Mustafa said There’s no Contessa In Mombasa - You're Invited To Come On A Photographic Walk With Me

We have new neighbours, and the children eagerly call out, “Pappa! Pappa!” and barely contain their excitement as they await orders from their slightly dishevelled father, who’s stressed to the hilt. Camping equipment lies strewn all over their campsite. Mother wipes a loose lock of hair from her brow, looking tousled and out of sorts. It has been a busy week getting the Bush Lapa packed for the holidays.

All the excited banter at the busy campsite’s entrance gate has evaporated, and I can hear an annoying edge in the responses. The holidays are upon us, and the campsite is filling up at a rate of knots. The only one still smiling is the littlest member of the crew, but I’m afraid he’ll get clipped across the ear shortly.

I prefer to put all this activity aside and resume our travels in Kenya. It is a much better option and travel destination on this inclement day.

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We are back in Nairobi, where Butch checks on the progress being made on the Honey Badger; although I assume there has been progress, I notice she’s back on her wheels; nevertheless, I’m reminded that there is an outstanding order which will be addressed while we take a break to Mombasa.

Our excitement for the journey to Mombasa was palpable as we boarded the Express Nairobi to Mombasa. Earlier. At five a.m., my alarm rang shrilly, waking a flock of shrieking Hadedas heading to a quieter rooftop. As the city slowly unfurled and the sun rose gloriously pink over the Ngong hills, we set off in our Uber, enjoying the quiet streets where only the occasional big truck passed us on its way to a far-flung destination.

We didn’t expect a spotless station, modern facilities, food and beverage stalls, and a red carpet rolled out and ready for first-class passengers in Nairobi. Smartly uniformed staff offered tea and refreshments while early passengers waited to board.

The $3.8 billion, 298-mile railway is the work of the China Road and Bridge Corporation, a state-owned enterprise that builds on Beijing’s behalf in Africa. The Chinese began building the line in December 2014 and completed the first section, the Nairobi-Mombasa line, 18 months ahead of schedule.

As we traversed the new Standard Gauge rails and suspended railway lines, Butch and I reclined in our first-class upholstered seats. The window seat offered me panoramic views of a familiar landscape, this time from a lofty position, making me feel indulged and privileged.

At 12h00, smartly uniformed servers beckoned from their food-laden trollies to offer a traditional meal of stewed lamb, rice, collard greens, and non-alcoholic drinks like bottled water. The aroma of the food filled the air, adding to the comfort of our journey.

When the four-hour journey ended, we could feel the excitement building up as the train glided into the modern station complex in Mombasa. Passengers jostled to retrieve colourful wheelie suitcases, baskets, and backpacks, ready to embark on a new adventure.

Taxis lined the parking area, and soon, we had our backpacks stowed and were on our way into the heart of old-town Mombasa.

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We’d made a reservation for an Airbnb apartment. Using Google Maps, we found our destination, the Burhani Tower, in the Bondeni neighbourhood. We relaxed while our well-informed driver chatted happily about South African politics, Donald Trump’s re-election, and Jacob Zuma’s political upheaval. We were whisked through busy streets to our apartment in our air-conditioned Toyota.

It was Ramadan. Muslims observe the ninth month of the Islamic calendar worldwide as a month of fasting, prayer, reflection, and community. A commemoration of Muhammad’s first revelation, the annual observance of Ramadan is regarded as one of the Five Pillars of Islam. It lasts twenty-nine to thirty days, from one sighting of the crescent moon to the next.

Our street, just off the main road, was a hive of activity, with stalls being set up for the evening’s breaking of the fast.

We heard locals greet each other with “Ramadan Mubarak” or “Ramadan Kareem.”

We learned that the greetings mean:

• May this Ramadan be as bright as ever.
• Wishing you all the blessings of the holy month.
• May Allah bring you peace and happiness this Ramadan. 
• May the divine blessings of Allah protect you. 
• Four weeks of blessings to you this Ramadan.
• Let the spirit of Ramadan remain in your heart and light up your soul from within. 

During our stay, we would experience and be infused with the spirit of Ramadan.

Our apartment on the 9th floor of the modern high-rise Burhani Tower was perfectly appointed with cool marble floors, a well-equipped kitchen with all modern conveniences, two double ensuite bedrooms, and an open-plan sitting/dining room.

