When we booked the trip we realised we would have to have inoculations, there isn’t one of course for Malaria, you are faced with two simple tablet choices, tablet 1, this does prevent Malaria, but causes massive schizophrenia in the majority of people who take it, or, tablet 2, which absolutely doesn’t work, but does cause upset stomachs, but no long term mental illness, weighing up the options, we both went for option 2. I’d, being a cunt, had given up taking these after day 2, but the ginger ex had regimentally stuck to the tablet taking and thankfully the drab Kenyan hotel food was not spraying out of her like that owl necked bitch in the exorcist.
In keeping with our efforts to not catch Malaria, we had sprayed deet and insect repellent around the room, about a can of each every night, and although we would most certainly at some point die of lung cancer, but should hopefully now not catch the dreaded Malaria. With the amount of chemicals we were spraying each night it would have been a miracle if anything had lived in that room.
We went down for our evening meal. In the first week we were there, we had noticed these old hags sitting around, drawn, gaunt and colourless ugly hybrids, a perfect cross between the greyness of Pauline Fowler, and downright haggardness of Dot Cotton, and the age too.
The chain smoking suck marks around their cheeks indicated the type of people they were, probably all on about 100 a day, they were down, in their “glad rags” and were “entertaining” some rather young, worried looking nubile and virile Kenyan men. I don’t know what the deal was with this group but when one of the old slags urged one of the Kenyan lads to “eat up, you are going to need all your energy”, I almost puked my soul out.
An attempt to make eye contact with the group was futile, they were too busy looking at each other and giving faint signs that whatever the bounty was for what was going to happen to them, was probably worth it in Kenyan terms. To put this into perspective, I could not have spent the night pumping one of these lifeless whore husks and the thought of their sun blushed leathery labia spread out in front of me, and the probable use of foul sexual language that was bound to accompany an attempt to send a derisory pleasure signal up one of these nympho nannas would cost the equivalent of one hundred grand. No less.
Finding it hard to swallow, we finished out meal and went back to the room, waving through the chemical fog, tears streaming (which wasn’t unusual for her), and had routine sex.
Waking in the morning we went down to the breakfast room, no mosquito bites, another day we had fought and won with our chemical shock and awe tactics (and probably the sight of my arse cheeks pumping away on the poor ginger lass were enough to put any beast off, save perhaps a Hippo that could have quite easily mistaken my rear for that of a potential mate).
On entering the dining area, we were greeted by the same group of pervy pensioners and the same group of young men, but looking decidedly different, and a great deal of d words, distressed, dishevelled, done in, degraded, disenfranchised, drubbed, and defiled. The look on their face was something that I have only ever seen shortly after the green house scene in Scum.
The lads ate their breakfast fast, probably to replenish the vital juices sprayed and sucked out by the biddy bastards, and probably, also to get the taste of cigarette smoke and old hag minge out of their mouths. Again, they could not make eye contact with me for more than a fraction of a second, the international bond that exists between all men world wide had been broken here, nobody should feel forced to fuck Miss Marple, not even for money. Poor fuckers, where was amnesty international on this breach of human rights?
On further research we found out that Male prostitution is quite a fair trade in Kenya and these young men can make a quick buck driving Miss Daisy (literally).
We were going out on a day trip into Mombassa centre, I was really looking forward to this, I get a buzz out of just doing really mundane city things in any city that I am in, to be transported into the mundane day to day life of the folks whose country I am visiting. We were going to get a chance to go around the town, but also visit an old fort, touristy bollocks.
We waited outside the hotel and I was charmed, and drawn in by two hanging oriental style hanging lanterns, I walked towards them, to admire them, as I got close I realised just the magnitude and breadth of my absolute committal to being a naïve fucking idiot, when it turned out these “lamps” were in fact two huge and venomous spiders with the biggest indication on their backs that they would send me into a drooling tetraplegic mess, the red marks on their backs said the same thing in every language know to any inhabitant of earth. “I will fuck you up” – Despite this I still managed to taunt them both with a stick and force them to bear their Ken Dodd teeth and charge their laser weapons and go to def con 1, I brought a platinum membership to the cunt club and I was going to get my moneys worth. (I’d earlier, on the safari, come close to jumping out of the Toyota to punch a sleeping Lion on the ball sack, to briefly claim the title of king of the beasts, I was quite angry that this lazy creature had been handed the crown and had not proved itself against all beasts. A hippo would fuck a lion up, no argument or debate, thankfully and due to bad planning, I didn’t go ahead with this mission, I do plan to return to Africa to claim my title, while David Haye and the like contest the heavyweight boxing title, I’ve always aimed higher, Lion first, Polar bear after, fucking complacent cunts).
We returned to our hotel room to find an invite under our door to a celebration of Kenya evening, we decided we would go, it was that or table tennis. It turned out that these invites were handed out randomly to hotel guests across the area, like Willy Wonka golden tickets, but shitter. We dressed up and got on the mini bus with the other couple of couples from our hotel that had got a ticket and set off to fuck knows where for fuck knows what..
