Mombasa. I dreamt of Mombasa again last night.
Mombasa, just saying the name makes me remember the salty smell of the ocean. Mombasa watching the blue green Indian Ocean that stretches as far as the eye can see all the way to India. Mombasa meant swimming in the Indian Ocean at high tide, holding hands and jumping the big waves, being part of the blue green ocean; feeling the cool, salty water flow all over us as we jump the waves yet again. Mombasa.
We went to Mombasa every April for a two week holiday. The trip I remember best is the one we took in 1972, when I was ten. Dad loaded the station wagon with Mum, Ma, Julie and us three kids. The cook would come by bus. The back was crammed with suitcases, food, toys etc. We stopped at the Sikh Gurudwaar at Mtito Endei for some tea and maybe a chapatti or two with mung dahl, we paid our respects at the temple and then we were packed back into the car.
Later we stopped by the side of the road to see the monkeys. Hindu families believed that monkeys were a representation of the God Hanuman, so they stopped to feed them bananas and fruit. We got out of the car to see them, but you had to be careful as the monkeys could be aggressive and snatch food from you. Ma carefully fed them some fruit.
We drove through Tsavo National Park. The landscape was an endless green savannah dotted with thorn trees. We saw giraffes eating the leaves of the acacias. There would be a herd or two of zebras; elephants would roam in the distance. We kept our eyes peeled hoping to see a lion.
The next stop would be a big gas station, a couple of hours away. e sat at the picnic tables and ate our home-made roast chicken sandwiches and drank milky coffee from a thermos. Dad would fill up the tank and have the oil and water checked. Tazmin and I were sleeping on Julie’s lap having run out of songs to sing.
Read more at the source: https://www.shelinashariffzia.com/blog/2019/07/25/mombasa/