Beaky's Blather

WelI, I landed near Nairobi in Kenya at 4.30 am and entered a terminal very much with a difference. Almost no signs guided travellers to immigration or bag-hall, so l. resorted to asking directions from a couple of the many soldiers, ironically made startlingly conspicuous by their camouflage uniforms. Whilst in all probability concealing them effectively in the jungle, in an airport, it rendered them disconcertingly apparent. 

I was told confidently by one that it was not necessary that I collect my suitcase; it would transfer to Mombasa unaided. I felt some concern whether this might be relied upon. Fingers crossed. It didn’t get transferred and didn’t catch up to me for three sweaty days.

I made it through immigration and began the walk to the domestic terminal, challenged every second step by men all equally certain – despite all my previous refusals – that I wanted their taxi to take me into Nairobi. I declined as my onward flight was scheduled for an hour’s time. 

The domestic terminal didn’t have goats roaming but looked as if it might. The first security search on entering the domestic terminal involved me stripping nearly naked in full view of everyone. A second search was demanded, literally five yards further on, by a second soldier who had chatted with and witnessed, the previous soldier searching me a few yards earlier 

I continued, without signage, to gate one, which it transpired was the only gate. The hall was fairly small and a lady manning the gate chatted happily on her phone. She was clearly audible to everyone waiting, until that was, she was obliged to announce the departure of a flight from gate one. For this, she picked up a microphone and promptly became impenetrably unintelligible. Most of us in consequence presented ourselves at her gate for each flight following every incomprehensible announcement only to be loudly told off for seeking the wrong departure. I apologised and explained that I couldn’t understand her announcement where upon she re-announced a flight looking directly at me… using the microphone, despite the fact I now stood two feet from her.  I still could not grasp a word she said. 

I continued to present myself for each subsequent announcement – three in total – until finally she accepted my boarding pass, and I walked from the terminal into the night and  the airfield, only to discover the presence of a number of aircraft with nothing indicating which was intended for me. I proceeded to approach each in turn and call up the stairway until I found one that admitted that it was going to Mombasa. It looked to be quite an old aircraft.

  I was told to switch off my phone and was given the worst cup of coffee I have ever tasted and also a plastic glass of what appears to be urine. 

More unintelligible announcements, (I am learning that they are a feature of Kenya). I’m convince the aircraft captain has just informed us that we should not open the windows. 

I sit alone on a row for this domestic flight however the man adjacent but across the aisle has the most spectacularly loud nasal congestion. I wondered at first whether he might be having a seizure. He has just shouted unexpectedly, farted loudly and is now awake and blinking as if confused. My intended resuscitation endeavour I judged now risked being misunderstood and unwelcome. I think my employing the Heimlich sqeeze around the thorax to counter choking might cause him some puzzlement. 

Well, we are about to land or – Bhutto hytrrs vhkpoii fiorexx – as the captain has just announced. 

Days later
It’s quite sunny here on the Equator. Actually, mostly it’s very sunny. 

Jo, my hostess took me out to dinner this evening. Met an odd couple who spent the whole evening subtly sniping at each other. 

 After dinner, Jo continued to visit other friends whilst I drove her ancient landrover home alone in the dark. Whilst unlocking the gate to access Jo’s yard area, I encountered a local brandishing a sword. I was a little taken aback. 

In best Empire tradition however, I remained calm whilst bidding him good evening. He responded in Swahili, or so I imagine. This was Nairobi Airport all over again, I thought and tipped my hat, only to recall yet again that I had left it on the plane out from the UK 

The sword wielder remained on the edge of darkness, in the mirk and proceeded to wipe the blade with a sharpening stone. I unlocked the gate wondering  if by turning my back on him I was demonstrating my intention of nonaggression or alternatively inviting him to slice me in half. 

Anyway. I survived. I described the event to Jo and Sarah this morning hoping to confirm that I had demonstrated a sound British stiff upper lip. It transpired however that he was next door’s gardener who occasionally came around to hack down Jo’s weeds in the cooler hours of darkness. 