We stripped ourselves of our luggage and slid our backpacks across the cool, clean floors. We opened the large sliding windows, allowing a cool breeze to wash over us. Before us lay the old city of Mombasa, a sight that inspired awe and wonder in us. We had arrived.

Our 180° views of the city would never tire, and I’d take photographs of the buildings, Mosques, Dhows, estuary, city and seascape morning, noon and night.

The thought of dipping into the swimming pool on the top floor was irresistible, so before we did anything else, we wrangled ourselves into our bathing suits for a swim and to look at our views from another vantage point.

 

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At sunset, the fast is typically broken with dates and water or other light dishes like soup, finger food, or fruit, followed by the sunset prayer. All around us, one of the seven Mosques would start the call to prayers, followed by the next Mosque and the next as the light dipped in the west.

During Ramadan, special evening prayers are conducted, and long portions of the Quran are recited. These special prayers are known as Tarawech, which comes from an Arabic word that means to rest and relax.

After prayers, iftar is the evening breaking of the fast. Families and loved ones often gather for a meal before resting until dawn. Our street was alive with activity as food stalls opened to serve specially prepared meals, fruit, and beverages, creating a lively and communal atmosphere.

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Butch and I set off on foot to enjoy the cacophony of activity all around us until we reached our destination—an Indian Restaurant with excellent recommendations on Trip Advisor. The Shehnai Restaurant, with its vibrant old-world Indian decor and welcoming ambience, was a delightful find in the heart of the old town.

The Shehnai Restaurant ticked all our boxes. Authentic in décor, menu, wait staff, and flavour, this fine-dining restaurant specialises in Mughlai (North Indian) and Tandoori cuisine.

We selected a few small portions from the A La Carte menu and thoroughly enjoyed the spicy flavours, curried sauces, and condiments. We selected a traditional Kulfi infused with saffron made using condensed milk, cardamom, and pistachio for dessert.

Boda-Boda drivers (express motorbike deliveries) are popular; we noticed as the flow of riders fetched packed takeaways for clients across the city.

We walked home, enjoying the late-night bustle on the street as Muslims of all ages enjoyed their meals with family and friends.

The Barista had opened his stall in our building, and we ordered a well-brewed Kenyan coffee to take to our flat. If I’d clicked, I would’ve savoured my coffee for longer while enjoying the evening breeze, city lights, and sounds from the street before bed. The coffee stall was closed when we went down the following morning. “We are closed for Ramadan,” the small notice announced.

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The call to worship started minutes before sunrise, followed by the next and next Mosque in our neighbourhood. Doves took off from dovecotes and rooftops in a great burst and flurry of energy while doors and shutters were flung wide open as the day began. Motorbikes were already revving in the street as they buzzed up and down the long avenue below us.

Nothing we did could stop the strident noise all around us. After our complimentary cup of tea, we explored the historic city of Mombasa.

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Fort Jesus

Using his phone as our guide, Butch and I set off on a rainy day to explore the Fort and old city.

Fort Jesus (Forte Jesus de Mombaça) is located on Mombasa Island and was designed by the Italian architect Giovanni Battista Cairati.  t was built between 1593 and 1596 by King Felipe II of Spain, who also reigned as King Filipe I of Portugal and the Algarve to guard the Old Port of Mombasa. Fort Jesus is the only fort maintained by the Portuguese on the Swahili coast, recognised as a testament to the first successful attempt by a Western power to establish influence over the Indian Ocean trade routes previously controlled by Middle Eastern slave traders and spice merchants.

At the gates of Fort Jesus, we were met by our guide, Peter Tolle, a delightful, well-informed, and learned person with whom we immediately connected and found much in common. Without further ado, we set off on our explorations while he kept us entertained and informed about the history of Fort Jesus.

Reminders of the British occupation of Mombasa are dotted all around the Fort and gardens. I often wonder if the parents of fallen soldiers so far from home wonder where their children died. The loss and sadness of not knowing where your child is buried must be catastrophic, even if it was for King and Country. We are only human.

He told us:

“Gaspar Rodrigues was the master builder of the project. The design of Fort Jesus is an example of Renaissance architecture. The masonry techniques, building materials, and labour are believed to have been provided by the local Swahili people. The fort, built in the shape of a man viewed from the air, is roughly square with four bulwarks at its corners and is considered a masterpiece of late Renaissance military fortification.

With much humour, Peter told us how Fort Jesus was captured and recaptured at least nine times between 1631, when the Portuguese lost it to Sultan Yusuf ibn al-Hasan of Mombasa, and finally, in 1895, when it fell under British rule and was converted into a prison.

