This is the place to be, or to put it even more enticingly, the place you should try not to die before visiting.

The place is best known as Mombasa but when I was young I used to hear my mother talk of a place called Mambassa. I am sure this is one and the same place because she also used to say that this Mambassa is found in a country she called ‘Chenya’ which to my understanding must be Kenya.

If you hear people talking about Mwambao wa Pwani, don’t get confused, just know they are talking about the coast where the city of Mombasa is located, that is if you are in Kenya.

Well, I am recommending this place because it has left me tender memories such that I am nursing a feeling that borders on home sickness.  Mombasa is a place that casts a strong spell on you the moment you knock at its gates, around a place called Mazeras, a few kilometres from Mariakani.

This is when you start to notice that you are totally in an environment different from where you have passed along your journey – if you are travelling by road, that is. First, you will be hit by a pleasant warm, humid air which tends to blend the atmosphere and the landscape characterized by towering palm trees to create a feeling that is only unique to the Kenyan coast.

Wait till you start entering the actual Mombasa town and you will be glued to the window, trying to consume the scenery of the old buildings and the people as if you are only passing through and wouldn’t want to miss anything.

Men in Kanzus of different colours and skull caps are either crossing busy roads strewn with coconut shells or are vending Swahili snacks and ‘madafu’ by the roadsides as birds, mostly dressed in black bui-buis are either trying to cross the roads to take their children home or going to the Marikiti (cheap commodities town market) around Mwembe tayari to buy food stuffs or other commodities for domestic use.

But seeing that majority of the birds are labouring to partially or fully conceal their faces on the streets, you would just rule out any form of hunting activity in this place - that is if you are a weak hunter. The ‘Modern Coast’ bus left me at its Mwembe Tayari terminal, marking the beginning of a memorable hunting expedition in the city known for its extraterrestrial beings called jinis.

Before embarking on this journey, I had taken lectures from self styled ‘coastal experts’ who had vehemently warned me on two things: ‘Don’t kick a black cat even if it’s in your way’ and ‘if you see a strange ‘bird’ eye balling you suspiciously, don’t go ahead and introduce yourself; first look at her feet. If she is putting on shoes, go ahead, but if you see something that looks like hooves, take off immediately because that is a jinni.’ 

I have also heard of stories of truck drivers from the land of 1K hills who hunted jinis thinking they had hunted a nice Arab bird and ended up waking up in the middle of a vast Muslim graveyard.

Conscious of all this, I picked my bag and put the straps on one shoulder and mumbled to myself "Mombasa, here I come!’ This city has a reputation that it is easy to get in but difficult to exit.

I was not worried about the possibility of a failure to exit the town because I was ready to settle down for good if conditions proved conducive for a life time of hunting. I crossed over to the Island side of the town and here I had to use a ferry. It was while on the ferry that I got my first scare.

The ferry takes across very many people on each trip and as we were crossing to Ukunda, I noticed a bird whose age I could not estimate because she was veiled, eyeballing me suspiciously.

What scared me most was the fact that she was staring straight at me without blinking or looking away shyly when our eyes met. Instead it was me who had to turn my eyes away. When I looked at her, she was still looking at me.

The problem with this bird is that there was no way of knowing whether she was smiling or grimacing because all you could see were her eyes - the rest was covered. 

When the ferry finally hit the ramp, I was the first to disembark pushing through a thick crowd of heavy Swahili speaking men and women. When I looked back, I could not see the staring bird and I assumed I was safe.

However, I was uncertain about one thing. How on earth was I to distinguish between a ‘huntable’ and a forbidden bird in this place where every bird is covered in black from head to toe – sometimes even the eyes? How do hit and run hunters survive in this place?

Where do people meet up with birds in order to unleash their hunting manifestos? My answers were to come later when I accidentally stumbled on a very hot night club which was full of mzungus dressed only in vests and shorts. It wasn’t even 8pm yet or a weekend but the zungus were dancing and drinking as if it was Friday at midnight.

I came to learn that they are tourists who had nothing to worry about. While in this night club, I came to know the secret of Mombasa. That’s for next week!

Ends