Beak of Africa felt slightly less the intrepid after that. 

I was asked to demonstrate my prowess as a dinghy instructor

I have today demonstrated spirit and a degree of Brit supremacy on the water. Before my first sortie onto the – (in my imagination) crocodile infested creek, Jo had advised her outdoor centre instructors that Beaky (the great white hunter) and instructor in all skills outdoors adventuring would join them and provide a further insight into some more advanced sailing techniques. As it transpired I certainly offered them something new to their experience. 

The beach hands had rigged and prepared a sailing dinghy for my inspection. Disguising the fact that after twenty years absence I could recall little of what rigging should be – (it’ has been 20 years since I last sailed) – and that was on boats quite different to these. 

I pointed and nodded – as if pleased – to a couple of features, I hoped that in so doing I evidenced my old-salt credentials as I climbed aboard. Jo had provided me with a crew member; Baker, from her under-training staff. 

As I sat in the dinghy accustoming myself gradually to the alterations in the rigging layouts from that I could recall of two decades ago, Baker, my hugely enthusiastic crew man, pulled himself from the water onto the thwart on the far side of the dinghy with such vigor that he immediately tipped the boat savagely towards himself. Unprepared, I flew across the boat, and we immediately capsized. I was thrown on top of the sail where I thrashed and porpoised in an ungainly fashion. The boat filled with water and lay on its side half submerged as I struggled to gain any purchase on the sail. 
my alacrity in demonstrating the capsize drill,  within 3 seconds of beginning the lesson, and my advanced-skills demo of recovery, the gathered instructors murmured their approval with jubilant high fives to one another. 

Once we had regained sailing posture, with Baker now on board and the dinghy mercifully upright, we proceeded to beat back and forth across the creek – which was a third of a mile wide. After around eight tacks to windward where lay our destination at the mouth of the creek as it joined the Indian Ocean, I discovered to my chagrin that after a half dozen tacks we had progressed to windward by around only five metres if that. At the end of each leg,  I spied the gathered instructors watching and learning on the beach where 30 minutes earlier we had departed. We waved. 

“Just familiarising myself with broad reaches” I explained to my now slightly puzzled crew member who glanced longingly down the creek towards the surf break that I had previously explained was our intended destination. 

The wind was, I discovered capricious. It changed in direction by up to 90 degrees according to where we were across the creek.  

“Right, let’s head for the ocean” I announced in the hope that he might believe that I had up until that point not intended to progress in that direction. 

“Ok” he exclaimed and, as we tacked yet again in an attempt to progress upwind, he immediately threw himself over the upwind thwart whilst holding tightly onto a harness that allowed him to hang far out over the side and so counter balance the boat against my leaning out, anticipating a force of the wind that my new course should introduce. With immediate effect the wind died, and his enthusiastic crewing sent us rapidly backward throwing he boat into an unintended jibe and subsequent down-wind run so that we were even further from our destination than when we had started 40 minutes earlier. 

Once again I brought us back into a close haul so that we might yet again strike a course make way and head to windward. 

The wind now returned with an enthusiasm to match Baker’s and we foamed along impressively until the next tack where upon I misjudged the turn and flew across the cockpit and diving headfirst overboard. I found myself submerged beneath the sail, unable to breath whilst Baker also thrown out, landed above the sail and on top of my head. 

How we laughed. 

Anyway, as I explained to Baker, these essential emergency drills completed, we righted the dinghy once again and at last I found I could make some progress towards the mouth of the creek and our intended destination

We managed to complete the day without either of us unexpectedly abandoning ship further and eventually headed back to base and the cheers and impressed nods of approval of the assembled African sailing instructors. 

I think I showed them a useful thing or two about sailing instruction

“I’m a bit rusty I expect ‘I explained to the group as that they emptied and dragged my water-logged dinghy up the beach. 

“How was your sail Beaky?” chimed Jo as I entered her office. I found myself struggling to form a reply.