Standing on the ramparts of what’s left of Fort Jesus, it seems that Mombasa is a city confused.
Kenya’s second largest metropolis is home to close on a million people, but the winding streets of the Old Town that lie below me could be from some far-flung village. Minarets, Hindu temples and Christian churches crowd the skyline, crossing swords with modern high-rises.
It’s an island, yet it clings to the mainland with packed ferries and bustling bridges. On the outskirts of town stout men wheel Herculean carts of fresh produce to market as if in some medieval township, while dapper businessmen speed by in gleaming German sedans.
With the largest port in East Africa the harbour dominates life and commerce in Mombasa. The Likoni ferry waits – forever, it seems – for ships to pass, and all roads eventually lead to the water. And as with every harbour town there’s a bustle on the waterfront where hawkers and touts cajole for a sale beneath the ivory towers of the prosperous city centre. It’s a wildly contradictory place where the line between the haves and have-nots is drawn in the roads of mud or tar.
Yet most holidaymakers simply rush through all of this en route to the beach resorts flanking Mombasa to the north and south; sun-lovers seeking loungers, scuba diving and coral-fringed waters.
While it’s tempting to spend your holiday in a haze of the local dawa cocktail – vodka, lime and honey crushed over ice; delicious – you need to spend a day or two beyond the resorts to scratch beneath the surface of the real Mombasa.
And the thick stone walls of Fort Jesus are the best place in town to discover why this city is perhaps better known by its Swahili name; Kisiwa Cha Mvita. The ‘Island of War’.
Kenyan history textbooks trace the origin of the city to 900AD, but it was only when Vasco da Gama arrived in 1598 – bearing trade agreements and Catholicism – that things got interesting. For the next 300 years the Portuguese, Omani Arabs and – eventually – British took turns fighting each other for control of a trading port rich in ivory, gold and slaves.
It was the Portuguese who built Fort Jesus, but after being attacked, sacked and reclaimed many times over the centuries it now lies peacefully at the mouth of Mombasa’s Tudor Creek.
Cannons designed in 1759 still guard the parapets of San Mateus Bastion, while the Arabic inscription over the main entrance – “Verily we have given to you a clear victory” – records the Sultan of Oman’s 1698 rout of the Portuguese after a two-year siege. The island of war, indeed.
It’s early in the day and I’m in no mood to hang around for the tacky ‘sound and light show’ that illuminates the Fort three times a week, so we take our photos and head off into the Old Town.
In the shadow of Fort Jesus, the byzantine alleyways of the Old Town are the heart and soul of Mombasa. The Islamic influence is heavy in this part of the city, and the muezzin’s call echoes across the red tiled rooftops.
Winding lanes snake between gently fading Arabesque buildings; some still bedecked with fretwork balconies to protect the modesty of the ladies within. Although many of these ornate balconies have been ripped off in the name of modernisation, the remaining few are protected by a preservation order and the Mombasa Old Town Conservation Society is encouraging the renovation of dilapidated buildings.
As we walk, the scent of cardamom and cloves floats out of spice shops and follows in our footsteps. Carpenters carve out furniture in gloomy workshops and down at the old docks fresh fish from along the coast is unloaded from lateen dhows.
Helpful maps with recommended walking routes are posted at regular intervals in the Old Town, but remember this area is notorious for touts and pickpockets. Chances are you’ll be hassled as you walk, so either hire an accredited guide to lead the way or get ready to bat away ‘helpers’ looking for a quick shilling.
You get used to holding your own in Mombasa though. This is a country built on bargaining, and from the grimy tables of the MacKinnon fresh produce market to the beach vendors flogging colourful khangas you should never – ever – pay the asking price.
The same applies on bustling Biashara Street; the best place in town to stock up on these colourful lengths of traditional Kenyan cloth. Dozens of fabric shops line both sides of Biashara, so where you choose to buy comes down to pitting your bargaining skills against the Indian shop owners.
Souvenirs packed and shillings parted with, we wander back into the heart of modern Mombasa. I’d hoped to visit the Akamba Woodcarving Co-operative on the road to the airport – where craftsmen from the Akamba tribe hand-carve everything from stylish bowls to the ubiquitous wooden giraffes – but the heat is taking its toll and it’s time for a late lunch at the Tamarind.
After a sweaty walk down Moi Avenue, we find our taxi driver already waiting for us beneath Mombasa’s most obvious landmark.
An ‘M’ for Mombasa or a monument to royalty? Whichever you prefer, the double tusks towering over the city’s main thoroughfare have become one of Mombasa’s most recognisable sights. Erected in 1952 to commemorate the visit of Queen Elizabeth the once-gleaming tusks are showing their age. Faded and – like so much of Mombasa – crying out for a lick of paint, they’re a piece of history tarnished by the passage of time in the tropics.
From slave-trading Arabs to travelling monarchs there’s a rich history to be explored in this city, and friendly locals eager to share it. But the dusty streets of Kisiwa Cha Mvita are a far cry from the sanitised beachfront resorts: you’ll need to chat to the locals, work up a sweat and get your shoes a bit dirty. But put in a little effort, leave the lounger behind, and you’ll soon savour a taste of this colourful, confused island of war.
First published in Horizons magazine; July 2011
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