WAKILI WA NDUTHI - TIMAM THE BIKER

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.

     

    Introducing R2; the "Ninja Turtle".

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 have been riding almost everyday ever since. I love this bike so much that I still park it inside my living room up to this day.

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)...

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...

                   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 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.

                                         

   Approaching Mwingi Town

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

I take off. There's barely any other vehicles on the road. At some point, I came across a bus overtaking a lorry on a rather bendy hill and instead of getting pissed off as bikers would, I feel glad to see them. I wave at the bus and take off once again. 

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 hope that you arrived SAFE my friends.

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.

        Approaching Garissa.
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.

                       The quick picture.

    My Breakfast

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.

    The River Tana Bridge at Garissa.

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.

                                                    The Junction / Accident Scene

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.

I approach a truck from behind. A ten wheeler. It is ferrying Miraa (Khat). You can almost feel my excitement. A fast driven lorry headed in the same direction, probably driven by people from my home county...Hmmm! Calming indeed!  I decide to wave at them and ride ahead of them in case anything happens. The driver waves and hoots at me. "Huyu ameingia box sasa" I tell myself as I overtake them. I am stopped at a police barrier. The cops and some locals surround me. Everyone is curious about the Ninja Turtle. I spend about five minutes doing a Q&A. It hits me that these people know bikes quite well because in these areas, if a bike breaks down, you've got to fix it by yourself. The Miraa Lorry gets to the roads block, stops, "pays cess" and proceeds leaving me behind. I excuse myself soon thereafter, press play on my music player and resumes pursuit of the truck.

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.

    A smooth road side section.

    (Riding in ATGATT) All The Gear All The Time!

    At The End Of The Tarmac Section

    R2 Looking All Fabulous. 

    Us Resting Our Asses

                                      After Riding for 100Kms. Calling Dennis.

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!

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 carry some tools on my bike which we use to remove the from mudguard.

 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

The three musketeers lend me a rubber bladder with which they proceed to fasten my new passenger to my pillion seat. The entire process takes about 45 minutes. Two of the trucks are still attempting to tow each other back and forth through the muddy section. The traffic stretches  quite far. A passenger bus with an armed escort has decided to create its own way by driving on top of the road sections blocked with thorny bushes. They seem to be successful. My perfect samaritans instruct me to board the bike and proceed with the journey. They don't charge me anything for the help. I shed a couple of tears. I have been sweating so much and I hope that they didn't notice. Off I go with three bikes escorting me for the rest of the muddy section. Without the front fender, R2 is now thriving through the muddy section. I am pleased. We part ways with the musketeers. May God bless them and all their loved ones in abundance.

    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. 

    Junction To Hola Town (See Approaching Ambulance)

    R2 on Adventure Mode Lol. Still Looking Good.

    The Pillion 

    God, I Hope That The Patient Made It
                                                       

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

                                                  Continues To Venture Into Lamu

                                                                 My Last Screenshot

                                       Nyongoro, Mwisho Wa Lami Lamu County

                                 You can see the fear in my eyes when I notice the Canter.

                                       And the relief that follows when I see the probox.

                                This could have easily been the last photograph of R2 and I.

                  Have you been keen enough to notice the debris from a blown truck?

                                                           Me neither. So Stupid!

                                     The driver can't believe. Zoom in to see the look on his eyes!

                                                 The Moment When I Saw Them

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.

My phone has a feature where if you double click the volume down button when the phone is locked, it takes a photograph. I assume that's how the above photograph was taken.

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 wish you could see the lineup on the other side of these two photographs!

The officers emerged from the bushes in the background with so much finess! 

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. 

                      I was still shaken. The emotions are evident in my eyes.

                        But The Ride Must Go On!

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.

    Milestone Alert: R2 @34,000kms. Me @ 20,000kms. God is Great!

    I am so proud of R2 at this moment.

    I did not switch off the bike just in case. I know better now.

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.

    Yo! Gongoni People! What the F is That? (I curse sometimes, BITE ME!)

            
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!

    Majestic View of the Galana River.

    And a quick census to prove female dominance

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.

    You can see it in my eyes. I know how big a deal my day has been.

    That's me cropping everyone else out with my broad shoulders.

 I request a fellow tourist to take a few nice solo photos of me.

                      She seems impatient. She starts too soon.

                      And realizes that alone means a different angle.

             She's a fast learner. But I can see someone else's leg aaarrrgggghhhh!

