The one example of a man wearing pale pink trousers I was able to capture on film. This guy sold ground nuts and other goodies at the Kisumu bus station to people waiting for their buses to leave. Men round these parts seem to think it is their color.Toward the end of our stay, my two med student friends and myself headed out for an overnight in Kakamega.
The city of Kakamega is a less than two hour bus ride away from Kisumu and is in close proximity to the Kakamega Rainforest.
The bus fare was only 100 shillings (about $1.50) and judging by Chris and Katie's Lonely Planet guides, there were quite a few guest houses (meaning hotels) within the city for good prices. Each of us had been wanting to explore a bit beyond our little area but were short on money since we were all close to going home, so this seemed like an excellent option.
We boarded a real live bus (rather than one of the cracked-out minivans) and suffered through a slow uphill chug to Kakamega with 30 people overloaded in and forced to stand in the aisle. Whenever we passed a police checkpoint, they would all crouch down to their knees, falling all over each other, so the police wouldn't notice how far over capacity we were and force people off. They had already paid their fare so the heck with dignity - they weren't getting tossed for anyone.
Someone tell Greyhound about the Kenyan rip off of their good name. The Kisumu bus station was a place I visited every Sunday to find a matatu back to Maseno after feeding the street boys. It was much less like my personal version of hell on earth than the Dar bus station.When we got to Kakamega, we literally pulled out the map of the city in the Lonely Planet guide(those things really are worth the money) and started walking toward the guest houses. We got a little lost when going for the first one but did find the second one at the edge of town and decided to call the Vike (vee-kay) our home for the night.
The Vike was a mighty nice operation for this part of the country. It had (gasp!) multiple floors and showers in the rooms that didn't involve buckets. We had come fully prepared for the three of us to share a room in order to save money, but when we found out it was only 400 shillings per room (about five dollars) we got two. Both rooms connected to the balcony where we could take in this breath-taking view of Kakamega. It's fascinating to me that one of Kenya's largest regional cities with relative prosperity could have such a bombed-out Sarajevo look to it (minus the bombs). Despite the view, we were in the lap of luxury with our amazing find of a guest house.
We spent the evening in the restaurant downstairs eating large amounts of food while sitting on a leather couch and watching tv. It was the night of the World Cup finals, so we were particulary thrilled to have found a place where we'd be able to watch it.
After Chris and Katie ate huge chicken dinners and I relished in my toast and porridge, we parked ourselves on that couch for another three hours so as not to lose our spot for the game. The problem was that the couch was almost directly under the tv, so watching it was like staring straight up at the ceiling. Yet we persevered, and had someplace comfy to sit to take in the game when the time finally came.
The place was packed by the opening face off (Wait, do you call it that in soccer? I have to use every hockey term and concept in the book to be able to understand this sport!) and the mood was actually very tense. Since the three of us had been almost giddy after a decent meal and our version of a night out on the town, we shut up real quick because we didn't want to get jumped for cheering for the wrong team. Chris had been all gung-ho for Italy, but whispered his cheers and looked over his should after doing so to make sure he hadn't set off any locals.
It turned out to be a fun game, unfortunately including the head-butt heard round the world. Since watching the World Cup had been a big part of my African experience, this was the perfect way to take in the final in style.
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