I love Africa, I love Kenya, I love animals, there is a problem with this, Kenya doesn’t love me, it hates me, everything about it tried to kill me.
The trouble started in the Airport, arriving, I expected a brightly coloured new plane to be taking me and my ginger ex (who hated heat, light and seemingly nourishment, as was a vegetarian).
I wanted this holiday to go smoothly, so for once, I did not go through my ‘fear of flying’ drinking regime, which is essentially to get as pissed as possible and still be able to blag my way onto the plane using a faux drunk posh voice and over pronouncing vowels. Sadly this regime has seen me pass out, and even vomit on a mate on other flights. No, don’t sit next to me on the plane, if I’m not drunk I’m off my titties and bang on valium, a drooling touchy feely mess.
Not today though, today I was going to be Alan Whicker, and travel with grace and dignity (possibly having done a small pee in my own trousers).
The board showed up ‘delay’, I figured they were probably turtle waxing the wonderful huge cutting edge Boeing or Airbus, no problem, orange juice for me please. I went to the window near the departure gate on seeing the shadow of a large avionic beast being pulled up, and stared out of the window like a curious child….I gagged and my balls ascended through fear, this couldn’t be our plane, this plane was from the 70’s, no, this couldn’t be our plane, this plane was an off white colour, like a chain smoking pensioners ceiling above her parker knoll chair. I was afraid, I was outraged. Bring my fucking plane up this instant, a clean shiny one?
I’m not a selfish man, and I don’t especially look after myself, but my life is quite important to me as it’s the only one I have (unless you read my medical notes, which indicate a massive bi-polar disorder). I shook at the thought of entrusting my precious single life to this fucking remnant from the heady days of Led Zeppelin (this was probably the same plane they were on when they shoved that shark up that poor groupies fanny, look it up) and the days when they never even earthed electrical appliances. It was a mistake, no, this plane had come through a tear in time and space, and soon people would flock and watch in wonderment as people got out in flairs with big hair and garish shirts. Yes, this was the answer. Sadly, no worm hole, this was our Kenya bound flight. I wouldn’t even trust this winged cunt to get me to Kent.
The chain boozing began almost instantly in earnest, much to the disgust of my ginger ex, her colourless beady irritated eyes watching in semi despair as I guzzled duty free export rum out of small bottles of coke like an alcoholic Pirate, pacing and talking about dying openly and dramatically, a right cock, the boyfriend you dread being with, this was what was going to be inside her as much as possible in another continent, poor cow.
Eventually I was dragged into the plane like a more intelligent cow being taking into the slaughter house or Mr T when the drugged milk is kicking in.
Sitting in my seat and seeing that the plane still had ashtrays, I strapped in and waited dejectedly for my death. I hoped the plane would explode where we sat as the pilot hit the launch switch (one of about 5 old style flick switches which inhabited the 30 odd year old cockpit I imagined), at least my mother would be able to come and collect her crispy well-done offspring.
I looked at the flight crew for hope, I thought, like British Airways staff; they would be full of zest and zeal, and more importantly, life. Oh no, they looks drab, listless and most worryingly, afraid but ultimately resigned to fate. I still hadn’t accepted my fate and carried on drinking with zest and zeal. Even the pilot had a handle bar tache, flairs and a huge bag of duty free bag of spirits.
Eventually, with me now half cut, we taxied and took off awkwardly, like a morbidly obese person getting off a bed (for cake), fuck knows how, this metal twat was flying on instinct and old memories, like some sort of civil migratory aluminium tampon. Things were going as well as they can go in your soon to be coffin and then we got the in-flight meal, which was essentially a solid cold lump of what may have been (in the 70’s) noodles, they actually looked like a huge tape worm.
After what seemed like a drunken eternity, we landed, we fucking landed, I wanted to kiss the ground, well, to be honest, I wanted to fuck the ground, up all holes, I was so happy. And thank Chirst I had managed to get some sleep on the flight, about 7 minutes due to random clunking noises, I was about as refreshed as George Michaels arsehole on a Saturday night in Soho.
We was only in Nairobi though, we still had to get to Mombassa. This is where the real problems started and death first appeared with his bony thumbs up like a skeletal Fonz.
Navigating the terminals we were warned about robbers who prey on fresh arrivals. We got through and straight to the gate of the Mombassa flight, even older, looked from 60’s and was powered by two Hammond organs and a wah wah pedal. We got on this flight and strapped in, I now had bruised where all the points of the cross were on my body when you do that thing that Catholic old people do when you say cunt, fuck, balls or Satan in front of them.
The pilot hit the ‘thrust’ and we rocketed forward into the crazy speed needed to take off. It was at this point the plane broke, a clunking noise and some thumping and the pilot making a panicked announcement for stewards to doors please (while we were still doing about 80mph) I was beyond shitting myself, I think, in fact the turd was staying where it was and my body was shitting away around it, I was effectively being shat out by a turd. We got out of the plane my legs where like Elvis with Parkinson’s, and walked back to the tarmac near the departure gate and ‘engineers’ started ‘working’ on the ‘plane’ – a man tapping the open engine with a huge spanner filled me with no confidence at all. A man at the terminal, the sort of man you see in the paper, with all the other people who died in the crash (bland faced), told me, “Kenya Air do more checks than anyone” – “They fucking need to”’ I replied in a panicky voice.
Eventually they found a spare plane; we got on and I went through the same pre-death regime, told my ginger ex I loved her (again), took off. I was now delusional, chanting things like “even if we survive the crash, we will be eaten by lions”.
We got to Mombassa and after a blacked out windowed ride through some traditional Africa, painted coke signs, painted sprite signs, painted signs for condoms etc, we eventually got to our hotel, it was here I realised that there were probably no strokeable creatures in the entire country, the first spider I saw was about 4ft across and fired lasers and had a serving tray on its back, the apes had ridiculous fangs and opposable heads and knew Tae Kwondo, and every flying creature either carpet bombed you with insect wank and malaria, or they were Tse Tse flies or hybrids of both and introduced themselves by name before biting you and right aidsing you up.
After recovering at the hotel, and going for a walk down the beach where I was ‘encouraged’ to buy a shitty wooden sculpture by a man with a huge machete, we went on safari, a bumpy slow crawl across roads washed away by flooding, or the blood red earth, which is probably only blood red because every tourist ever to visit Kenya has probably died. Then all of a sudden, I saw something which filled my little mind with joy, wonderment and amazement, Zebra!! Zebra!! looks, it’s a fucking Zebra, I screamed, hugged my ginger ex, who was probably complaining of the heat or dying of mal-something or other. A fucking Zebra!! It moved, it ate some stuff and shuffled about, it moved around some more, it made a noise out of its nostrils. I had a look on my face like I was being felated, fucking Zebra!!.. Eventually, and after gradually seeing about 30,000 of these I wanted them to get eaten. “Yeah fuck off Zebra, you’re shit, you are a right between a horse and a pony, nobody rides, you, yeah you stripy cunt, go and get eaten, yeah I’m talking to you.
Part two I’ll talk more about how close I came to death more times on this trip, saw a the results of some haggard old English Nan’s after they tried to fuck some poor young Kenyan lads to death, and how I almost broke the plane on the way home through rage, and generally got bored of seeing my dull life flash before me..
Thanks for reading.
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