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.

    The sun rises from the Indian ocean in the East. Sets in the West.

    The Indian Ocean next to the Vasco Da Gama Pillar on the East side.

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.

                        A taste of the kind of bike I ought to have done the trip with.

    That's Tush and R2 back from coastal randoms. Photos By Collins Dibogo.

 I find out that the Super Tenere is way too big and heavy for me...the hard way!

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.

                                      On the ferry.

                                     I don't do well with heights or depths so I am evidently unsettled.

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. 

                                                            Total Ukunda @04;57pm

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.

The road from Mombasa to the LungaLunga Boarder looks similar to this. (downloaded photograph).

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.

                                      At HORO HORO

                      We exhange 500Kshs for 10,500Tzshs at an MPESA Shop

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.

    Awaiting Service like "Naomba nikuombe uniombe niagize chakula tafadhali"

We don't take tea. We have some shrimp        

We've just spent five thousand. We've got fifty five hundred more to blow. We walk around and buy some sea meat locally known as gizi. It's dark. We can't really see what we are buying but it tastes good. If you happen to know what gizi is and it turns out to something gross, please assume that we got the name wrong.  I hate that it's not served warmer though. We buy drinks. Tush is fixated on a certain canned drink which ends up being a Tanzanian equivalent of Malta Guinness. I choose to have some milk and it turns out to be really good. I start doubting the sorcery which is packaged and sold as milk in Kenya because whatever that shit is is a complete sham! We end up spending a total of TZshs.9,500/- and split the change with every one taking 500Tzshs home.

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.

                            That look on my face could summarize this experience.

                                      At The No Man's Land
                                                         

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.

The video. I notice the continuous flash and realize that it's a video. Phone memory low!

    My Wonderful Hosts "The Mutumas" (sorry I had to wake em up like this)

    R2 and the Boys

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.

    The Ninja Turtle Has a Slight Limp

    The Guys who give me trip advise...truckers!

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 stop to take some pictures

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 hope I am not gonna hit anything! Fingers crossed!

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!

    Now I really hope that I wont hit anything! Fingers crossed.

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.

    Photo taken by the armed Tz Police Officer. I think one of my feet is inside Tz.

    Sele and I return to Kenya for a photoshoot 

                       We even Take a selfie!

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.

    I almost missed this one on round one.

   Thelofie!

                                      Current Location: Holili, Taveta Boarder

It's time for some controversial topic:
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!

    There is a big ass mountain behind those cloud... I Swear! True story!

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.

You can see some dust ahead from a bike which just rode past me.  

The thought of riding across was a bit scary. I could easily damage R2.

   Can you spot Eric Omondi's boys skinny dipping butt naked on the far left?

Now that's enough photography...moving on swiftly...
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.

I proceed with the journey. I am near Loitokitok. This is the best view of Kilimanjaro I'll get today. The mountain is humongous and watching it comes with a feeling similar to that of the Wakanda experience. Whenever I get a glimpse of it, I feel happy. I take some pictures.

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.

   Opposite G.P.O

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/

I Choose To Waste My Vote, But Not My Beloved Country.

This is my message to all my fellow Kenyans.

For many years, our country has been run under the unspoken doctrine of "Punda Afe, Mzigo Ufike"; punda being the citizen while mzigo stands for the loot made by greedy politicians in power and their allies. Currently, we the citizens are stuck with the notion of "Kuchagua Mgeni ni Kuharibu Kura". But we'll get to that after examining my story about the recent history of Kenyan presidential politics as narrated herein-below.

In the year 1997, I was a young Meru boy thriving in our little village of Muguru in South Imenti Constituency when I received my first and only election related incentive (BRIBE). The money came from one Eliphas Riungu who was then an M.P aspirant for South Imenti.

The young children were divided into several groups of 25 kids each and given Kshs.500/= to share amongst themselves. I used my 20 shillings therefrom to buy a full 500 gram loaf of bread and kept the change to play a then popular game of tossing coins into a hole, locally referred to as "Koyo". Those memories have lasted. The media later linked that "incentive" to the Goldenberg Scandal.

Eliphas Riungu lost the South Imenti Constituency Contest to Kiraitu Murungi while Mwai Kibaki who was my preferred presidential candidate lost to the incumbent president Moi. Madam Charity Ngilu was at an impressive FIFTH position behind of Raila & Kijana Wamalwa. It must have been the first time a woman vied for the presidency of this country if I am not wrong. Please note that Mr. Kenneth Matiba who almost toppled Moi in the 1992 elections came a distant 6th.