After the Portuguese recaptured it from the Sultan in 1632, they refurbished it and built more fortifications, making it harder for the fort to fall. The fort was subject to an epic two-year siege from 1696 to 1698 by the Omani Arabs led by Saif bin Sultan. The capture of the fort marked the end of Portuguese rule on the coast, although they briefly captured and re-occupied it between 1728 and 1729 with the help of the Swahili city-states.

A city-state is an independent sovereign city that is the centre of political, economic, and cultural life over its contiguous territory. City-states have existed throughout history in many parts of the world, including Rome, Carthage, Athens, and Sparta during the Middle Ages and Renaissance, as well as Florence, Venice, and Genoa. In Kenya Lamu, Malindi and Mombasa were city-states.

A former teacher, Peter was a hive of information and had a unique way of imparting knowledge. We soaked it all up like dry sponges. History, a favourite school subject of mine, would’ve come alive if Peter were my teacher. We enjoyed and learned more from unbiased, fair-minded retellings of history.

As our footsteps echoed through the corridors and we plodded up the worn battlement steps, he continued, “The fort fell under local rule from 1741 to 1837, when it was again captured by the Omanis and used as a barracks before its occupation by the British in 1895, after the establishment of the East Africa Protectorate (which later, in 1920, became the Colony and Protectorate of Kenya).”

(side note: one of the very decorated Sultans reminds me of my favourite F1 driver.)

In 1958, Fort Jesus was declared a national museum. In 2011, UNESCO declared it a World Heritage Site, highlighting it as one of the most outstanding and well-preserved examples of 16th-century Portuguese military fortifications. The fort is Mombasa’s most visited tourist attraction.

Butch, couldn’t resist a colourful Roka Bag and picked a colourful backpack in the shop. We did not know that Roka bags are made from upcycled Billboards and banners by two childhood friends from Mombasa. Their workmanship, I must declare, is excellent. Butch uses his colourful bag daily, and it has stood the test of time, many walking trips and cycle routes!

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Although the Fort’s restaurant was closed for Ramadan, Peter persuaded the kindly manager to brew us tea. Tea is the preferred drink by locals; coffee is too expensive, and Peter explained that tea has become a big business in East Africa.

Local people drink black tea every morning before work and evening after work) and has become the lifeblood of rural people, farmers and the economy. Farmers are well informed on the rich, growing traditions and the art and science of crafting the much-demanded brew worldwide. Herbal and spiced teas are also commonly enjoyed.

Tea-producing countries in the East African region include Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, Tanzania, Burundi, and Ethiopia. The tea blends and brands grown in East Africa have become vital ingredients in many healthy and flavorful blends worldwide.

We were served a potent chilli infused brew. When I asked for milk, I raised eyebrows from our server, but he relented, and I received a splash of piping-hot milk.

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Peter agreed that one needs to walk the streets of a city to become familiar with it. One needs to feel its history, smell its unique redolence, see its people, gently run one’s fingers along the curves of the buildings, and savour its history, creativity, architecture, nuances, and temperament. Even its squalor, dirt, and neglect tell a story, and in Africa, they often tell of the shortcomings of colonialism.

In books we read and from photographs, we get an inkling of the beauty, but to walk the corridors and alleys and to step into the hidden labyrinths of ancient cities is to become a local.

We did just that.

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Our destination was Old Town, a layered city on Mombasa Island, a coral outcrop where the Old Town is located.

Diverse “groups who controlled the island built on top of one another, stimulating architectural and design acculturation between disparate groups. The different iterations of colonialism on the island encouraged this acculturation but resulted in destruction, preservation, and construction as each foreign group took control of the city.” (Athman)

Coral, mud, wattle, and stone were used to build structures in old times. Ceramic tiles are popular and can be incorporated anywhere as decor or, more practically, as paving. If something can serve a purpose, it is never squandered but cheerfully repurposed.

Bright yellow is a cheerful and favourite colour used to paint buildings, blue is used liberally, and whitewashed buildings are an affordable way to freshen tired walls.

Zanzibar’s beautifully carved wooden doors are world-renowned, but I swooned when I saw the doors here.

