A Tale Of Choice

by Alexa Stewart

  AT 6:30 IN the morning, after a long flight, the Boeing 767 swung out of the puffy white clouds into the early morning light, descending slowly over the crystal aqua-blue waters of the Indian Ocean. Shelly could see what she thought was Old Town on the island. Rusty metal roofs covered cream and pink plastered buildings, giving that part of the city a Mediterranean look. The island was surrounded by a large body of water filled with boats of all types.

  As the flight landed at the international airport, the sun rose above the horizon, a large brilliant orb shining through the orange haze. The Kenyan Airways jet came to a halt on the tarmac next to the airport terminal and a large staircase was brought out and pushed next to the modern aircraft. As the passengers unbuckled their seatbelts and grabbed their luggage from the overhead bins, Shelly’s heart started to pound. Glancing at Jim she saw the biggest grin on his face she’d ever seen, his eyes shining with excitement. They made sure they had everything. Then he pulled her into a big hug as he whispered in her ear, “We’re here. We’re really here!”

  Warm air and exotic smells filled the air and blew softly around them as they descended the steps to the tarmac below. After a quick customs entry process, they eagerly traversed the terminal building, their feet softly echoing on the tiled floor. Opening the double doors to the outside, they stepped through, entering through a portal to another world… into Africa, where the land of Kenya lay and the city of Mombasa stood silhouetted against the morning sky.

  Their African adventure had begun. They looked at each other for just a second in wonder and then turned to find the taxi stand. They could hardly wait to explore this exotic land further. A taxi driver rushed over to take their luggage and Jim asked to be taken to the “Mombasa Imperial Hotel”.

  The Fergusons sat back-to-back in the cab as they peered out their own windows, at the strange new world going by. As they passed from the open fields of the airport and traveled toward the Makupa Causeway, the mixture of poverty and decay they saw was startling. Old dirty buildings in pealing and faded colors were roofed with patched corrugated metal in various stages of rust. They passed by dirt floor lean-tos with thatched roofs and old tires lying neglected in the dust. Decrepit buildings with crumbling banisters, dilapidated stairs, broken windows and doors hanging off their hinges, were everywhere. Vibrant colored clothes hung on lines strung from windows, poles and doorways, adding to the colorful clutter of signs, junk and debris that littered the area.

  The faded, worn housing spread into the city of Mombasa like an illness no one bothered to cure. Yet, as the taxi traveled further, the old began to mix with the new. Old buildings with history stood among new ones with history to come. White buildings of all sizes and shapes rose from the dust. Sidewalks started to appear and the streets widened into large boulevards with grass and tree-lined medians. Exotic trees, bushes and flowers decorated the city delightfully. Skyscrapers could be seen in the distant heart of Mombasa, yet the old and worn wasn’t far away.

  People, sprinkled along the way at first, swelled into a flood of colorful humanity. They stood in clusters outside of doorways talking, or moving in various streams of movement to some unknown destination. Walking, biking, pushing carts or driving small compact cars in various stages of disrepair, they moved along the streets and sidewalks. It was like driving through a sea of humanity. Horns honked, brakes squealed, and yet everyone seemed to make it to their destination intact, at least Shelly hoped so.

  The taxi drove along Moi Avenue and Shelly gasped as she saw giant tusks rising into the sky, situated like giant crossed swords that traffic drove through; a monument to Princess Margaret’s visit in 1956, according to the driver. She was so ready to get to the hotel and explore this town. A few minutes later, there it was… sitting on the white shores of Mombasa Bay.

  The “Mombasa Imperial Hotel” was built in the late nineteenth century during the British occupation of Kenya and before the building of the railroad from Mombasa to Kisumu, on Lake Victoria in 1901. Mombasa had been the capital at that time, until its liberation from British rule in 1963. Then the capital moved to Nairobi.

  The hotel stood in the African sun like an old, ornate, alabaster box. A large portico with stately columns sheltered a wide curved driveway made of cobblestones. The portico was attached to an open breezeway that passed through gardens on its way to an expansive open-air entryway into the hotel.

  The taxi followed the graceful curve of the driveway, which circled a groomed lawn with palm trees, to stop under the massive portico. Shelly and Jim got out of the cab, gazing in wonder at the carved balustrades on the second story balcony and the ornate venting above the main lobby of the hotel. They paid and thanked their driver, picked up their suitcases, and walked on the stone floor under the breezeway, enjoying the fragrance softly rising from the gardens.

  The entrance to the lobby was wide open to the outside world, with no walls or doors. On either side of this expansive entrance, arched openings allowed the plants from the gardens to stretch their arms inside.

  As they entered, Shelly could see large stone columns rising from the stone floor to the second story ceiling, high aloft. Light filtered through the ornate vents allowing the warm air to rise and exit the building, leaving the large cavernous room cool and refreshing. Large potted palms, gently stirred by the sea breeze that blew through the lobby, stood next to each column that supported the giant roof. A matching entrance across the lobby revealed the white sandy beach and aqua-blue sea beyond. The reception counter was made of a dark, rich, highly polished wood, elegant and stately.

  Shelly tried to envision what this hotel might have been like at the turn of the century, when it was new. She imagined elegant ladies in long flowing gowns and gentlemen in tall fashion, arriving in stylish horse-drawn carriages with their maids and menservants.

  She sighed and stood next to her husband at the counter as he signed them into the hotel. She glanced outside and watched the crystal waves rolling onto the beautiful white beach. When Jim was done, they were directed to their room on the second floor. He had reserved the bridal suite as a surprise and her excitement at seeing such a special room started to mingle with the joy she felt for this gentle man she loved so much. How could this day get any better? she wondered with a happy sigh.

