I struggle to find good travel pants.  Newfoundland shops rarely carry anything appropriate for activities in hot weather.  This is why I was stoked to find a pair of light cotton pants (with pockets!) at Reitmans for just $4.50 a few days before departing for our trip.  Because Ethiopia is fairly conservative, I wore them almost everyday and sometimes slept in them when doing overnight trekking trips.  I actually slept in all of my pants at once in the Simiens since it was so insanely cold.  On our last day in the country, before heading to Kenya, I was devastated to discover a number of holes had appeared on the seat of my pants.  At least in Africa there are tailor shops everywhere.  In fact, sometimes you will come upon a person sitting in the middle of a random sidewalk with a Singer sewing machine.  During our first week in Kenya, I was constantly frustrated with myself for always forgetting to bring the pants with me when we ventured out.  Then we experienced what some might call divine intervention.

Steph, Jon and I had gotten up early in Mombasa for a long transport day up the Kenyan coast.  Our hostel had given us poor information regarding the bus to Lamu by recommending we go to the wrong bus station.  While there were no buses, we figured we could grab a matatu to Malindi, the halfway point, and catch a transfer bus to Lamu from there.  Unfortunately, when we arrived in Malindi, we were told there were no buses to Lamu for the rest of the day.  On a continent where people were always willing to get you where you wanted to go for the right price, we were shocked that there wasn’t an alternative way to get there.  

We’d already booked an Airbnb in Lamu and had now wasted our first night’s rent.  Without another option, we purchased bus tickets for the next day and found a cheap hotel around the corner from the bus company.  With nothing else to do, it was decided we would use the rest of the day to get my pants fixed and find a liquor store to help us numb the pain of our failed transport.  The first tailor shop we found was open, but there was no one there.  It was strange, but I guess the tailor was a trusting person.   We continued up another street and found a second tailor shop with two people inside.  We explained what I needed done with my pants, but it turned out that neither of them worked there.  They were friends of the tailor and called her to tell her to come down.  Maybe there was some sort of tailor convention happening in town that we were unaware of.  

While we waited, the couple introduced themselves as Michael and Beatrice.  Michael obviously wanted to help the tailor out and tried to convince Steph and me that we should invest in one of the tailor’s long colourful skirts on display at the back of the shop.  While they would be very useful during the many times on the trip we had to pee on the side of the road, often in front of all the other bus passengers (Steph and I were usually the only females wearing pants on these trips), we had both long since gotten over our modesty issues. 

The tailor showed up and agreed to patch my pants for $2.  While she worked, we continued chatting with Michael and Beatrice.  Michael told us that he was a pastor and he was certain that our encounter was an opportunity from the lord for him to help us in our travels.  We began to wonder how long it would take for the pants to be done.  He asked what else we might need help with.  In an attempt to subtly indicate that he may be barking up the wrong tree, we gave him an honest reply, what we really needed was a liquor store.  He laughed but seemed unfazed by our response and started giving us directions.  “You know what?” he said, halfway through the directions.  “It is too far to walk, you would need a tuk-tuk, but why don’t you let us drive you.”  This was our kind of pastor!  He was so nice and we felt rude saying no, so once my pants were fixed, the three of us squeezed into the back of their car.  

The car had religion written all over it, literally.  There were decals outlining particular psalms and a bible sat on the dashboard.  We got to the liquor store and they waited patiently as we searched for the best deals.  As we paid for a 40oz gin, they asked how we liked the beaches in Malindi.  We hadn’t had the chance to go, we admitted, and probably wouldn’t make it there before it got dark.  Once again, Michael saw this as a chance to spread kindness and told us that they would love to show us the beach.  It had been a long day and the ocean breeze would be welcome.  We all agreed, what else did we have to do?

The air was nice and cool at the beach and we learned more about Michael and Beatrice.  Michael was both a pastor and a teacher.  Beatrice explained that at home most people called her Mama Mary Kuku.  This was because her eldest daughter’s name was Mary and Beatrice was known in town for raising and selling chickens (kukus) to the local restaurants.  

We’d really come to like Michael and Beatrice.  We initially thought in the tailor shop that their end goal may be to to convert us, or maybe they would ask us for money, but by now we were certain that they were just really nice people who wanted to help us enjoy our stay in their hometown.

As we prepared to leave, they asked us if we happened to like ice cream?  We all emphatically said “yes”. We left the beach and were off to their favourite local ice cream parlour.  They certainly had good taste in ice cream.  The place was very nice and had lots of flavours.  As we worked our way through our scoops, we commented on how lucky we were to have met Michael and Beatrice.  They were having none of that.  We were not lucky, we were blessed.  He said this with such enthusiasm that we couldn’t help smiling.  Michael was grateful that we were willing to trust them enough to let them help us.  He was right.  As travellers in Africa, we were so accustomed to people starting friendly conversations that digress into requests for money, we’d often put a wall up immediately, but there was something about these two that made us willing to take the risk.  So far, we had no regrets.  

We got back into their car and assumed we’d be heading back to our hotel.  As we drove, the two of them spoke back and forth in their language in the front seat.  Finally, Michael said to us, “you don’t need to say yes, but we would love to take you back to our home and cook you a meal, Beatrice is an amazing cook.”  We didn’t need to discuss it with each other and all enthusiastically agreed.  We made a quick stop at the market to pick up fresh red snapper, coconut and fruit before driving to their home 2km outside of town.  

They gave us a tour of their lovely house and we got to meet all of their baby kukus (chicks).  We also met lots of children.  There were their own kids plus all the local kids from around the neighborhood.  They would flow in and out of their home, which never seemed to have its doors closed to anyone.  We gathered around as Beatrice taught us how to cook the fish, prepare coconut rice and make a special beet and watermelon shake.  This was a far cry from beans, greens and rice!  

Eventually a neighbour (or maybe he was a cousin) showed up.  He was very excited to practice his english.  He told us he worked at a fancy resort in Watamu, a half hour south along the coast, teaching middle aged Italian women how to swim in the pool.  We got to see lots of videos of his classes.  He asked if we would be heading to Watamu, but we told him we were trying to get to Lamu.  He laughed and said something like “Ah Lamu, no Al Shabaab”.   Beatrice soon called us all outside for dinner.  

It was, without a doubt, the best meal of our trip.  Michael was right, his wife could cook.  It was the perfect way to cap off what turned out to be a great day with some great new friends.  After finishing off a second serving, we raised a toast to my holy pants that had brought us all together.    
They drove us back to our hotel where we said goodbye and thanked them for a wonderful day.  We were all pretty tired, but as we settled in for the night Jon couldn’t help but ponder what the swim instructor had said when we mentioned Lamu.  He’d heard of Al Shabaab before but couldn’t remember exactly who or what it was.  A google search solved the mystery.  Al Shabaab is a Somali-based Islamist militant group with links to al-Qaeda.  What Jon discovered was that three weeks prior, on New Year’s Day, they had attacked one of the buses taking the same route to Lamu we were due to take in the morning.  The reason we had not been able to get a bus in Milindi was that all the buses now travelled together in a police escorted convoy at a particular time in the afternoon.  Considering that the primary targets of Al Shabaab were non-muslim men, Jon decided pretty quickly that Lamu was not worth the visit.  We had already paid for 4 nights at the Airbnb, so Steph decided she would go on her own and Jon and I would head south to Watamu, with a plan to meet up with her again in Mombasa later that week.