Athman said, “Many doors were imported and fitted onto existing buildings, inspiring local carpenters to copy them. Gujarati carpenters’ strong influence in designs and techniques flourished in Mombasa, with prominent features of leafy foliage and rosettes carved into the wooden doors. It is thought that a small group of Gujarati merchants lived in Mombasa as early as the 17th century, but the prolific use of Indian-carved doors took off around 1860.

The use of architectural ornaments from across India would increase once the British took control of Mombasa, colonising the region, and launched the commission for Indian labour to construct the Kenya-Uganda Railway in 1896.” 

On one street, we were rewarded by seeing a master carpenter and door carver at work. Using an ancient iron chisel, he chipped away at his complicated design for a new door, respecting ancient patterns while using tools passed down from his father and his father’s father. If I could’ve picked one item to bring home, it would've been one of those doors.

The hand-carved rocking chair took Butch’s fancy, which we spotted in a furniture shop. Not only could the chair rock, but it was also so cleverly made to allow one to slide the frame backwards for a comfortable lie-in. "A masterpiece”, he declared, and I think he could see himself seated in his chair while reading, resting his eyes, or simply watching the world go by.

We explored every nook and cranny of Old Town, met shop owners, chatted with local gurus, who were only too pleased to strike a pose, and side-stepped tuk-tuks and motorbikes.

A chatty clutch of ladies even offered us a mosquito net for our bed. While they fasted, they were offering free mosquito nets to passersby. One lady eagerly explained that many charitable acts are pursued during Ramadan, and "Every good deed carried out with sincerity is received highly and rewarded abundantly by Allah. During this month, when the environment is fertile for righteous deeds, the charity of the believers also increases considerably."

Of course, we couldn't dodge the neglected centuries-old British museum, but we found nothing of interest there. Rather forlorn with only a few discoloured photographs all hanging askew, a chair with a fancy Petit Point embroidery and the obligatory picture of a British Military man with no identity anymore.  I do believe the British colonisers were the least favourites in these parts. It made me realise that our vision of our legacy oftentimes hangs as askew as the High Commissioner's portrait ended up.

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I perused and browsed clothing stores, antiquities shops, art galleries, and tourist traps filled to the rafters with souvenirs, chatted to shopkeepers, was permitted to delve into a box of ancient photographs, scanned the pages of yellowed books written in Arabic, English, and Indian Sanskrit, and unexpectedly received a traditional woven bracelet from a man serving in a tourist information shop.  I still wear it today. Unfortunately, the beautiful, priceless gold filagree trinkets were too rich for my blood and had to be gently returned to their ancient satin and velvet-lined leather jewellery boxes.

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“To the markets,” Peter declared.

In the fresh produce market, we sampled exotic fruits unknown to us, sampled spices, and bought a packet of saffron (I have used generous tablespoons of saffron in curries and a Paella, but I must confess I was shortchanged.)

Piles and piles of fresh fruit were on display and cost next to nothing. Imagine a ruby-red pomegranate that costs R3 or less. You could even bargain for a better price. 

The air was filled with the spicy aromas of mustard seed, star anise, red curry powder, and hessian sacks filled with peppercorns and cinnamon bark. All our senses were intoxicated until I sneezed and my eyes watered.

I purchased a punnet of dried prawns (shrimp), which I’ve used successfully in a Prawn Risotto. The 250g I have remaining are stashed away for a rainy day when we need something special to celebrate a milestone or to lift our spirits.

Excited young men cornered and encouraged us to taste their organic honey and sample hot and spicy green mango Atcha. Fruit sellers peeled and cut cubes of the sweetest fragrant mango and banana slices of various varietals in colours of rust, grass green, and golden yellow, some finger length and others too much for one sitting. One eager chap, hoping for a sale, even offered us a delectable macadamia nut.

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The fresh poultry market was a revelation. Here, farmers sell their live chickens to dealers, who sell them to homemakers as fresh as possible. Fortunately, I was not as shocked as my German friends might be. I grew up on a farm where chickens were routinely slaughtered while our cook brought the Aga stove to the desired temperature.

In the fresh meat section, homemakers, husbands, and cooks lined up to purchase fresh meat for that evening’s Ramadan feast. Popular cuts of meat are goat, mutton, and beef.

Fresh Fish is a very popular commodity, but we did not venture into the fish market, which we were told was sold out for the day. Fish is delivered early in the morning when fishing boats return from the sea. Merchants and shoppers come through early, during the coolest part of the day.

Besides the cleaners mopping up and fish mongers resting their weary bones, the only evidence of activity was a few kittens scavenging for scraps while others lay rolled up in balls, sated.

