilometers between my current location and Hola town. But my destination is about 310 kilometers beyond Hola. That's the equivalent of driving from Nairobi to Eldoret or Nairobi to Voi. The road becomes really bad. Some sections are like rumble strip bumps which stretch for up to 5kms at some sections. I haven't mastered the technique of riding under such vibrations yet but I am learning fast. I begin to worry about damaging my bike but I am riding so smoothly that if my mother was my pillion passenger at that point, I'd not feel guilty about my riding. Some road side sections are smooth but they don't stretch far enough. Something crosses my mind. I have recently read an article about motorcycle operators suffering from fertility issues. I am a parent. My daughter is already twelve and a third years old. But I haven't closed my account. I can feel my boys down there. They're comfortable. I adjust my sitting position for good measure. I don't intent to retire from parenthood or biking. I stop many times to rest my arms, my bum and my boys as I take some pictures.
The road keeps getting from bad to worse. That means that I get to catch up with so many more vehicles. There's only just enough room for one large vehicle at a time in most sections. The option of overtaking will most probably be introduced to this area in the year 2030...(I chuckle as I think about this). R2 has got a significantly loud exhaust pipe. All drivers are friendly enough to slow down, create a little room for me and notify me to pass. I am so honored by this that I wish I could make money rain on them.
The bike has been doing great and I am no longer worried about its capacity. I have also been learning a lot about riding on rough road surfaces and despite skidding several times, I haven't gone down. I learn to drift on gravel. My 14 year cycling experience seemed to be helping in these parts. I ride past the Bura Junction at 10:35am and sneak into a cordoned off fresh tarmac road where I enjoy good speed for less than 7 minutes. This is where my worst nightmares begin. It has rained the night before. The area has a very unique combination of muddy soil and sand. I have had to turn around at various sections in search of an alternative route but now I have come across a ten meter unavoidable section which is all it takes to get my bike stuck. The mud and the sand mix on my front wheel and once the water gets squeezed out between the tyre and R2's front mud guard, It dries up almost instantaneously, holding the wheel in place like some serious braking technology. I'm doomed!
The bike has been doing great and I am no longer worried about its capacity. I have also been learning a lot about riding on rough road surfaces and despite skidding several times, I haven't gone down. I learn to drift on gravel. My 14 year cycling experience seemed to be helping in these parts. I ride past the Bura Junction at 10:35am and sneak into a cordoned off fresh tarmac road where I enjoy good speed for less than 7 minutes. This is where my worst nightmares begin. It has rained the night before. The area has a very unique combination of muddy soil and sand. I have had to turn around at various sections in search of an alternative route but now I have come across a ten meter unavoidable section which is all it takes to get my bike stuck. The mud and the sand mix on my front wheel and once the water gets squeezed out between the tyre and R2's front mud guard, It dries up almost instantaneously, holding the wheel in place like some serious braking technology. I'm doomed!
I struggle to get the bike out of the muddy section for some roadside works in vain. It wear me down quickly until I give up after about 15 minutes and opt to place it on the mud via the right side because the gear lever R2's left side is quite delicate. Some trucks have begun to catch up. I am stuck in the middle of the only passable part of the entire road. I count four 18 wheelers behind me and two of them are already sinking into the mud. This is bad!
As luck would have it. The Miraa truck I had overtaken has got some locals waiting at my "drop zone" and by coincidence, they are riders. Some three rather nice Pokomo gentlemen whose names I am unable to remember. They have scars on their foreheads which indicates that they're muslim and that they pray religiously. The help me carry the bike to a better elevated location. In the sticky sandy mud, we can barely stay upright so carrying the 170 something kilograms bike makes all four of us break a sweat. I am dying from exhaustion. The guys literally fix the bike on their own as I catch my breath and join them. I request them to let me take some pictures.
These guy combine their Pokomo Dialect with Swahili in the most beautiful Way.
I have uploaded an enlarged photo showing the mud from where I laid R2 Down.
My Boots Telling A Little About My Day's Struggles
R2 Venturing Into Adventure Bike Territory
I arrive at Hola at 12:04am. I stop at the junction to take a breather and a couple of pictures. An ambulance approaches and drives by with its sirens and lights on. It's from Hola and to my horror it turns to my left side towards Bura. I say a quick prayer for the patient in that ambulance.
I gear up and proceed towards Garsen. I have lost time while stuck. The road is smooth tarmac. I see one truck ahead of me. I zoom past it as I push a little in a bid to get to Mombasa on time. My cousin Tush has welcomed me to stay at his matrimonial home and I don't wanna arrive at a weird hour. Just when I thought that we're done with bad roads....SHIT!!!!
Murram. A long ass stretch of it. At some point, I come across a road block. I feel like I have been riding for ages. I stop to talk to the officer. His name is Mahamud. I hope I spelt it right. He's manning the road with his colleague despite the fact that the place is blazing hot. He seems quite comfortable. He points at his colleague who I hadn't noticed up to this point. I wave at him. I check my phone. Google maps says that I am still over 300kms from Mombasa. I am really enjoying the rough road riding but it's taking longer than I expected. Getting to Mombasa by 2:00pm is no longer possible at this point. I wave at Mahamud and his colleague as I trot ahead.
The almost 40Kms of murram road ends into a bumpy unmarked tarmac road. I am elated. No sooner had I hit top gear than I see a junction to my left with some road signage. It's the Garsen Junction. It's 01:29pm. I see a police land cruiser and I park my bike next to it for a water and photo break. I find out that I have stopped next to some of the most loved police officers I have ever come across. Their leader, a nice gentleman locally referred to as Senior approaches me. We chit chat. I really enjoy their their company. I spend almost 30 minutes with these amazing stranger serving our nation in uniform. During this time, all bodaboda bikes, trucks, tuktuks and a Subaru Forester stop voluntarily to speak to Senior and I. It appears that most of the officers at that junction are really nice people. I find myself wishing that Nairobians and my home county of Meru could borrow a leaf from them. Some photos might or might not have been taken. I ask Senior about Lamu county and he categorically tells me that it is not worth venturing into. He advises me to refuel at Minjila Town and proceed straight towards Malindi with no detours. I leave.