In the year 2002, we witnessed what remains the most memorable action by Kenyan politicians since independence. All relevant opposition candidates sacrificed their selfish ambitions and threw their weight behind a single candidate in a bid to oust the then unbearable rule of President Moi's party K.A.N.U.

The then puppet presidential candidate, Mr. Uhuru Kenyatta, whose only political experience was having been nominated as a Member of Parliament by Moi, was heavily defeated by the Rainbow Coalition Candidate, Mwai Kibaki, who garnered twice as many votes as Uhuru. Without the selfless act of the politicians, he'd have won with ease. This will probably go down as the only time in Kenya's history when voters did something meaningful with their votes. I like to remeber it as the time when a Kikuyu man on a wheel chair relied upon a Luo song ("Unbwogable by Gidi Gidi & Maji Maji"), a gospel song ("Yote yawezekana, bila Moi by all Kenyans lol") and a Luhya parody tune (by Mukhisa Kituyi) combined with the support of Kenyan politicians and citizens from all corners of our great nation to win an election, FAIR & SQUARE. 

The first three months of the Coalition government were like an exert from a fairy tale. Unbelievable change was witnessed. Corruption literally disappeared from the public eye. We had genuine belief in the government. Police officers stopped soliciting bribes from the masses. Power seemed to have been conferred upon its real bearers, THE PEOPLE. I remember a case in Meru where a couple of police officers ran for their lives as one of them was caught soliciting for a bride at a roadblock along the Meru - Embu highway.

Free primary school education was implemented by this government. The late John Michuki revolutionized and streamlined the matatu industry. Most of the good roads we have in this country today were either constructed or reconstructed by this government. We had seen the light...Unfortunately, GREED RUINED IT ALL.

Despite the great work being done by the coalition government, a team of the coalition leaders led by Raila Odinga felt that the power sharing MoU wasn't honoured satisfactorily by the then President Kibaki. They launched an offensive against his leadership which culminated into the 2005 YES(banana) vs NO (orange) referendum where NO(orange) won by almost 57% against YES(banana)'s 43%. I has just cleared high school. Was still 17 years old with a daughter on the way. It was a bogus draft constitution but I wish they voted YES.

Orange won. And by won, I mean, said Kenyans were convinced to say NO to a new constitution and to divide the country along tribal lines once again. Kenya was officially screwed. The momentum of developments started decreasing. The country went down a path of tribal hatred and tension which I still blame the 2008 post election violence on. I voted Nick for Councilor, Kiraitu for MP and Mwai Kibaki for president in the December, 2007 elections. 

Many people voted. There were numerous allegations of vote rigging which were mishandled. I remember being at the Nkubu Catholic Church compound playing volleyball with the church youth team when Kibaki was Declared winner. We celebrated. It felt good to win my first elections. I even made it home on time to catch the rather rushed swearing in ceremony. All seemed perfect. And then the news of the violence started streaming in.

About this tribalism menace, why do we fall for it? Did you know that during the post election violence, murderers would ask their victims to produce their National IDs or initiate conversations in their own tongues in a bid to ascertain whether or not they were qualified to be murdered? Did you know that in the absence of speech and national ID cards it would be extremely difficult to segregate a majority of people along tribal lines unless you knew them in advance? Why do we keep on spreading this hate against people we don’t know and who have not wronged us?

Anyway, we've all heard the stories. I have spent a lot of time going through the videos, pictures and publications. I remember seeing a presidential candidate claiming on NTV that they were going to make the country ungovernable. I remember Robert Nagila, a then prominent journalist ranting live on air in what I still believe was a punishable case of PEV incitement. We ignored all that. People died, lives were changed for the worst forever, we were given a list of six suspects popularly referred to as the Ocampo six with KEY NAMES NOTABLY ABSENT which I no longer care about, the government fell into a shady power sharing setup and we kissed the good old days goodbye.

We learnt one lesson about power sharing in Kenya between a president and a prime minister. I guess that’s why the 2010 Constitution which by the way has been screwing us as Kenyan tax payers from all directions was keen to leave out the prime minister’s slot. We’ll dwell on this issue later.

Fast forward to 2012. The mistakes of 2008 came to bite us. Our country’s guilt for its participation and subsequent mishandling of the post election violence led to political unity between the two major combatant tribes, the Kikuyu and the Kalenjin communities. Reconciliation was mandatory to save the future of the country so they didn’t really have a choice at this point.