Taking the Mickey out of us, Peter explained in detail the various species of fly that one finds near fresh produce.

I was convinced Butch, less so; I will leave the gory details to your imagination, suffice to say one gets tiny, clean ones and big, ugly, blue ones, all of which play a part in determining the freshness of the product on display.  Later, I would use these yardsticks when we purchased our fresh meat cuts. When in Rome….

Like many cities in Africa (and even South Africa), much trading occurs on the pavements. In the Old City, merchants are fast-talking and smooth and will try their luck with a sale on the sidewalk. We admired the tolerance everybody showed. If the sun shines, there's space for anyone to grow and make an honest living or to "branch out"!

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We’d enjoyed a full day of wandering around the Old town and decided it was time to relax and wind down after all the information overloads. But, said Peter, we would do a quick walk through the botanical gardens; he had something special to show us. We would take up an offer of a Boda-Boda this time.

The gardens at Mombasa’s Treasury Square in Old Town have been renovated and fitted with lighting to improve nighttime security.

The garden is a treasured botanical enclave, home to various exotic trees with a fountain at its heart. Burhani Garden is a good place to unwind and relax after a long day’s work.

Peter excitedly pointed up at the giant Banyan tree (Ficus benghalensis), and there, to our amazement, was a cauldron of bats. Bats often live in large groups, acting as interactive societies, sharing information, resources, and specialised roles within their colonies.

“Here,” he said, “is a colony of bats hanging together, communicating through echolocation, and seeking shelter in the foliage of this tree.” This intricate scene defines the idea behind a colony.

This particular tree species germinates in cracks and crevices of other trees or structures. Banyan trees grow by emitting aerial roots and forming a canopy. The banyan tree is the national tree of the Republic of India and has religious significance. The many ficuses growing in Mombasa were initially brought by Indians as a reminder of their beloved home country.

 

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It was time for a beer and a final natter on the wide wooden veranda of a well-known restaurant and drinking hole.

We always try to support restaurants that offer free Wi-Fi, and soon, we were hooked up and connected. Butch received a beep-beep as messages flooded in.

Our friends Rene and Yvonne had arrived, settled into our accommodations, and were eager to meet for a beer.

We said goodbye to our excellent guide, Peter, and promised to recommend his services everywhere. Peter is an accredited guide who can assist tourists with many possibilities throughout Kenya. He comes highly recommended, and we encourage everyone to contact him. His WhatsApp number is listed at the end of this blog.

Rene and Yvonne joined us for a drink. Afterwards, we strolled home to our apartment, enjoying the sights as the day wound down and the fast ended in a feast. The Imams sounded like a hundred Arabic voices competing when they called their faithful to prayer, and stalls, eateries, and street food vendors opened up to serve delicious traditional meals to the famished.

We would celebrate a reunion with our friends Rene, Yvonne, Julie, Marcelle, and Joelle, who were preparing their vehicles for shipping from Mombasa to Rotterdam. After their epic journeys through Africa, they return to Germany and Switzerland.

Marcelle and Julie filled every space of their Volkswagen camper van with beautiful basketry, wood carvings, fabulous fabrics, and canvasses to fill their home once they settled—colourful African memories.

Joelle, it seems, travels light. Her memories are etched indelibly in her mind to be conjured up as she pursues her career as a UN Peacekeeper in some of the world’s worst war-torn countries.

Our supper was a reminiscence of a marvellous time spent sharing a campground, windsurfing, walking, snorkelling and chilling around the evening fire in Diani. Although sad the three youngsters were excited to take up their careers and would soon plan their next travel moves. 

 

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Our mission the following day was clear: we were searching for a good coffee. "Surely,” Butch said, “not everyone in Mombasa is fasting?” We will find out. Butch set off like a man possessed.

I had a list of recommendations. We set off at a brisk pace. The Blue Room Restaurant was open and cooking. Almost every seat in the house had been taken, which is what we like. The vibe and the coffee were excellent. The Pasteis de Nata’s crust was crispy and flaked with each bite. The custard had a perfect scorch and was smooth and not too rich. Perfect. Mombasa still has a touch of the Mediterranean in its baking. Who can resist a coffee milkshake? Not me.

Restored and fortified, we decided to walk around unexplored parts of the city, heading towards the aquamarine seaside.