Minjila town is just two and a half minutes away. I stop to refuel. It's 2:03pm. I ask the petrol station attendant about a quick detour into the Lamu county boarder. He says that I'll probably not be allowed to pass past the barriers and that it's not advisable. I proceed towards the adjacent police roadblock on my way towards Malindi. I decide to learn a thing or two from the officers. I share about my trip and mention that I have now been to 37 counties...and Lamu is not amongst them...and that my chances or making the trip again are slim. One officer advises me on how I could visit Lamu county without going in too deep. He is inspired by my determination and is swayed to support my quest. I am too blind to notice the warnings that come with his advise. I give him my phone number and request him to contact me if I don't return in half an hour because that can only mean that I am in trouble.
PART FOUR: The BIG Mistake!
I turn around. I am going to Lamu county against advise from a myriad of specialists and security professionals. I am officially the stupid character from most horror movies who annoyingly walks to their own death. NKT! I even share an update on the bikers' forum that I am taking a quick detour to Lamu county in response to which I immediately receive a further warning. "Wakili, tulisema Lamu hapana", reads the message. I am so stoked that I disregard it. I can see our KDF Soldiers in heavily armed convoys gathering the vehicles which are about to be escorted to Lamu. I have never seen a 50 calibre machine gun being used around private citizens before. I am still too charged to notice the gravity of the situation.
I am now riding towards Lamu. I come across the first barrier. No vehicle passes these checkpoints without clearance. I produce all my documents on demand, answer a few questions, ask a few questions and proceed. I cross River Tana and head towards Lamu. The second barrier is at Gamba Police station. I am stopped once again. The officers cannot understand why anyone in their right mind can choose to venture beyond this checkpoint "for fun". The junior officer calls upon the senior officer to address my case. I am a very convincing idiot. I somehow sell my passion to them but I am too stupid to see that these officers are genuinely scared for my life. Some locals drive to the checkpoint on a probox. The officers know them. They tell me to follow the locals but to avoid going in too deep for my own safety. I oblige.
Unfortunately, the locals don't trust anyone anymore. They have experienced so much since the Al Shabaab descended on their territory. When I wave at them, they roll up their windows. I assume that they're snobs and zoom past them. I stop on three occasions to ask some local pedestrians about the boundary between Tana River and Lamu counties. It doesn't hit me that they obviously don't know. It is at least four days later as I type this that I realize that the only county boundaries I know are those of boundary towns I lived in and the clearly marked counties I have visited. I am already over 20kms past Gamba Police station. It is Lamu county. Even google maps says so. But a local told me that Lamu county begins at the end of the tarmac road and I chose to believe him. I ride ahead. At this point I only deserve to be described as a blistering buffoon marching flamboyantly to his own execution. And that's exactly what I am doing.
I see a weirdly dressed boy walking by the roadside. He is only the forth pedestrian I have seen in about 20 kilometres. The last one. He either doesn't understand Swahili or he chooses to pretend not to. He nods incoherently without saying a word. Now I am scared. I even suspect that he could be an Al Shabaab militant because I though that Swahili is a household language in this region. I ride for a minute and find the end of the tarmac road. I stop. I look around. I can see a canter approaching from the Lamu direction and I know that the Probox with the two locals is approaching from behind. I get a false sense of security. I alight the bike and start taking pictures. My helmet and earphones are still on...I can't hear a sound. About 45 seconds pass. The small white Canter, the Probox and one other beige Canter pass as I take the pictures and selfies. I wave at them all but they shake their heads. It's 2:40pm and I am official in deep shit!
I Should Have Stuck To This Plan
As I contemplate to walk back to my bike, it happened. I see a group of heavily armed men approaching me from the nearby bushes with all their guns pointed at me. The thought of running crosses my mind but I shut it down immediately because at under 15 meter, even I can hardly miss shot, let alone a good number of professional looking fighters. I don't wanna die like that. I choose to surrender.
I drop my phone and put my hands in the air. I can see their faces. They mean business. They are well kept. No beards and they generally look clean. They do not look like terrorists but I cannot recognize their uniforms as I have never seen it before. Not in the news or on the internet or on any military related documentary, literature or reports. "If I comply, I might be able to talk myself out of this. Keep it together Ken!" I mumble to myself.
"Mimi ni mkenya" I shout. "Naomba nitoe helmet pole pole mnione tafadhali" I add. They don't say a word. They know that I am cornered but they are not sure whether I am alone. They are looking around and that scares me even more. "Who the F is out there that these War Machine Looking Men are looking out for?" I think as I slowly unclip and remove my helmet and two baraclavas with one hand still in the air. I am ordered to lose my backpack and then to lay down on my stomach. I comply like a good robot. Little do they know that they've just confirmed that they're "kinda" friendly forces. I am so relieved at this point that deep inside, I almost break into dance.
These guys are not saying much. In a span of 15-20 seconds, they appear, approach, neutralize me and assume tactical positions in the area as i get searched on the grounds. I am scared shitless but at the same time I am so impressed. I know that there's tension and that we're probably being watched by whoever else they seemed to have been looking out for. I tell myself to narrate the relevant information about my entire life and my business in the area in a bid to end this as soon as possible and get us out of there asap. Foolish move. That is something a trained militant would do.