I voted against Raila Odinga clearly because I wasn’t happy with his political impact on this country. As seen hereinabove, I blamed him for ruining the country with his self centered agendas. I queued for long hours at the Rongai open air market voting centre with my three brothers (from other mothers) and voted for the 2002 puppet with his fellow potential inmate. It was a mistake. We turned a blind eye to all other potential presidents because choosing them was considered a waste of votes.  The combination of the UhuRuto team with the new county government leadership system is by far the worst thing that struck this nation since the British colonial governance.

The effects of the activities of the current breed of leaders within the central government, the opposition and the counties are sickening. We will pay the price of letting them be there for years. No one else can intervene to clean up this mess. They politicize everything in a bid to remain relevant. It’s no longer about the country and its citizen. Everything is about them. Well, and a few of their own…

Terrorism found a way of creeping into the country starting with an unconfirmed report of a grenade hauling by an unknown assailant at a downtown pub in the city of Nairobi (Mwaura’s?) that injured a few revelers, to the massacre of  at least 147 university students at Garissa in the North Eastern province. How did we get here? Were we lured into invading Somalia? Were those initial grenade tossing incidents genuine external terrorist attacks? How do we deal with what has become of this unwanted war? Who is going to resolve this issue for Kenyans?

The economy is bad. I don’t know how to blame them anymore. I remember being alive when a 500gram loaf of  bread cost 5 shillings. Now a 400g loaf goes for at least Kshs.50. During the 90s, twenty shillings was commonly referred to as “pound”, because it was once the equivalent of the British Pound Sterling which has since hit highs of over Kshs. 140. Land grabbing has boosted the real estate market with prices thereof soaring higher that a pedophile’s appetite for underage girls.  Our children will never know how big a deal it was to buy candy or fruits worth 5 cents a piece. They will never understand how none of the rich people we knew were millionaires. Or about a time when a Kenyan earning a salary of Kshs.5,000 was  enable to buy and develop a piece of land upcountry. I have lived through all this and I am just 28 years old.

It’s a pity that we know the people who are willing to send the country to the pigs for personal gains yet we are unwilling to do whatever it takes to change that; to know that their self centered, power hungry, influence peddling, corruption based agendas have already brought our country to its knees; to hear rumors of how most of what’s relevant about this country has already been auctioned off to the highest bidders. But what can we do about all this? Are the changes we need realizable? Were the months of January to March 2003 just an illusion? How do we get the change we’ve always wanted?

I don’t have all the answers. But I know for sure that we need to choose between wasting a vote vis-a-vis wasting our beloved nation, five years at a time. Let us choose to waste our votes on the unpopular but promising leaders who have genuine intentions for this country. Let us vote in the donkeys with complete disregard to the useless horses in these races. Hatuwezi kosa punda mzuri. Please unite against your problems as your fellow Kenyans did in the year 2002. Don’t delegate your power to politicians from now onwards. Let us not wait for vision 2030. CHUKUA CONTROL YA NCHI YAKO KUTOKA LEO! BADILISHA!

People and their Relationships

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I was born in the 80s.

Most people have interesting stories based on their childhood memories. The similarities or otherwise of such stories depends on the time when the teller was born and the places within which he/she was raised/grew up. I was born in the 1980s but since I was a late bloomer, I have no recollection of any events from the 80s. My oldest memories are from the early 90s and this is my story.

Being the son of a couple of high school teachers (who I love very much), I was brought up in the compound of The self acclaimed Top School East of Mt. Kenya. I was such a healthy boy that the high school students there dubbed me "tumbo tele". That might have been influenced by my mother's strict food policy which involved locking my big sister and I outside with our food until we cleared our plates.

I remember being so innocent (read stupid) that we'd actually eat it up instead of dumping it in the nearby thicket or somewhere creative like a smart kid would. I'd ridicule myself as well but back then, we didn't have sufficient access to information like the kids of today.

I remember our mother's regular deworming rituals which involved making us "go" on a newspaper to confirm whether the snakes had come out. I remember the first time mom sent me to the shop to buy meat..."nyama robo"...with instructions longer than the recipe for disaster.

I remember always running home from school to watch the Rambo cartoon on the only TV station on air back then. It took me several years to find out that Rambo's "black" head band bandana was actually red in color.

