MOMBASA

The “old Mombasa” we speak of today is not really the original town. That glorious one in which people wore clothes of gold was relegated to song, stories and poetry. 

And memory, for those who’ll keep it.

Often, history is told by the people leading the conversation. The problem with the history of Mombasa, however, is that there have been so many people who have had something to say about how this island became a city. Perhaps it also does not help that Mombasa is a city as old as the ocean that cools it.

How Mombasa came to be is an enduring question. But one thing we know about places is that they are allowed to mean different things to different people. And it is in these meanings that we choose the threads from our past we want to pull. 

Much of what Mombasa is today was built during this period of Sultan of Zanzibar’s rule. And when we speak of Mombasa, we mean old town. Not the whole county. That part of Mombasa that has been preserved. With its narrow streets and doors steeled with copper and brass, and old men in vests sitting around drinking coffee, remembering the days of their youth. Them with long beards the colour of flames, and hearts softer than a baby’s intentions. You will see them seated by their thick brown doors, fortified with copper spikes, sipping bitter coffee between those buildings that smell ancient, like the ocean. 

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