I start reciting useful information about myself which somehow leads to an interrogation and I keep answering their questions so fluidly. I only cause a bit of a confusion explaining the relationship between my being a lawyer, a bike and an irrelevant blogger...and explaining how a trip from Nairobi to Mombasa got me taking pictures in the heart of a terrorist ridden battlefield. My girlfriend has taught me well. I used to perceive lying as being creative. But she's intolerant to BS. She asks the toughest questions whenever she needs answers. She likes her answers straight forward and crystal clear. I wasn't this refined before I met her. She just literally saved my life, inadvertently. May God bless her in abundance.
I have got my passport, my national ID card, My driver's Licence and my Advocate's ID Card with me. I share this information with the officers. I tell them about how I have taken pictures from my travels and how I pay for fuel through my phone. They are able to retrace my movements from Nairobi to Nyongoro (Lamu County). The pictures and the whatsapp updates on the biker forum in my phone could go a long way in helping my case. I presume that they even notice the warning message I had received in the group moments before that. I have taken pictures of with a good number of police officers along the way too. Including senior and his team. Some of them have even posed for a picture or two on my bike. I won't be sharing those ones of course because of the stupid witch hunters who will come across this story and attempt to misuse such information. I feel sorry for myself as I look forward to spending what I believe is going to be time as a prisoner of war...overthinking is bad.
A white pick up truck approaches. It stops and does one of the quickest three point turns I have ever seen. The panic is back. Even I panic. My fear is so evident. The officers take off my reflective T shirt and use it to blindfold me. I request them to reconsider that move. I can hear them communicating to patrol vehicles about the runaway pickup truck. A few minutes later, the officer from Minjila calls me. The officer with my phone notices and shares the information with his colleagues. They keep calling each other a certain common word which under my blindfold really confuses me. They finally deliberate and order me to remove my blindfold. I am not out of the woods yet. I am ordered to empty the contents of my bag and I gladly oblige.
"Look around you." one of the officer says to me. "Do you know what those are?" He is referring to the debris of a lorry following a recent Improvised Explosive Device attack by the notorious Al Shabaab Militants. I see several spent bullet casings. "Hizi ni risasi!" I say in shock. One of the officers is kind enough to correct me by clarifying that they're spent bullet shells. They show me scorched earth spots where the Al Shabaab militants recently mutilated and burnt several victims' bodies earlier this year. All this within ten meters of my selfie taking spot. It is sinking in. We the people of the safer sections of the country live oblivious of the insecurity situation in other parts.
The mainstream media has not been covering most of the recent incidents in the area. That notwithstanding, it is dawning on me that no amount of news coverage can capture the gravity of this problem. We have to have our Kenyan Special Forces spending 24 hours manning bushes and patrolling roads so that we can have the simple pleasure of misusing the word safe!
It has been approximately 25 minutes. I am instructed to empty the contents of my bag for an inspection. I am no longer taking chances so I don't hesitate to comply with these instructions. The boy who I had left approximately one kilometer back walks past us. He doesn't flinch or seem moved by what he is seeing. How often does this happen? The officers seem to recognize him as a local and don't stop him. I can hear one of the officers asking whether he's been cleared. From his dress code, you can see his penis. I am convinced that he's not carrying anything more dangerous than my stupidity. I am instructed to pack my scattered stuff and I comply. They are satisfied that I am who I claim to be. They even give me back my phone.
The pick u truck returns in a convoy of several vehicles under some heavy military escort. The Calvary has arrived. Vehicles with proper weapons mounted thereon to deal with the enemy. Two of the escort vehicles are left at the scene. I am questioned by their leader and I do not hesitate to answer. It turns out that terrorists scout areas in which they intend to plant their I.E.Ds and my behavior in the area was unexpected and questionable. People simply don't go to random areas in Lamu County to take photos anymore at the height of the terrorism threat in the area. I understand their concerns. I admire the way I have been handled. I request that they take a picture of me to enable me spread the word to other bikers who might be tempted to do this soon. One of the officers takes my phone and captures some beautiful shots. I really appreciate this. It's 03:07pm. This felt like ages. I can afford a smile at this point. I think the officers like me a little.
I pick up my things, gear up and start the bike. I have expressed my fears and the officers will be escorting me to safety. I am so relieved. I ride behind them. It is a slow and tense ride. We've spent over an hour at Nyongoro and we don't know if anyone has been watching us. The Kenyan boys are on high alert throughout this time and that sense of professionalism instills some much needed confidence in me. Either way, I am riding with my body set up and ready to gear down and zooming away at the slightest sense of danger. Allow me to remind you that bikes are significantly fast.
They stop to show me the remains of vehicles that have been blown up within the last four months. These guys have dedicated their lives to serving this country and you can see it from their actions. I am tearing up behind the cover of my visor but I don't wanna reveal this sissy side of me. We get to a safe zone near Gamba Police Station from where we part ways. I don't feel safe anymore as I proceed alone so I push R2 so hard that we cover the four kilometres in under two minutes. I remember evading potholes more aggressively than the way our Kenyan politicians avoid positive developments. I stop at Gamba Police station where I buy everyone in my sight including the lady merchant drinks of their choice. It's between water, soda or some energy drink so the bill is quite low. It's 03:49pm. I share my experiences with the officers and vendors at Gamba and thank God for my life.
The officers at Gamba are relieved that I have been in the right hands. I am told that some of our Kenyan servicemen have been rumored to kill or seriously harm anyone who strays into the area and is unable to to explain themselves upon questioning. I am told about people who have been reportedly shot and or beaten up by some of our own boys. It is unfortunate. There are different units manning the area under tonnes of armed resistance and hostility from terrorists and some locals who double us as collaborators and sympathizers of the militants, something that has caused a serious rift between all these parties. The area is generally tense at all times and coupled with the pressure and the stressful nature of these security operations, things have been rumored to go wrong... regularly!