  The Fergusons followed their porter down the cool wide hall to an old wrought-iron caged elevator.

  Shelly looked at the aged relic in shock and dismay. Not liking the look of the old contraption, she reached for Jim’s arm and whispered, “Let’s take the stairs! It’ll be good for our legs!”

  Jim had a knowing smile on his face. He told the porter, “We’re going to take the stairs, if that’s okay with you? We’ll meet you at the top.”

  The porter nodded his consent as Jim took Shelly’s hand and they bound up the stairs that spiraled around the elevator shaft. They were standing at the top of the stairs giggling and talking to each other softly when the old machine creaked its way slowly, oh so very slowly, up to the second floor.

  Soon they were following their guide down the long, wide hall to its very end. As the door was unlocked to the bridal suite, Shelly was thrilled to see a high-vaulted ceiling over a large spacious room with marble floors. At the far end of the room stood louver plantation doors that opened to a private balcony overlooking the sea. Jim tipped the porter and thanked him for his help. Then the Fergusons were left alone to explore their room, the balcony and before long the new world they had come to see.

  As they opened the balcony doors and shuttered windows to their room, the soft shear curtains stirred in the ocean breeze. Jim turned on the palm ceiling fan which slowly started revolving overhead. This beautiful room was decorated with tropical wicker furniture, painted white and adorned with overstuffed pillows. The cushions were decorated with large palm and floral designs.

  Another set of plantation doors to the right of this room opened onto the bedroom. When they were opened, a large elaborate four-poster bed made of dark rich
wood, draped in white mosquito netting, was revealed. White crisp linens on the bed made the room appear clean and welcoming in this warm tropical setting off the African ocean. A clean, fresh-looking bathroom of white marble opened off to the right of this special room. A white wicker chair with a tall oval back welcomed Shelly’s purse as she rushed past it to open another set of plantation doors. These also opened onto the balcony overlooking the sea.

  Though there was a gentle breeze on the landing, it was muggy and the Fergusons weren’t used to the humidity of the tropics, yet. As they stood on the balcony, Jim’s arm around Shelly’s shoulders and Shelly’s arm wrapped around his waist, watching the wonderful waves spill onto the soft white sand below, a yearning started to grow.

  They exchanged a knowing look between them, then turned and ran into the bedroom, changed into their bathing suits, grabbed the hotel towels and, not forgetting to take the key to their lovely room, ran down the stairs, briefly slowing to a sedate walk through the lobby and out onto the back veranda of the hotel, only to run the rest of the way to the beach beyond, tossing their towels and key on the sand, as they flew into the wonderful, cool, inviting water rolling onto the shore.

  They returned hours later, too long in the water and without sunscreen, but with laughter lines on their faces that couldn’t be erased. Gently placing lotion on each other, they gingerly dressed for an expedition into town to find lunch and to explore their new surroundings.

  After lunch and a long walk around the local shops and factories, they returned to their room, hot and worn out. Shelly and Jim took turns taking a cold shower, though cold may not have been the right word for the water temperature coming from the showerhead. Maybe it was the combination of the water being stored in the tropics and the hot skin and sore muscles that caused the water to feel so tepid, but nevertheless, it was soothing.

  Soon the bed was calling their names and they laid down for a short nap, only to sleep soundly and deeply, late into the evening.

  Once they woke, they found the stars shining by the millions in the black sky and the moon rising over the water, large and crystal bright. The river of light from the silver orb rippled over the dark expanse of ocean, the sound of the living water with its enteral rhythm resounding on the shore below.

  Jim called the hotel operator and discovered that the hotel dining room was open quite late. In fact, it seemed that in the tropics, everyone dined late into the night. The Fergusons dressed in their one set of evening clothes, walked stiffly down the stairs, and down through the cool hall to the lobby.

  Across the open expanse stood a small line of guests queued up at the doors of the dining room. The words “Kilimanjaro Room” was mounted elegantly above the open doors. Jim and Shelly joined the end of the line and stood next to each other in quiet and contented silence, holding hands and enjoying each other’s company. Soon they were led into the dining room by a tall, elegantly dressed maître d’. Shelly thought that he looked like the photos she’d seen of the Maasai -- tall, regal and proud.

  The dining room was vast and filled with hundreds of small tables, each possessing four chairs, a white table cloth, a small lit lamp and tropical flowers. All of the tables were set with white-boned china trimmed in gold, silver cutlery and crystal glassware. Though the room was immense, it wasn’t overly crowded. Massive dark wood columns rose to the high ceiling. Potted palms strategically placed around the columns divided the little tables into cozy small clusters. Jim and Shelly were placed at a table near one of the immense columns. The planted palms provided a nice private corner for them to enjoy. After a quiet and elegant dinner, the couple walked back out to the lobby and onto the veranda at the back of the hotel. They sat in tall wicker chairs with soft cushions, watching the people stroll by and listening to the waves rolling ceaselessly onto the shore.

  Dark, black shapes of boats, ships and barges of various sizes and shapes, lit by sparkling lights of assorted colors and types, cruised by in the dark to unknown destinations. Soft lights sprinkled the shoreline across the water like glitter, set in small clusters that reflected off the dark water.

  Jim talked softly to his wife. He told her how much this trip meant to him and how much he loved her.

  Shelly returned his affection and basked in the knowledge that she was the most fortunate women in the world to have him in her life.

  Late that night, indeed into the early morning hours, they talked. Finally, they retired to their room, satisfied and happy in the memories they had made together on this, their first day in Mombasa.

 

  Making A Friend