I remember watching Tahamaki, Derrick, Ramayan, Herbie, Super Grand, Mr. Bean and Tausi among other TV shows religiously because the kids who did were the coolest kids in school.

I remember repeating Nursery school because I couldn't reach to touch any of my ears with the opposite hand passing on the top of my head. I also remember doing my first school interview where I used my answer sheet to make a paper plane and against all odds, I qualified.


I remember all the good, naughty and unscripted experiences which I went through together with my childhood best friend although sadly, that imp doesn't remember any of it.

I remember inadvertently hurling gross insults to my school mates in public in the name of mchongoano. I also remember making my own functional/durable car toys and driving them to school everyday. I had one all terrain "toyota hearse" which i'd use to ferry dead frogs with during the rainy season. #Hides.

I remember the days when we were forced to bring firewood, live fences and water to school failure to which students would be canned and sent back home.

I don't remember what if felt like to have a seat in a public transport vehicle because seats were for elders only in those "face me" pick ups and Landrovers.

I remember the only fat man in the entire Division who was only reknown for somehow pulling off a "being fat". There were so many life related problems back in the day that getting fat was considered impossible.

I remember being paraded along the highway for hours simply because the president would be driven by with our milk popularly known as "Maziwa ya Nyayo".

I remember the news always beginning with a portrait of the president. I remember sneaking out of bed to watch the only TV station from back the days going off air at midnight and vice versa at six in the morning. Anyone who lived through that should be able to sing the national anthem of our beloved country in atleast 45 languages.

Bread was a delicacy, chapati was a Christmas Special while cakes and meat were common with birthdays and national holidays in that order.

What happened to Goody Goody?

Holidays were fun. Playtime had nothing to do with electricity. It was a time of general outdoor interaction, a group activity by all definitions. Every kid was involved and the variety was broader and more versatile than the crap in your play store today. In fact, I never played with electricity in the old millennium. I don't remember knowing the word mobile independent of the prefix "auto" before my teenage years.

I remember manufacturing gum from natural local resources and using it to trap birds for soup and ndege-choma with the boys. Shooting down birds with catapults. I remember fishing with worms as bait.

I remember how entire villages would travel the miles for a glimpse of helicopters that would land on rare occasions with politicians or tycoons' medi-evacs.

I remember when the country did not have any noteworthy celebrity outside the vitimbi crew R.I.P Mzee Ojwang.

I remember the first time I saw a water closet. I remember the first time I watched a colour television. I remember the watching my first movie in colour "Back in Action" starring Billy Blanks in 1994.

I remember when our aunt took us to see K.I.C.C and the parliament building. The flagging off of safari rally cars with Patrick Njiru being my favorite driver at the time.

I could have remembered so much more but unfortunately, I'm not very smart. I'm sure that you've got many childhood memories that you could share with your friends. I'm glad that I've taken a moment to share mine.

What's your favorite childhood memory?

Comical Ethnicity; The Funny Side of Tribalism.

Ever wondered why the Masai have the "Masai Mara" and the other 42 tribes don't? I have done my research and below are some of my findings thereof:

1. The Luhyas.

I have heard time and again that the tyranny of numbers is a good and useful thing. Well, I used to agree mostly until I went to Western province...Twice! These guys have the numbers but their maths teachers only taught them how to multiply then divide in that order. If you have no idea of w
hat I'm talking about, I've got news for you. The results are out and it's been unanimously concluded that you're slow.

What happened to the "Luhya Mara"? Well, that's an easy one. They ate it! Yeah, numbers can do that! Especially when you're dealing with a group of people that goes to a food court and order Ugali worth Kshs.950/= to be eaten with mrenda worth like Kshs.17.50 cents and kachumbari na mjue hiyo mboga itabaki ugali saucer ikiisha. They Probably ate the "luhya Mara" so fast that by the time the first white men came around with their cameras to document it, it was all over, done and dusted hence my lack of further documentary evidence. Don't ask me what they did to the lions, hyenas and vultures in the Luhya Mara coz I don't know either. My best guess is the carnivores and scavengers had to move to the neighboring "Kisii Mara" then later moved further down and eastwards to the Masai Mara in search of meatier pastures.

All that left in the entire Western Province is a humongous weeping boulder aka The Crying Stone of Big Brother (read Kaka Mega) which still mourns the atrocities done to the "Luhya Mara" to date. Efforts to revive the "Luhya Mara" were rendered a hopeless waste of time.