All in all, it is evident that the Kenyan servicemen from various units who have been manning and patrolling the region have gained significant ground and brought about a commendable degree of sanity and calmness in the area. A quick search on google and facebook on Gamba, Nyongoro, Minjila or Lamu will give you enough information about their horror stories from the past. In one event, Gamba Police Station is raided by the militants. The Al Shabaab release all muslim inmates and slaughter 8 inmates who are unlucky to be non muslims. A senior police officer is murdered during the exchange of fire. A total of 21 lives are lost on this day. It's 06th July, 2014. May these souls find eternal peace.
In a recent incident, two police patrol vehicles were burnt down by the Al Shabaab militants on 13th January, 2018 when the police officers who had been escorting buses plying the Lamu to Malindi route ran out of ammunition after a two hour exchange of fire with the militants prompting a tactical retreat. I hope the government is getting these memos and showering these officers with more ammunition than what the international arms dealers are sending towards the enemy.
I can see over 17 bullet hole patches on the front side of the Gamba Police station's first building where the report is. It is imprudent to take a photograph for security reasons so I resist the temptation. The bullet holes are patched in the most ridiculous way. I am tempted to tell these officers to run for their lives if they ever get attacked in future. They are our servants. They earn peanuts. We think that our lives are so valuable that we believe that these officers deserve to die in the line of duty to protect us. In my opinion, that is a bunch of horse shit! Yet we are wasting tonnes of taxpayers' money on undue projects like pampering our politicians and implementing numerous meaningless corrupt dealings which are never really well thought through. Equip our officers and pay them well for F's sake.
PART FIVE: The Ride Must Go On!
It's 3:58pm I gear up and bid the Gamba Police Station team goodbye. I'm running late but I don't care anymore. I just had an epiphany. All I want is to live and do something about all this. Perhaps this could be the reason why God has let me live under his evident favour for so long. I proceed to refuel again at the same petrol station in Minjila. I stop for a second at the roadblock where I had turned around to head towards Lamu. My anonymous officer has left. It's 04:14pm. I call him and quickly share about the ordeal after which I take off towards Malindi. I make my first stop after some 25 minutes of riding. R2 has just clocked 34,000kms. I have officially been riding for over 20,000kms without a single accident. It's 04:40pm. I am so happy. God is GREAT! I stop for a quick photograph.
I ride on. Four kilometers later I ride past a road block. I instinctively look back and see an officer manning the roadblock beckoning at me. I turn around. His name is Mohammed. He liked the sound of the bike as I approached. The four officers at this roadblock engage me in discussions about my trip and being a biker in general. They love my gear. They mention a biker from the area who recently crashed and died. He had a smaller private bike but no protective gear. I tell them about our Nairobi biker community adherence to rider safety. They debate about how my bike looks superior to most local bikes. I laugh it off. I tell them about the numerous bigger bikes in Nairobi and how most bikers would not expect a Ninja turtle like R2 to make it through this trip...on a solo ride. We laugh at those idiots in absentia. They tell me that Malindi is 68 kilometers away and that their cruiser can make it there in 45 minutes. They would like to know how long the bike is going to take. We share phone numbers. I promise to be lenient and ride on.
I am no longer pushing the bike. But cars are generally slow so I am the fastest one on this road. I see something to my left. Looks like the ocean but more like a large scale irrigation or mining project. I am curious. I stop and take a few photos.
I ride on. Moments later, I get to another roadblock I can see an adjacent bridge. I have been here before. Some 18 years ago. It's the Galana River Bridge. Nairobi people call it Athi River. I make a phone call to Mohammed. He is impressed. He can't believe I made it in that time. His colleague calls me as well to confirm. It seems like such a big deal to them. It's been 74 kilometers from his road block according to my odometer. It's been slightly over half an hour. I know I could have easily shaved off 10 minutes by avoiding stops and pushing R2 but I'm happy to be here. I stop for take more pictures.
PART SIX: The Rewards!
I ride on to the nearby Malindi town. I have four friends who live here. They know that I am passing by but it's getting late. It's now 10 minutes to 6. I opt to visit the Vasco Da Gama Pillar instead. I get there just in time before the close up for the day. I am only here for the pictures.
I request a fellow tourist to take a few nice solo photos of me.
Better luck next time. May God bless her in abundance. I need to get to Mombasa for the night. I still end up spending 45 minutes admiring the sunset and the ocean.What a view. Sentimental clown.
It's dark as I walk back to my bike. On this last day of March, 2018 I am the last human being to leave the Vasco Da Gama pillar. I start the bike, set google maps to lead me to my cousin's house in Nyali, make a fuel stop over and head towards Mombasa. I hate riding at night. I am as blind as a bat. I feel bad for not meeting my Malindi friends but I know it wasn't feasible. I am determined to get to Mombasa, some 120Kms away to catch some well deserved rest. It's almost 07:00pm. I have been sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. I am seriously dehydrated at this point. I have had a loaded bag on my back all the way from Garissa and with the front mudguard on my pillion seat, my seating position has been terrible. I feel some back pain. My boys are no longer happy. I need to get to Mombasa fast! Really FAST!
I ride with my visor up...the glare from oncoming traffic blinds me with my visor down. Plus the humidity is choking. I eat up kilometers like bribe money. I'm on a roll. I realize that buses and trucks are sending sand particles through the air so I keep drawing down my visor every time I approach a big vehicle. This system works like a charm. The road is generally the best one I have been to all day. It's not perfect. I've just been through worse. I thank God that it's marked. There's traffic. I haven't seen this many vehicles since before my stop at Landless in Thika. This traffic makes the ride more interesting. A good number of the drivers here are impatient and reckless. I am used to this. Bad drivers force bikers to be more alert. I love doing constant calculations to keep my mind busy. I even forget about my fatigue. I get to Kilifi in no time. I decide to stop for a quick phone call. I have to greet at least one person along the way. It's only fair.
