When I joined Tusitiri she was lying at anchor off Shela village, a mile downstream from Lamu Town. I had flown to Lamu from Nairobi. Now,chrisitan louboutin heels, less than two hours later,office shoes, I was being
welcomed aboard with the traditional offering of kahawa chungu – black coffee spiced with ginger and cardamom, poured into small cups from a conical brass pot, and served with
halua, a sticky Swahili sweetmeat.
My christian louboutin shoes went into a wicker basket. I would not need them again unless I went ashore. For the rest of the voyage I would be living barefoot like the crew, who were already
hauling up the anchor. Minutes later we were under way, motoring past Lamu’s waterfront bars and hotels, making for the narrow channel between Manda and the mainland.
Green walls of mangroves tip-toed into the sea on spidery roots, and a procession of fishing dhows came drifting past like drowsy white moths. "Look," said Mark Eddy, our South
African skipper, as we passed a gap in the mangroves. "That’s where elephants still cross the water to reach Manda. Sometimes you can see their footprints on the beach."
Eddy is a professional yacht master, a blond, blue-eyed sea gipsy who has been living on boats since he was seven years old. Born in Durban, he left South Africa 15 years ago
and has been sailing Tusitiri for the past three years.
On we cruised, across a dazzling bay beneath whose seemingly innocent waters lurk hidden sandbanks. Not that Eddy appeared concerned. Unlike the old-time dhow captains who had
only the stars to steer by, Tusitiri can feel her way with radar, depth-finder and a state-of-the-art GPS navigation system. But these, and her 120hp Ford Sabre engine, are the
only concessions to the 21st century.
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