laid-back - Kijani Hotel

laid-back
LAMU
A fascinilting
of Swahili
-and Islamic
.'
cultures
pervades this
Kenyan island
m.ix
Bobbing on the waves against the
harbour wall, the observant might
spot two dhows named Saddam
Hussein and Mandela. However,
Saddam Hussein's owner has recently been losing business and is apparently considering changing his meal
ticket's appellation.
Finding lodgings on landing isn't
difficult. Disentangling from the
droves of detenuined hustlers promising the best room is far more
problematic. In all likelihood, you'll
be dragged from the dock with a
string of Arabic curses ringing in
your ears by whichever of the 'roompimps' has proven most tenacious.
Intrepid travellers in search of the
miraculous may be well rewarded
with a basic, clean room costing as
little as R8.
After much shouting on the quay,
we were led through a baffling maze
of backstreets via gentrified 'hippy'
hang-outs - the Full Moon Guest
House, the New Mahrus Hotel and
Dhow Lodge - to Furaha House, an
old, traditional Swahili mansion belonging to a Mombasa architect, who
visits occasionally. For the rest of the
time, his caretaker rents the place out
for about R60 a night to whoever the
tide brings in.
In Lamu town itself, there's only
one reasonable hotel, Petleys, which
is also the purveyor of the town's
fmest fresh fruit juices, a Lamu
speciality. It's also the location of the
only bar.
Wherever you stay, the ancient
sewage system, the exposed drains
and dishwater running down the
streets, means that unless the lodging
is on the waterfront or in the higher
part of town, things can get a little
rough. Water is a critical problem
and, despite assurances to the contrary, in most of the cheaper lodging
houses it's only available at certain
times - usually when someone has
been sent to draw it from a well.
Though Lamu was established on
its present site by the 14th century,
archaeological evidence indicates that
it was inhabited much earlier and that
urban settlements have existed in the
area for the past I 000 years. Almost
124
all the existing buildings are late
18th-century. Even the original town
plan with its complicated maze of
kasbah-like streets is virtually still
intact.
After two nights at Furaha, we
figured that living further out at Shela
Beach was a far better bet. In any
case, a 40-minute walk or a 20minute trip, costing R I, on one of the
many dhows that regularly plough the
waves to Shela, is part of the daily
ritual for anyone staying in Lamu
because there is no beach in the town.
Straddling the hip of the vast
expanse of white sand that constitutes
Shela Beach is Lamu's only upmarket hotel, Peponi, which is the
Swahili word for 'heaven' or
'paradise'. Peponi is the place where
everything happens! After Peponi
there is nothing - only 12 perfect,
sandy kilometres and a series of
shifting dunes disappearing into the
far distance. We cheeked out its
whitewashed charms and checked in.
Peponi's original owner, Aage
Korschen, a Dane who farmed on the
Kenyan mainland, came to Lamu
during the Mau Mau rebellion to say
his last goodbyes before departing for
safer shor~s. Though many people
fall in love in Lamu, Korschen fell in
love with Lamu and never left.
Instead, he started a small, eight-bed
hotel which has been run by his wife,
Wera, and two sons, Lars and Nils,
since his death.
Today, the rambling cluster of lowkey bungalows is a three-star plus
hotel with an international following
- including the likes of Sade, the
Rockefellers, Ted Kennedy, King
Carl Gustaf, and Rolling Stones's
drummer Charlie Watts, reportedly
seen lounging around the balcony on
his fourth visit.
Everyone stops at Peponi en route
to and from the beach to imbibe a
drink and the hotel's quasi-colonial
atmosphere. Peponi' s verandah is the
pukka pick-up joint! It also provides
an excellent venue for watching the
passing show - windsurfers falling
off their boards, dhows pulling in and
out, their dreadiocked drivers touting
for business. And there's always a
fascinating display of human flesh in
all its diverse fonus;
Generally, a fairly constant cast of
characters play out their lives on the
COSMOPOLITAN,
AUGUST 1991