The refreshing sea breeze on my shoulders was welcome. We set off to enjoy the peaceful seafront, where boats, dhows, and dugouts lazily sailed using the trade winds. We stopped to take in the sights and rehydrate.

Before long, we met Mustafa. Born in Mombasa, he told us in his impeccable English to a Kenyan Mom and English father; he immigrated as a child and grew up in England, where he was educated and later worked. But his soul belonged to Africa, and as soon as he could, he returned to Kenya; he says now, at last, he “belongs”, has a rich history and feels at peace; although he does miss his Mother, he says wistfully, who probably needs him in her old age.

Mustafa humorously expressed the city’s unique charm and character by saying, ‘There’s no Contessa in Mombasa. She’s very much like an old painted Drag Queen.”

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Rene and Yvonne have a knack for finding hidden gems in their explorations, and when we caught up with them, we set off to find some highlights.

A photoshoot was obligatory at the iconic elephant tusk gateway. The Mombasa tusks, also known as Pembe Mbili, are a well-known tourist attraction in Mombasa. The four aluminium tusks, arranged in an M shape, stand over Moi Avenue, symbolizing the city’s history and culture. Originally made of wood, they were built in the 1950s to commemorate visits by the British royal family.

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We would not dine together on our last night. Butch and I decided to get dressed up and celebrate our last night in Mombasa at the Tamarind restaurant at the Golden Key Casino. The fine dining restaurant was established in the 1970s, and the owner, Chris Seex, vowed to use the finest, fresh, locally sourced ingredients and seafood.

Downstairs, our Boda-Boda waited for us at sunset to whisk us off to the other side of the island for supper.

The building is a throwback to a bygone Arab era, and the elegant, whitewashed building boasts high arches and a crenellated roof,

The Maître D’ showed us to a table for two on the vast, cool veranda, from which we had a spectacular sunset view. Later, when the city lit up, we could enjoy the blue hour and the docking of the Tamarind’s Dhow.

The menu had me salivating, so we decided to try the taster menu, an excellent representation of the chef’s skills. Our choices included steamed crab, a saffron-enriched bisque, and tuna lightly finished in French mayonnaise, octopus, prawns, and crayfish. What could top those ingredients?

Every course was faultlessly curated, well-cooked, and perfectly spiced so that the main ingredient remained the focal point. Every course was delectably yummy, and the crepe Suzettes were dreamy! Butch's decadent Chocolate bombe was a tribute to locally grown cocoa beans. 

We almost succumbed to the fat Cuban our charming waiter offered—next time, I will. My New Year’s resolution is “Life is too short to decline temptations.”

We sipped our last coffee for the day from our tiny Juliet balcony, enjoying the cool breeze, the silence and the cityscape. I will remember the dazzling blue evening sky of Mombasa.

It would be utterly amiss of me not to pay homage to the crow's nest (or is it a Hamerkop nest) of electrical wiring we saw. It reminded me of places like India, Vietnam, and Thailand. I shudder to think how we would accept such negligence and lousy workmanship in South Africa, yet it works perfectly here. I can't help smiling. Sometimes, one can't sweat the small stuff. Humpff.

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The following day well before the Imam started up his call to prayer, Butch and I sneaked out of our apartment; we didn’t have the heart to say goodbye to our dear friends. However, the note on the dining table had to suffice.  Every ancient African city we’ve visited has been unique and stole a piece of my heart; Mombasa ranks amongst the top ten.

I napped and dreamt much of the journey back to Nairobi.  My shutter was silent for once, and I relished the freedom of not recording a journey.

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Back to the present. It’s day two of the neighbour’s holiday: the blue sky and hot sun. I spot the children dragging their new beach towels. They've come from Davey's Pool.The sun’s rays have touched the tips of their freckled noses, but they are energised and happy; their giggles ring loudly as the elder brother shoulders his sidekick. Dad’s carrying the littlest one and looks a decade younger in his colourful Island-style swimming trunks.

It’s Mum’s day off. She’s pushed her navy-blue canvas Oz Tent recliner right back, and her one bright pink Croc dangles off her foot; the latest Huisgenoot’s pages ruffle in the breeze as she naps. The wet glass in her hand slips a notch, but I’m sure she made a short shift of her pink G&T. Soon, their braai fire will send tendrils of smoke into the air.

The summer holidays are in full swing.

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Roka bags are available at www.rokabagsafrica.com 

Peter Tolle (Our guide in Mombasa) +254 725 220 013