2. The Baites.

Merus, all we know about these guys is that they are mild drug dealers (Miraa, according to some stooge in NACADA), have a very bad temper (greatly exaggerated by the way), their only music instrument is a panga (I hear Meru people can't sing), they are fast drivers(Toyota Hilux mainly), and that they're all funny, if an accent is anything to go by.

I overheard that they haven't killed all their wild animals yet. They've got a couple of gazelle and an elephant at the Meru National park and we must all appreciate that they have the aforementioned left overs.

Ever wondered what happened to the "Meru Mara"? Your guess is as good as mine. But I think that the answer to that should mostly revolve around to their fairly popular mild drugs, their temper and their only music instruments. Picture this, Mwilaria is busy weeding his miraa crop when all over a sudden a starving stray animal from the "Meru Mara"which has been hiding from the predators therein decides to have a leaf or two of the veve for whatever reason...I don't know why this animal chose veve instead of bananas or potatoes of some bush or fence(all fences in Meru are live[mimea] fences. I've been there, I know. Maybe it just needed something that could keep it awake for 24hr survival against the predators.

Anyways, in retaliation, Mwilaria and his friends react to that animals impunity by slashing it and all the other animals in the "Meru Mara" which could not run or hide. In a recent interview, our late reporter(may her soul rest in piece) managed to gather the fact that Mwilaria's descendants would do the same. A re-enactment cost our entire Meru crew their lives. Friends and enemies are sending their contributions towards the burial via M-pesa. I cannot remember the pay-bill number off-head but I'll remember to post it as soon as I do.

Efforts to revive the once thriving ecosystem are currently underway. Warning to poachers in that area, DON'T KEEP OFF THE VEVE/MIRAA/KHAT. WE WANT YOU TO DIE AS WELL!


3. The Kisiis.

We have nothing solid on these guys besides the fact that some animals which had migrated from the "Luhya Mara" may or may not have made a stop over at what is believed to have been "Kisii Mara"/"Gusii Mara" en-route the Masai Mara.  

Conducting research amongst these people is impossible...o
k, scratch that...almost impossible. We first sent a crew of four men to Kisii to conduct the research. They ended up being distracted by the beautiful women there and of the two who've since returned, one cannot speak due to what we suspect is a serious case of witchcraft while the other one just filed for divorce and went back. We've never seen or heard from him since then. His only words as per our records were "she looks like that and is extremely low maintenance". We'll assume that he was referring to a human.

We decided to play safe and send a crew of women. The returned empty handed on the following day citing violence and aggression from their potential interviewees.

We then sent a final crew with several gay guys and Congestina Achieng's journalist alter ego. This final crew successfully recorded some audio interviews(Kisii people can't write-Nyakemincha) but their voices were so high pitched that we can't hear a thing they were saying. Our professional kisii translators have since sent copies of the audio recordings to Dr. Dre and those Boeing people who decipher audio clips from the black boxes of crashed planes. Nothing much has been deciphered so far but we hope that when the finished audios are returned to us, the Nyakemincha effect will not hinder the revelation of this important quest on "Kisii Mara's"/Gusii Mara's" history. We've used both names because we don't know the correct one to date.

4. The Wariahs.

We should all know the answer to this, save for the special ones. The "Wariah Mara" story is a sad one. It's full of misery. These people are the only Kenyans who are genuinely justified to "kuomba serikali". Infact, on top of that story(juu ya hiyo story), Naomba Serikali Ionekanie Hawa Masafara Wenzetu Jameni!

This is what happened to the "Wariah Mara".
       1. Insecurity:- Pirates, Shifta, Al shabitches, Land mines e.t.c
-The insecurity in that region either killed, maimed or scare off the animals of the "Wariah Mara". It wasn't pretty but I'm sure you care less. You see that reaction you usually have when disaster happens to the people of the North Eastern region? That feeling of not caring coz "it's too far away"? That thing of treating them like foreigners such that they apply for national IDs at childbirth? That's the same feeling which rendered their wild animals extinct. Please save their people.

       2. Weather:-

Talk of a place which is drier than your great grand mother's garden of eden. DRIER THAN THAT! That's gross right? Yeah, F*** you too! See how messed up that isht is yet? The wild animals which didn't die there died on their way out. There were no survivors. In fact, the camel who told me that died shortly afterwards. True story.