I call my friend. We agree to link up briefly at Mtwapa. I zoom to Mtwapa. I take the wrong exit. Google maps needs an update...ASAP. I spend twenty minutes looking for my friend's location. At some point I track back and hit the highway. I mistime an overtaking and force myself to exit the road from the far end of the oncoming lane in a bid to avoid being hit by a truck. The fatigue is wearing me down. I meet my friend outside their home. They are excited to see me. It's 08:22pm. I notify my cousin Tush about the little detour. Turns out he's at a family party at Shanzu, a few minutes away. I am glad I made this stop over. I needed a breather. We chit chat about the Lamu incident and the Al Shabaab threat for almost an hour before I proceed to Shanzu where Tush comes to greet me. It's 9:12pm.
Tush is a legend. A great driver and a young "bikie". Story for another day.
I take off my riding gear and the backpack and leave them in Tush's car. I feel like I just shed half my weight. What a relief. I do a quick change of clothes, then I join Tush's in-laws for a twins' birthday party. The only people I know here are Tush and his Wife. But I don't feel out of place. They make sure of it. We are all given a chance to introduce ourselves. There's a toast after every introduction. These adults know how to have a good time. #Shears!
The party ends late. My back is killing me. We proceed to Nyali where I sleep like a log.
PART SEVEN: Recharging
It's April fools. 08:05am. I am woken by a call from my significant other. I'm so sleepy. We pray. She doesn't prank me. We talk for for about 25 minutes. I feel like riding back to Nairobi immediately but I can't. I haven't recovered from yesterday. Plus I have been sweating through the night. I feel like there isn't enough water in the coastal region to quench my thirst. I am no longer sleepy. I watch my cousin's wedding video. This couple is interesting. I feature severally in the video. I had arrived for the wedding from Meru earlier that morning having arrived in Meru the previous day from our ride to Ethiopia. I was exhausted but it doesn't show on the video. Tush interrupts as he comes to get the Keys and gear. I had promised him a ride on R2. I trust him that much. The only other person who's taken R2 for a ride was Gee, the guy who sold me the bike. And it was still his bike at the time so I had no objection.
I am worried a little. I know how powerful and agile this little beast is. Tush is one heck of a driver. He's also done a good amount of riding on his line of work. I decide to distract myself by typing the first few paragraphs of this story. My dad calls me. We talk about my trip. He's happy that I have been pretty much everywhere in Kenya now. In his mind, this means that I am approaching a point where I'll retire from this riding life. He's not shy to express his thoughts. We don't fight about things anymore. We just agree to disagree cordially. I love this man very much. I even consider the thought of retirement albeit briefly. Tush returns after an hour safe and sound.
I log into whatapp to check my messages. I have been invited to join a couple of bikers who are nearby in Nyali. It's the famous Njeru of Biker's Clinic and Collins. Njeru is one of the four people who have ever laid their tool on R2. I have tonnes of respect from him. He's also a seasoned biker. You can learn a lot from him. My cousin and I gear up and proceed to meet them. We plan to do a quick ride to Kenya's boarder with Tanzania at Lunga Lunga for a cup of Tea. We know that Maghufuli Pombe is a no nonsense president so we carry our passports for good measure. Collins hears R2 approaching from a distance and comes to greet us.
This biker community is full of interesting folks. Njeru and Collins have been servicing some bikes. It is the first time that I am meeting Collins. But even Tush can't tell it. We find ourselves chatting about the biker life in general for hours. One of their bikes is acting up. The professionals are working on it. Tush doesn't seem to enjoy this hangout. We trade boots and he takes R2 out for another spin. He's gone for like two hours. We continue to share soft drinks, chat and service the bikes. At some point, Collins wonder why Tush has been gone for so long. I tell him that he probably rode to Kilifi. Tush had mentioned his wish to ride there earlier in the day so I assume that that's where he went. We don't use our phones while on the bike so I don't bother contacting him. Tush sends me a message asking me to alert him when we're ready to hit the road. I respond with a simple "ok". 45 minutes later, we're ready. It's 3:13pm. I alert Tush who shows up soon thereafter. Turns out he's been doing rounds within Mombasa up to Shanzu. He's a responsible young man.
Finally we're set to leave. It's 04:16pm I am excited about going to Tanzania for the first time ever. The four of us are going in a convoy of Two bikes. We leave Nyali. Njeru is leading with Collins as his pillion. Tush is my pillion. As we head towards the ferry, the lead bike experiences a minor problem. They stop. It appears to be a spark plug related issue. The hour is unfriendly. We've waited from midday for this. Njeru suggests that we go ahead as he returns to Nyali to diagnose the problem. They have a bigger bike. They might catch up. We part ways and board the ferry. It's 04:26pm. The boarder is approximately 110kms away. Another unfamiliar road. We intend to eat something in Tz before riding back. I realize that we'll be riding back in the dark. Tush pays for the ferry. We're the first to board.
We are off the island. It's been 18 years since I was at the South coast. Tush is tagging along for the thrill. I know that I cannot afford to disappoint him. But getting us killed is not an option. Riding changes significantly when you have a passenger on board. I have had my significant share of riding with a pillion passenger. The only member of my family I haven't carried up to this point is my mother. I have done a 178 kilometer trip from Nairobi to Kitui town on a Sunday night. Yes. We left Nairobi at around 07:30pm and arrived in two and a half hours amidst numerous rest stops. It was only my second trip to Kitui. I think I am nuts sometimes. My passenger reported having a limp the following day. I found that hilarious. Tush is a man so he'll to walk it off! There's tonnes of traffic at first. Then we're stopped at a police checkpoint briefly. We then zoom towards Ukunda. Our next stop is at a petrol station in Ukunda where we refuel and check the tire pressure before we proceed.
