OUT&ABOUT: A trip to the past in Lamu

Passenger boats at the Lamu Island on July 25, 2018. For a first-time visitor to Lamu Town, especially one from an urban centre, the complete absence of motorised vehicles is at once refreshing, if not jarring. PHOTO | FILE

What you need to know:

  • The ocean stretches for miles, the turquoise waters shimmering in the mid-morning sun.

  • The town itself is an architectural marvel. The Lamu Fort built in the 1820s stands sentry over the town, evoking images of the Arab rulers who fortified the town against European attackers.

  • The narrow streets echo sounds of ancient merchants in the market place. Lamu old town has a charming appeal that beguiles those who have paused long enough to soak in its history, to listen.

By motor boat, the trip from the Mokoye jetty — the boarding point from the mainland — to Lamu Island and town in Lamu County takes roughly eight minutes.

Seven minutes adrift in the jade endlessness of the Indian Ocean I pulled a custom postcard from my bag and held it against the approaching town. I could hardly tell the difference between the Polaroid shot and the real.

Ancient buildings, dhows and boats on the quay, fishermen hauling in their catch. A long shot of the shoreline. On a different trip, we might have chosen a row boat or dhow, prolonging the trip as much as possible, getting the feel of ancient sea travel, but we were pressed for time.

A long day full of scheduled interviews and visits waited. We were in town to film the future; to capture stories and dreams of young people on the island.

But seven minutes is still long enough time for an eye-feast if you are in the moment. The ocean stretches for miles, the turquoise waters shimmering in the mid-morning sun. Our vessel is reliably christened Mkizi, the Swahili word for shark. The engine, under the steady command of the captain, cuts through the water in a fury, spraying water so salty you can taste it in your eyes.

Finally, the captain guides the boat to the dock and kills the engine. A man waiting at the dock kedges the boat and we are ready to disembark. As soon as we clamber up the steps, camera equipment in hand, we are immediately mistaken for tourists.

A young man with tousled hair introduces himself as Musa and promises — in flawless Swahili spoken in the lyrical twinge that can only be possible in the Coast — we will have an unforgettable stay in Lamu Town. He pats his donkey standing faithfully by, inviting us for a ride. Later, we promise; we lie as we do to pesky salespeople.

ARCHIPELAGO

Built in the 14th Century, Lamu Town, which is a part of the Lamu archipelago, was one of the original Swahili settlements along the East African Coast. The island has for years welcomed people of varying nationalities; Europeans, Asians and Arabs, who together with the native people have given Lamu a distinct and somehow kaleidoscopic identity.

In many ways, Lamu is the quintessential travel-book town; the kind of town that jumps out of every geography textbook; a town full of surprises. For a first-time visitor to Lamu Town, especially one from an urban centre, the complete absence of motorised vehicles is at once refreshing, if not jarring. Donkeys are the mode of transport. There is no car anywhere.

And in a way, this is true to the keeping of the town. Lamu is after all the oldest continually inhabited town in Kenya, a town that has maintained a raffish mien and identity for centuries. Once you step off the boat, you are introduced to a way of life edited to an endearing casualness, yet throbbing in its own unique way.

Located 343 kilometres northeast of Mombasa, Lamu Town is the county seat of Lamu County, which encompasses the islands of Pate, Manda, Kiwayu, Kiunga as well as the mainland including Mpeketoni, Kizingitini and Hindi.

A symbiotic interdependence between the mainland and Lamu Island ensures life goes on unaltered; boatloads of farm produce from the agricultural-rich Mpeketoni and neighbouring farmland keep Lamu island supplied with food. These same boats return to the mainland with essential supplies from Lamu.

The town itself is an architectural marvel. The Lamu Fort built in the 1820s stands sentry over the town, evoking images of the Arab rulers who fortified the town against European attackers.

The caroused beige walls are etched with history. A massive tree near the main business boulevard with branches that resemble a cathedral ceiling stands outside the old fort in defiance of the searing sun, providing shade.

The narrow streets echo sounds of ancient merchants in the market place. Lamu old town has a charming appeal that beguiles those who have paused long enough to soak in its history, to listen.

In addition to its famous hotels, Lamu Town is home to the famous Maulidi festival, which celebrates the culture of the people. The annual event, held in January and February, features donkey riding, swimming competitions and dhow sailing. Trade and a vibrant tourist industry are the bedrock of the town’s economy.

The working ‘tourist’ must cram inasmuch as possible within the clock. The smell of roasted kora, the pattern in the traditional Muslim skull cap; the haunting, somehow mournful call to prayer blaring from the local masjid (mosque), the tinkle of cutlery all gain meaning, urgency.

THE PAST

The future that had brought us to Lamu, we discovered, was intricately intertwined with the past. One of the young people whose stories we had come to commit to film — a young girl with piercing eyes — told us she would become a pilot.

Her great grandfather had sailed for weeks from Yemen as a young man with just a dream. He married a Bajuni woman and raised a family. And here she was, dreaming of flying to Oman and Paris and Brazil. The future was the past; the past the future.

Musa, the lyrical young man with the donkey, is patiently waiting when we get back. “Ah, I knew you’d come!” His enthusiasm is contagious. He won’t mention the price for a donkey ride, though, saying only that ‘the donkey needs to eat’.

He helps heave me up the back of the beast. The mat seat on the donkey proves slippery, the view from the donkey’s back suddenly frightening. But after a few encouraging words from Musa, I am steady, plus you couldn’t have been to Lamu without a ride on a donkey cab. The patient donkey is soon trotting on the pavement. And then right in the middle of the street, I slip off the donkey, but Musa is fast.

When we finally board the boat back to the mainland, the tide is high, the waters choppy. Donning orange lifesavers, we are soon motoring towards Mokoye. Lamu Town recedes in the distance. With a strong current, the boat speed is average. We pass a dhow full of passengers and goods, bobbing up and down towards the mainland.

You have time to think about what it must have been for sailors who travelled from Yemen and China and the Persian Gulf centuries ago in search of new frontiers; their vessels guided only by masts and dreams and wind and turbulence.

Then you realise it must have been beautiful, even for them, to discover Lamu. As it is even now. And you are reminded of ‘Lamu’, the song by Michael W. Smith: “So here we are on an island in the sea near the coast of Africa, and when it’s right … I hear you saying this is everything …” The sea stretches on and on and on … soon, you will be on the mainland, but the island stays with you.