      3.Discrimination:-
People like you discriminate/disregard things from North Eastern Province. I blame you. That clearly didn't work so well for the animals of the "Wariah Mara" either. This shit aint funny anymore. Lemmi skip to the next group.

5. The Kikuyu.

I know that you've been looking forward to this one you stupid tribalist. And as usual, they won't disappoint. Did you know that there is not a single wild animal in the entire central province? Did you? LOL! That's a lie hahahaha! But there is no "Kikuyu Mara" so the following are the reason:

They stole and Sold em all... or atleast most of em. Have you noticed how the Pokots and Turkanas et al steal cows which are later found somewhere else by their counterparts going on a steal-them-back-with-a-profit mission? Our friends from central are gifted. If they stole it, it gone for good. They sold most stolen animals far far away and you can find them everywhere doing very noticeable business with their customers from back then. In other words, they sold "Kikuyu Mara", piece by piece to all your ancestors. The animals sold to the luhyas were eaten, merus cut them into smaller pieces, kisiis insulted and beat every animal they bought then used the survivors to start their infamous witchcraft traditions etc.

"Kikuyu Mara" is everywhere nowadays! Except North Eastern and Western regions. There is no need for bringing it back because the process will obviously be repeated. Unconfirmed rumors have been circulating about how animals were "molested" to death but let's keep them at that...as rumors! We should concentrate on stopping the current poaching activities without pointing fingers. Niko sure ma culprit sio waluhya coz they don't eat the carcases. Don't ask about it impolitely though, their wives will beat you up.


6. The Mombasaries.

Laziness, that's what happened to "Mombasa Mara". Animals there were simply too lazy. Most of . You'll hear stories of how they get their heads jammed in a jerrycan for up to three days or how they give hitchhikers free rides and show off their nice hooves. Anyways, "Mombasa Mara" currently goes by the name "Mombasa Raha" and a lot of people travel far and wide to get a piece of it.

-them were either eaten by predators or poached. Some starved to death because the grass was behind a tree, too much work going around the tree to eat. The rest didn't wanna walk again so they rolled into the ocean where they float to this day. The rest slept with the long distant traders from the mountain region and are currently mermaids and other half men half animal creatures commonly referred to as Jini. They're nice and entertaining

7. The Kamba.

The "Kamba Mara" was a perverts favorite. It was full of snakes. WAS. I have no idea what happened to most of them but rumor has it that they were used by the natives as demonstration specimen for one of their finest arts. And I'm not talking about "wood" carving. When the snakes supply was nearly depleted, they started using whatever snake they could find and ended up being very famous for it...especially the women. "Kamba Mara" was subsequently renamed to "Kamba Ladies" and it can be visited at a snake near you. Luhya Ladies should be jealous.

7. Dho Luo

These ones are just the ones. They evolved into human looking
creatures but failed to learn how to act as such. They formed a lifestyle which is revolves around their ego. They have the biggest and the best of everything. The biggest gadgets and appliances, the biggest toys, the biggest tittles, the biggest stones, the biggest president in the world, the biggest mouths, the biggest African movie stars, the biggest empty spaces in a human head, the biggest pot bellies, the biggest booties, the biggest opposition skills and the smallest dicks. You can always find them anywhere in the world throwing stones at a football stadium  or university near you.Some of them are very smart. Very Very Smart. Eat fish daily and see for yourself.

"Luo Mara" is my favorite.




8. The Others.

This is the part where I give a very nasty reality check to the others. "Kalenjin Mara" could not be

discussed because none of my crew was trained in conducting interviews while jogging for like a hundred kilometres very early in the morning. These people must have out run their animals during a wildlife grazing exercise during with they ran too far and could no longer trace their wildlife. Or is it the animals that evolved into runners? We don't care coz they have given our country as much if note more attention compared to the masai mara.

As for the rest of you, I've got nothing on you yet but msikonde. Our findings are still streaming in and you could be next.

Counter Terrorism In Kenya - Time to Fight Back.

I have closely observed Jack Bauer for Eight Complete seasons and the first three episodes of season 9 so I believe that I'm totally qualified to write this. If you've got your doubts, feel free to give your own directives as you go to hell.

Terrorism in Kenya is no longer amongst those things usually restricted to the movies. It's become a real menace. Yaani kitu cha ukweli. I'm grateful to God because we've been dealing with amateurs, save for the perpetrators of the events of the February & March 1975, 31st December, 1980, 7th day of August, 1998, November 2002 and 21st September, 2013 among others. We've lost so many lives to these soulless beings and since the government has not doing enough about it, I believe it's time to join hands and get rid of this menace. Below are some of the ways we should counter these M***** F******!