We've already been pushed to the edge of the road once by a reckless private car driver. We'll have to watch ourselves on this one. We have develop a signal system for Tush to alert me when we approach a speed bump or when he sees something and it is working like a charm. Tanzania Tunasija! It is a beautiful and smooth ride all the way. Tush gets what he was hoping for. I am happy. The scenery is mostly out of this world. I love it. We stop a few kilometers from the boarder to check the map. We're on the right track It takes us another hour and a half to get there.
We are at the Kenyan boarder check point. We are cleared to exit the country through the system. Our passports are stamped. We approach the adjacent Lunga Lunga boarder police station to request for a parking slot. We are assisted. We even get to leave our gear at the station. They tell us to avoid communicating in English and to use the word "Naomba" as a constant prefix while making any form of request. We are advised to brace ourselves to do transactions in the thousands and that one Kenya shilling should be equivalent to about twenty one TZ shillings. Asante sana madam officer Mary. You are doing this nation a great service.
Why don't we have enough of these kind of police officers in Nairobi and other urban areas?
We proceed to the Tanzanian checkpoint. We're processed and received via their system. "Where are you going and what is the purpose of your visit?" asks the attendant in some fancy sounding Swahili as he processes my passport. I tell him that we are bikers and that we only wanna visit the nearest town in Tanzania for a cup of tea. He can't believe it. He thinks that we are kidding. "Not our alcohol or our women? Just tea?" he adds. Yes. No alcohol, no women. We only want to set foot in Tanzania and eat something new. He asks whether I know the name of the first town across the boarder. I have no idea.
"Repeat after me" he instructs me. "Horo Horo" he mumbles. I don't hear his words at first as there's a thick glass pane and a space of almost two meters in between us. "Horo Horo" he says confidently. "Goro Goro" I mumble. "Horo Horo" he repeats impatiently. "GORO GORO" I shout thinking he couldn't hear me repeat after him. "Kwani wewe zuzu? Mbona ninaposema Horo Horo unasema Goro Goro?" It takes me a while to get it but I succeed at last. He hands my duly stamped passport back to me. It's already getting dark outside. But at at least we'll get to venture into Tanzania and drink some tea.
We've got ten thousand, five hundred to blow in under an hour. We walk to the nearby villa rosa kibandainski. We're going to make it rain hahahaha!!!! Our initial plan is to have some tea. But I have spotted a lady who is selling some shrimp. So I decide that I'll have the shrimp. The Swahili language is not as easy as you think it is. And we've been advised against speaking too much English across the boarder. After yesterday's drama, I am heeding to all warnings. But what is shrimp in Swahili? I have no clue. Tush doesn't seem to know either. SHIT!!! I thought that I have had enough of these language barrier problems already after our Ethiopian escapades where we had to walk into a cafe's kitchen to physically point at what we wanted to have for breakfast after all other forms of verbal and sign language communication had failed us.
Tush orders some fries and a bottle of water. I want shrimp! But I don't know how to go about ordering it. I use up all the Swahili I have left to request the lady to sell us the fried shrimp. She tells us it's local name but the good taste that follows wipes out most of my short term memory. I have since used google translate which says that the swahili name for shrimp is uduvi but i don't think that's what she said. We buy two thousand shillings worth and sadly deplete her stock. I am salivating as i type this.
We don't take tea. We have some shrimp
Everything we've experience in Tanzania is great. Even their fines are not as exorbitant as the ones in Kenya. It has been a worthwhile experience. We goof around as we walk towards the boarder checkpoints. "What does thenashara mean?". I ask Tush. This Swahili language is not as easy as we think. I decide to stop a man who is walking towards us. I ask him whether he is Tanzanian. Turns out he is. I ask him what thenashara means. He doesn't know. Tush and I are happy. Nobody knows this language here. We check back into our country and ride back to Mombasa in the dark rather fullfiled. My phone runs out of charge so I don't get to take pictures. But Tush is able to squeeze in a few nice shots.
A fine of Kshs.2,381 for littering. In Kenya it could be in the region of 4 million.
The ride back to Mombasa is slow and smooth. We leave Horo Horo at 07:53pm. Tush is scared shitless. It his first long distance bike ride at night. A whooping 120kms as a pillion passenger in the dark. His helmet has a tinted double visor which wont go up. He wont be seeing a thing along the way. He keeps signalling me to slow down and I gladly oblige. I don't wanna ruin this experience for him. I hit a couple of small potholes during the return trip. The only real scare comes at the ferry. It rocks from side to side for a couple of minutes. I have problems keeping the bike upright during this tense period. I am glad that I am somewhere in the middle where in brace myself in between cars. There's a huge sigh of relief when we hit the island. It's almost 10:00pm. We pass by Njeru and Collins for a jiffy the head straight to the house and sleep.
PART EIGHT: The Final Run!
It's Monday morning. My alarm wakes me. It's raining outside. I take a shower and pack my belonging ready to hit the road. I am feeling so fresh. The backache is long gone. I realize that I did not have any luggage on my back the previous day. Maybe that's where the problem comes in. I call Tush and request them to join me for a quick photo session. We head outside. The rain has subsided. We fasten my bag and the front mudguard to the pillion. We even take time to oil the chain. Photographs and a video are taken.
I pass my vote of thanks and bid the Mutumas farewell. I proceed to a nearby petrol station and fill up my tank. It's 07:40am. I am tempted to rethink the choice of my route in view of the fact that I will be working the following day. But I trust this tag team. A direct trip from my current location to my house in Nairobi is 493 kms according to google maps. Riding 500kms on tarmac in a day is respectable by all standards. But I feel the need to start pushing a little harder than the average man. The Swahili say "Kuenda Kwingi Kuona Mengi". I wanna see mengi. Today! My preferred route is approximately 646kms long with at least 80kms thereof confirmed to be a bad rough road between Taveta and Loitokitok. I will have the option of reducing this mileage to 588kms by skipping the Namanga boarder stop if I ride from Loitokitok to Nairobi through the silky smooth road to Emali. But if it shall be raining in the Taveta area, I'll have to ride back to Voi and straight to Nairobi in what shall turn out to be a 723km long trip. I am agreeable to any of the above options. I pay a few bills via Mobile Banking and take off.