It wasn’t long before the Northerner couldn’t hang on to his racist stereotype of Africa, and started bleating that we would get out to the middle of nowhere and be killed and cooked in a huge pot by men with bones sticking out of their noses and started quoting lines from ‘Zulu’. This thought had not crossed my mind. I did start to wonder about our safety when after about 45 minutes the van was driving with the lights off in the middle of nowhere.
Bumping away we could see the lights of a distant fire and the van pulled over and we all got out and walked towards some deep chanting. It suddenly went a bit “Indiana Jones” and I hoped that they would eat my ex first and be happy with that, unlikely as she was vegetarian and quite slight.
We went into a clearing and were greeted with an amazing sight, Massai Warriors lined up holding spears aloft. Shitting ourselves we walked under them, my amazement thankfully outweighed the fear and we found ourselves in an amazing outdoor area with stages, seating and local delicacies being cooked around us, dancing and traditional Kenyan song, it was quite amazing, and I felt honoured and indulged myself into the evening. I made my way round the food and my vegetarian ex was catered for. Sitting down and enjoying the various entertainment I was suddenly interrupted by the sound of my ex making a strange noise. She suddenly vomited Kenyan delicacies out of her nose and mouth at the same time. I grabbed my plate and spun out of the way like a culinary Neo, seething the words, “for fuck sake” and looking at her with disgust. It appeared it was at this point that her body decided to reject the mosquito medicine.
The next day was our last and we had decided on two things, we would walk down the beach and challenge the looky looky men and the drug dealers; we would also get spectacularly drunk in the evening.
We walked down the beach and within moments I was approached by a “dealer” – The trick here was to fool a western tourist to buy some weed, an awaiting policeman would make himself known and threaten you with arrest unless a HUGE bribe was paid. The prick came up and started his patter, I told him I didn’t want to buy his weed, he asked me why and I told him I was a copper in England, the guy literally shat himself and ran off, telling as many of the beach pricks that I was a cop. I felt really good about myself, until I suddenly realised that I was never more than 2ft from a razor sharp machete. I quickened my pace, ready to use my ginger ex as a staff to block any swipes from machete. We made it back to the hotel and down to the dining area to commence the mission to get mega drunk.
We decided to be as local as possible and begun drinking the local Papaya wine, which was nice, a bit like sour and out of date Rubicon. We moved onto beers and spirits and eventually had hit our target of being incalculably drunk. We tried to play table tennis and entertain ourselves with the simple hotel facilities but ultimately went back to the room to try and use my “simple entertainment facility”. We had been through our regimental crop spraying of the room before we went out thankfully.
We entered the room, and feeling the effects of copious amounts of booze I decided to do a “romantic” somersault onto the bed. I ran, and did this, my legs flailing in the air; I caught the mosquito net mechanism and tore this completely out of the ceiling. We tried to fix this but it was not possible, it had completely ripped out. My ex was having a go at me, but we just had to spray more chemicals under the door and around the windows. How bad it would have been to have got this far, and then got the Malaria. It would have been the most costly somersault since Christopher Reeve did one off that horse…
We had made it through Kenya without being bitten, stabbed, shot, eaten, trod on, raped or murdered, we were also unaffected by humans which was cool too! The final hurdle was the fucked up seat of your pants 9hr flight back, even the Wright brothers wouldn’t have boarded this cunt. We got on and I stared to routinely tranquilise myself with booze. No possibility of sleep on this flight. We eventually got back into British air space and I started to get ready to do my cocky thing on landing in which, when I can see a car or van, I assume I can survive the crash and get all confident and complacent, no realising that a plane crashing on any height is almost certain death, especially aboard this 70’s farce.
We started to circle the landing zone of Heathrow waiting for a slot to bring this retro piece of shit down, around and around we circled, the pilot giving us reassurance that there were problems at Heathrow and not to worry, we would not run out of fuel. This to me meant surely that we were low on fuel and I started to panic, I looked out of the window and could make out Richmond Park and Wimbledon Common, given this, I scaled things through and was looking basically right where I lived at the time. Circling endlessly, I lost my rag and grabbed a steward and pulled him down hard to my seating level and demanded, in a growling drunken Oliver Reed voice, “Land the fucking plane!”, my ex gave me daggers, I looked and her, stared and grabbed the seat handle so hard and pulled on it that the cover broke off to reveal wires and the gubbings from the headphone socket. My ex gasped in shocked and told me that I was bound to be charged for the damage. “Fuck it”, I hissed, “The plane is a fucking write off”.
We landed and I left the plane cursing. We got home and despite a lovely “eventful” holiday, the relationship was on the ropes, I’d recently lost my dad suddenly and was having a reassessment of my life, to have had run ins with all sorts of beast, and, in my mind, near death experiences, including two weeks after we returned a Kenyan air internal flight crashed killing all on board, I didn’t have the heart to check if it was our flight that broke down on take off. All in all, it made me realise the fragilities of life and decided to start afresh. (We got Prague in first before it ended though) bless her little heart.
My love and thirst for Africa was slaked for now, and in the words of Arnold Schwarzenegger, I declared to the continent. "considah this a divoooorce" – Not really, I meant of course, “I’ll be back”
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