My 1st January began with a rare clear head. I felt pretty fresh and it turned out I made the right decision to cut my night off early as the guys said a mass brawl opened out at around 4 so I was twice as happy with my night.
I said my goodbyes as the lads were heading back to the police camp and i didn't have to leave until 6 so was staying put at the motel. I paid for another night so I could make the most of the room. 6 hours is a long time to wait around in the sun if I was going to check out at 12 so it was just easier to pay for an extra night and have another relaxing day.
I arrived at the coach station at 5pm and immediately was told I was going to have to pay extra for Nigel. Despite asking twice on two separate occasions prior if I would have to pay extra for luggage and being told no, I knew they would spring it on me at the last minute. There is nothing you can do in these situations apart from either paying their full amount, arguing a little and getting it cheaper or being completely stubborn and risk being not allowed on the coach altogether. I chose the middle option and got it down from 1000 shillings to 500.
I thought it was best to pay something to ensure they actually bothered to use rope to secure Nigel and not just left him on top of the coach for the wind to take. I found my seat that I picked especially for leg room in the aisle. In hindsight I should've taken more time and took into account all the factors. It was the typical coach you normally see on its side in a ditch. Very top heavy and not a lot of space for luggage inside. I sat in seat number 19 scanning the whole bus for exits, weak points, overweight passengers and poorly stowed luggage. If this bus flips I thought, I need to plan what I'm going to grab hold off and who or what is likely to fall on me. I was sat next to a supporting post so was happy the roof wasn't going to collapse on me but had a few big guys in my vicinity so feared the crushing.
As I scanned the passengers it became apparent that almost everyone was in a category of their own. It was like something from Armageddon and there was one of every religion, ethnicity, hair colour and age bracket. I was two seats from a nun with a pastor behind me, a kid and mother in front with a middle aged Kenyan and his and hers Muslims in front of them. Chinese man at the back with a tall slender brunette and I was just waiting for a Swedish supermodel to sit in the remaining empty seat next to me.
It didn't happen. I just got another middle aged Kenyan but had a good chat with the people around me the second we all sat down. It didn't take long for me to mention my trip and within two minutes of me telling them about it, they were on their phones and adding me on Facebook. Developing country indeed. The chat was delayed though as a local priest came on to bless the journey. In recent weeks a local tribe called the Potoks have held up cars and buses at gun point between towns and robbed them all of their belongings. This was the main reason why I was not riding this section as on a bike I wouldn't have much chance and at least the bus has some chance of getting through safely. For this reason I had no problems at all with the journey being blessed but in true African fashion the priest shouted his way for a good 20 minutes until the next village. As the banging and creaking of the bus got louder with every pothole hit, so did the priest but he got off eventually and we all narrowly avoided being left with a headache for the rest of the ride.
After half an hour I knew I was probably in for the craziest ride to date. So far I've had rides on Nigel, ferrys, motorbikes, tuk tuks, speed boats, mini vans, cars an aeroplane, police vehicles and pick up trucks but this ride was going to be the most memorable for sure. The road was diabolical and the best way to avoid the craters was leave two wheels on the "road" and put two along the rocky path. This meant that the bus was constantly at an angle that felt like 45 degrees. As the driver swayed from side to side constantly trying to find a smooth route, bags would fly out of the over head compartments hitting I expecting passengers. Grimacing with every bang there was no way i could sleep so my eyes stayed wide and fixed on the road. We took around 3 hours to get to our halfway stop where most of us got off to go to toilet and try and stop our bodies from shaking.
On getting back on the bus there were people from the town that tried to get on for free so the bus driver was trying very hard to hold everyone back and you were only allowed back on if you had your ticket receipt. One man was frustrated as he was not being let back on and I just walked past him without showing a receipt. "How come he gets back on?" He said. "Because he's the only mazumbu for miles" the driver said. Everyone laughed and for once, being the only mazumbu worked to my advantage.
I somehow managed to get some sleep and woke up at 3am as the bus stopped at the station in Kitale. The second we stopped we were bombarded with touts for other shuttle services that had no respect for the time or people sleeping. They just bundled in and climbed over you to get to people who were transferring buses, grabbed them by the arm and basically dragged them off the bus.
A few of us stayed on the bus to sleep as it was much safer to do that then wander around the streets. Every half an hour or so more touts would still board the bus or just stay and talk inside the bus as they were too cold outside. I was tired but happy. I was now safe and I was praying that Nigel was unscathed and safe as well.
It was a ride like you see from holidays from hell but yet another adventure that I'm pleased to have lived. A day of rest awaited but for now I would stay safe in the bus until sunrise.
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