It has only been my fourth visit to the coast. My previous visits we in 2000, 2005 and 2015. The first two were school trips while the other trip was a wedding attendance for my boy Sammy. Sammy lives in the coast. He's aware that I am in Mombasa but I didn't get to go see him. Ooops! I did it again. But at least I'll get to see him the following weekend as I will be riding to attend his brother's wedding in Meru.
I am not familiar with the roads and I rely on google maps for directions. All goes well until I exit the causeway. I take a wrong exit at a roundabout somewhere near Draco Haulage and the google lady keeps misleading me further away from my destination. I find myself riding along some dirt road alongside the Moi International Airport. For the first time in my life, I hear the google maps lady so confused that she instructs me in gibberish. I might ride back to the coast just to deliberately take a wrong turn at that place again in a bid to hear the exact thing that the google maps lady said. Digression is bad... At this point, I start reconsidering my route options. I track back, get to Mombasa road and within no time, I am literally flying back towards the capital.
I make my second riding mistake of the trip. I am somewhere between the towns of Mazeras and Samburu. I have miscalculated the distance while overtaking several vehicles. I will not be able to return to my lane on time. It's too late to consider slowing down as there is an oncoming 18 wheeler truck and whoever is driving it does not seem to adjust the truck's trajectory to leave me the few extra inches that I need to survive. I squeeze myself next to the vehicle I am overtaking with literally centimeters between us. The oncoming truck driver adjusts their trajectory with about two seconds to spare and just like that, my life is spared. I thank God. That's probably my closest shave ever and I decide to take it seriously. I wave at the vehicles apologetically and zoom away.
My bike has developed a slight wobble. I can tell that something is wrong. It's the rear wheel. I have a slow puncture and my wheel pressure is running low. Voi is almost 100kms away. I am going for it. I stop at Maungu to assess the damage. It's not as bad as I thought. I am informed that some bikers have just passed the area. I am not interested as I doubt that they'd be headed to Nairobi through my preferred route. I ask some curious truck drivers about the Voi to Taveta route and get positive feedback. I am told that the Taveta - Loitokitok route can be bad. I take a couple of pictures.
I proceed towards Voi. I have been hoping to spot the morning train from Mombasa for a little "speed confirmation test". Luckily for them, it's not forthcoming. I only notice a cargo train as I enter Voi and that thing is as slow as government services. I stop at a petrol station where I refuel and fix my problematic rear wheel. Turns out I had a nail and a leak plug from the repair of the only other slow puncture I have had on R2. Both are fixed at Kshs.150/= each. I buy a liter of juice and some soda. I drink up the juice and carry the soda for the road. Fuel - Check, Tire - Pressure Check, Rider - Check! It is now 10:55am. I take some more pictures.
The Voi to Taveta road is near perfect. All towns have beautiful names. It is looking fresh and well marked. I am really enjoying myself. There are people cutting grass at the roadside to several kilometers. And then things get interesting. The road is graced by beautiful hills.
I am at peace. I find myself examining the possibility of retirement from this biking life as insinuated by my dad. There seems to be more merits for being a good biker than demerits. That case is closed. Forget it dad. And just as I close the file and toss it into a pit of fire in my head, Something catches my eye. I stop! It turns out that I'll be riding through a wildlife sanctuary! YEEEEEY! I am elated. I love wildlife!
I am unlucky. I don't see any wild animals. I only come across a huge heard of cattle grazing on the tarmac under human supervision. At first I am disappointed. Then I decide to settle for the fact that at least I got to see some animals.
At the end of the sanctuary, I throttle up. I come across some guinea fowls crossing the road. Why did the guinea fowls cross the road too? Before I can answer, I come across another road sign. I am entering the Tsavo West National Park! Ariririririririiiiiliiii!
I ride slowly looking around for several kilometers...I see nothing but bushes. I am beginning to despair. But soon thereafter RESULTS! I see two HUGE brown elephants grazing approximately 50 meters of the highway. I am elated. I literally begin to celebrate like someone who just won the Moto GP grandprix. I am an idiot. A genuinely happy one.
Some guys riding a red SUV pass me and give me some thumbs up. I respond with a biker salute. I see something interesting written on their spare wheel cover at the back of their vehicle. It reads "No airbags on board; we die like real men". How cute, I think to myself. I have no airbags, no safety belts and no cage around me; but I'll die of old age. I should come up with some sort of a bumper sticker for bikes...or T-shirts. I like that quote. You read it here first! I see more animals. I get to see some Zebra, Antelopes, Bucks, Ostriches and humans. I am glad I chose this route. I should do this again. I get to Taveta and head straight to the boarder at Holili.
At the Holili boarder, I meet a Tanzanian bodaboda rider. His name is Sele. True story...I swear. I even make him spell his rather interesting name. He likes my bike. He asks about it and about my trip. I answer all his questions. He tells me that small bikes are allowed to move freely across the boarder. I tell him that I have already visited Tz and I am only here for some photos. He leads me straight to the Tz entry point, introduces me to an armed Tanzanian police officer who agrees to take a photo of me from the direction of Kenya.
Sele shows me the way to ride back into Kenya without landing into trouble. It's not illegal. It's all about not taking a wrong turn as you ride past the Kenyan boarder offices. I oblige. I believe that had noticed my significantly louder bike as Sele and I rode towards Tz. They seem to admire the bike as I do a second trip around to take some more pictures.
DID YOU KNOW THAT KILIMANJARO WAS ORIGINALLY IN KENYA? Rumor has it that Africa's highest peaks we found in Kenya until Queen Victoria bequeathed Mount Kilimanjaro to her nephew, the future Kaiser Wilhelm II of Prussia, as a birthday gift. A section of Kenya was cut off the map to actualize this gift. I choose to believe this controversial theory until further notice. Do your research on this. Or simply draw a straight line from the Holo Holo to Isebania.