1. Being More Paranoid.

Do you know people who are suspicious of everything? If you don't, you need to. Those are the people who will save your life or at least teach you how to. They have a super power which allows the to notice everything...scratch that...almost everything. I will tell you their secret today, but in exchange, you must vow to join this war against terror. ATTENTION. These people are aware of most if not everything happening around them simply because they pay attention. They don't mind looking weird or embarrassing themselves and it pays off. Most of you miss the details of what's happening around you simply because you are distracted by random things like good looking strangers, nice cars, random crowds, accessories and worst of all gadgets...especially mobile phones and tablets. You will die people. Pay some f***** ATTENTION and LIVE!

2.Response to Attacks.

Every time something sinister happens in Kenya, a crowd gathers to witness. Be it a traffic accident, a fire, armed robbery or terrorism among others, random sufferers, passers/drivers by, the press and on big occasions, political bigwigs among others, everyone seemingly want a piece a it! Everyone rushes to the scene to witness the event but the irony of it all is that they all miss the important things. They turn scenes of done disasters into a set up for a sequel. They also help the perpetrators get away with it with relative ease while giving response teams a nightmare regardless of the time of day. Screw you witness. You need to sprinkle some aromat on your instincts.

The next time something explodes at a place near you, you can take one or a combination of the following measures:

1. Scamper for safety and get the hell out of there.
2. If you're safe, take a couple of quick looks around. You might see a thing or two which could help catch the perpetrators or prevent a subsequent attack. If you're just curious, GO AWAY OR I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF!
3. If you feel it's safe enough to intervene and if you have enough common sense in you to differenciate between saving a life and taking it, help the victims.
4. If you are a kalenjin (the slim ones - no offense fatsos) run to the furthest police station and report the everything you might remember to a kalenjin police officer in a language he/she understands.
5. If you are injured, relax, you're not dead yet. Just keep reciting a loved one's phone number until an ambulance(preferably driven by a meru guy) turns up. They usually arrive first anyway. If the driver does not have a strong accent and is not chewing with one side of the mouth clearly full, good luck with getting to the hospital in time.
6. If you are a cop, especially the cop responding to the kalenjin guy's report. Go home, you're not trained for this.
7. If you are part of the disaster response team, thx a lot. Do a good job. We're grateful.
8. If you're among the policemen in charge of crowd control, shoot everyone in the crowd twice and blame it on me.
9. If you are a professional thief or an amateur one in need of practice, please rob all the guys taking pictures at the scene. All of them! Then go home and share all the pictures on twitter, not Facebook!
10. If you're that bomb expert who always shows up in a lab coat, LOL! We know that you don't know shit! Please return that lab coat to K.M.T.C and go watch as much C.S.I as your government salary can buy you.
11. If you are from the press, tell Larry Madowo that he's an idiot then go back to the office and follow the story on twitter.
12. If you are still reading this, you have genuine problems. Unfortunately, early diagnostics cannot determine what your real problems but you could simply insist that you're bored and keep reading.


3. Vigilance.

Most bomb experts in Kenya (read security guards with magic wands) do the shoddiest jobs, reasonably so and have no idea that they're actually playing with fire...For y'all who love the blame game, their bosses are to blame.I don't know about you but most times I go through a security check point in Nairobi, I end up feeling like I should have simply patted myself down. These guys are so bored by their jobs that even our amateur terrorists don't attack shoddily guarded places to avoid the ensuing embarrassment. The only way we can solve that problem is to urge kids in school to study harder, give free education up to university/college/polytechnic and to ensure that the quality of that free education is enhanced to competitive standards. Unfortunately, that will never happen so let's just stick to response.

4. Government Action.

The government should arrest everyone who spreads those scaring forwarded alerts on whatsapp and continue doing whatever it is that they're doing in counter-terrorism. Firing Ole Lenku would also be pleasant to many but please give the poor guy enough cash to return to his "successful" cooking businesses.


When an act of terrorism occurs near you, don't call 911. It doesn't work in Kenya. Try calling 999 or tweet @chucknorris, @jackbauer or @jesuschrist in any order. @jesuschrist is most reliable but don't expect any miracles.

If you catch a terrorist, kill him/her before you call the police. It's the only way!