Stuck at home over the holiday? Don't worry, dream of Mombasa

By Catherine Odera

Mombasa, Kenya: There is something about the ocean, something about the vast unending shimmering water and the serenity of the waves crashing back and forth in high tide against the creek that speaks to my soul. It bellows life and brings calmness and gentleness to my mind.

And as we set off on our road trip, this ‘calmness and gentleness’ is some 489 kilometres away, on the white sandy shores of the Kenyan Coast. It’s early in the year, the sun is sky high by 8 a.m. and the annual ‘holiday migration’ to and from the coast is just ending. It’s also Adelle’s (my 2 year-old-daughter) maiden journey to the Coast.

We enjoy the changing scenery and take pictures at every opportunity in anticipation of the coast line. And with every passing hour, it’s hard to ignore the change of altitude as the heat sets in. It’s a sweaty affair for the children, who we ultimately have to undress to their vest and shorts as we pass Mariakani.

It has been close to five hours of driving, with toilet breaks and pit stops, but when we finally get a glimpse of the ocean, the heat, sun and everything in between is embraced with open sunscreen-protected arms.

I already feel like I belong; I am at one with the magnificence and majesty of the Indian Ocean as we cross the Nyali Bridge. Our first destination is the North Coast Bamburi area. Here we stop by a friend’s restaurant, conveniently located along the Malindi-Mombasa road, for some savory Swahili food.

It is a well-deserved stop, and we all depart with smiling bellies. We then head on to an aunt’s house in Mtwapa for the night.

Day breaks very early at the coast and with the heat, it is close to impossible to sleep in. Excited about the day’s events, we have a quick breakfast and immediately drive out to the Wild Waters in Nyali. It’s a children’s water paradise and by children, I mean anyone young at heart.

The next couple of hours are spent going up and down the slides with my brave four-year-old conquering even the wildest and most revered of them all, “the black mamba”. And after tireless treks and spins up and down the water slides, the hunger leads us to go in search of our most favourite restaurant in Mombasa, the Swahili Restaurant in Old Town.

Not only is it set in a most idyllic location, right on the edge of the seven steps (which lead down to the old port where slaves were loaded up for sale in the Americas), but have the most delicious biryani and coffee.

After lunch, we lazily saunter through the streets of old town, weaving our way past Swahili men seated at their doorsteps, resident children playing hide and seek, cats – some stray some not, young men offering to be our guide, more young men who look like drug addicts offering to be our guide and past the fish market and onto the parking lot right in front of the Fort Jesus.

It’s almost five o’clock and the sun’s rays are more bearable against the skin. The car windows are rolled down as we drive towards the Likoni ferry crossing and the caressing of the wind in my hair and on my skin feels like a gentle kiss on my cheek from my babies. It is to say the least, heavenly.