PART NINE: The Challenge Run!
I am here. It is not raining but dark clouds can be seen looming from a distance. I choose to go for it. The Taveta - Loitokitok stretch. Over 80kms of nothing but rough roads. But I might get to see Kilimanjaro which is going to be just a few kilometers away during the entire stretch. If I ride hard and break my bike here, I am effed. If I crash, same story. If it rains....well... let's just say that I will not make it to work the following day, and probably the day after. It is on once again. The first few minutes are tricky. But it is a busy road. There are a good number of bikes...half of them bear Tanzanian registration numbers.I am unable to see Kilimanjaro amidst a cloud cover. But the ride isn't easy. My boys have started complaining again. I'll have done a total of over 350 kms of rough road by the time i get to Loitokitok. I need to keep my concentration. I am riding too slow. This will take a while.
I am really enjoying rough road riding. It is so different from riding on tarmac. Riding any bike is involving but riding off tarmac road feels similar to upgrading from driving to riding. You must concentrate, adjust to various surfaces interchangeably, keep looking out for the best road sections and handle the bike below its breaking point.
I make several stops along the way. I have problems seeing Kilimanjaro and it is depressing me. The cloud cover is proving to be such an ass. I stop several times to wait it out in vain. NKT!
This road is impassable during the rains. The risk of a flash flood is too high. At some point, I come across this crossing point where a river runs over the road. I watch as two local bikes go across it. One of them is ferrying two pillion passengers. This is nothing. I laugh as I take some snaps.
I cross that river with ease. I catch up with a man whose chain keeps falling out. He's looking for a tool box. I have some tools and I stop to assist. But he doesn't know how to go about it. He opts to have the issue sorted out by a mechanic at the garage in the adjacent town. The other bike which is headed that way offers to escort him there.
These pictures are not doing the magnitude of this mountain any justice.
I have arrived late and wasted too much time
waiting for the cloud cover around Kilimanjaro to subside. I begin to doubt the
Namanga bit of the trip. I ride to Oloitokitok town. I am informed that the
Namanga route passes through the Amboseli National park and that it is
currently impassable due to the rains. I badly need a scapegoat at this point
so I take bait. I do the Emali to Nairobi route. It's 4:00pm. The chit chat
takes another 20 minutes or so. Bike stories are interesting. I leave
Oloitokitok. I stop thrice along this road. Twice to adjust and fasten the
luggage on my pillion seat and once to put on my rain gear just a few meters
from some grazing gazelles. I get to ride in the rain for a few minutes. I feel
short changed when the ride past the raining zone. I have reached Mombasa road
within an hour. It's 05:18pm. I refuel.
There is a lot of traffic at Mombasa road. The Nairobi middle-class is flocking back into town. These are some of the most impatient and unreasonable drivers you will ever encounter. Africa needs international aid. We are in dire need of good leadership skills, courtesy and common sense. These are evidently lacking on this section of the road on this day. Bikes can thrive under such conditions. I just wanna get home safe. I thrive for the remainder of the journey. R2 clocks 35,000kms somewhere past Sultan Hamud. I don't stop anywhere else along the way. There is a serious pile up of traffic from the Machakos junction up to Uhuru Highway. It doesn't affect me much. I get to GPO Nairobi at 07:00pm. Coincidentally, I bump into my friend Tim. I am jubilant. I made it. God is great. I head straight to my significant other because home is where your heart is.
Trip Summary and Tips:
The trip has taken R2 through approximately two thousand (1,900) kilometers on the odometer with approximately 350kms thereof being off tarmac. I spent Kshs.8,350 on fuel. That's an average of 4.5 shillings per kilometer on fuel.
I have realized that without a front fender (mud guard), the bike has a better chance of navigating through muddy road sections.
Riding with a backpack on your back is harmful to your health. Please fasten your luggage to your bike instead.
Your sitting position determines the welfare of your boys. And now you know (hint for male riders only).
Police officers and security officials based in remote areas are amazing people...respect them.
A good quality, well maintained Ninja Turtle will go to a lot of places. However I would highly discourage anyone from venturing into slippery or muddy surfaces for their own safety.
UPDATE:
1. It's been 9 days since I returned home from the trip. I have been dealing with a severe case of weight loss. Lost about 6kgs all thanks to over exertion and poor hydration. I have been working on re-hydration and a proper recovery diet plan and so far I have started showing signs of improvement.
2. There was a case of flooding 6 days after my trip which rendered some sections of the Garissa to Malindi road impassable and left the road really messed up. See pictures below:
Many special thanks to:
1. The Biker community in Kenya including the Hola Trio.
2. Oyaya
3. Peter Mort
4. Dennis
5. John Kimathi Kithinji
6. Edi Edi
7. Njeru
8. Dibigo
9. Police and Military officials along that route.
10. The Mutumas for being the most wonderful hosts.
11. Mr. Sele from Holili
12.My phographer at Vasco Da Gama
13. Kenyans and Tanzanians who served us along the way.
14. Safaricom for providing a good network coverage and mobile banking services throughout the route.
15. All drivers who were polite to me.
16. Everybody who interacted with me along the way.
17. The Kenyan governments (past and present) for various good things that you've gotten right that enabled this trip.
18. Everyone else including you for reading this entire story.
19. My Family and friends.
20. My boss Ben.
LINKS:
1. The Moyale (Ethiopia) Trip
https://www.facebook.com/notes/djo-thefu/buying-a-building-in-ethiopia/10156123799664114/
2. The Othaya Chronicles
https://www.facebook.com/notes/djo-thefu/farcing-mt-kenya-again/10156363152729114/
