I like the secrecy of lakes and oceans. The first time I flew over the Atlantic—for hours—I stared down and wondered: why do we even exist when we'll all perish as a lifeform and leave only the animals in the seas?
I love water bodies. I'm fascinated by water vessels: boats, ships, yachts, barges. I like how sails catch wind. I like the courage of seafaring men—to face something bigger than existence itself. For the longest time, I've wanted to do the Tamarind dhow ride in Mombasa: to see the island at night from the largest dhow on the coast, offering dinner cruises.
Last December, while vacationing in Mombasa, we managed to get a booking. [Book early.] I was excited. The children wondered what the fuss was about. "You'll see," I said.
Warm night. The ocean, now dark and glassy. White tablecloths catching the breeze. Guests sat in groups or couples, murmuring in anticipation. A band played, led by a blind pianist—a very good pianist with great fingers and even a better ear. We were welcomed with the group's signature dawa and set off, meandering slowly through the channel as music floated with us and meals were served on gleaming plates.
The dhow is my age-mate, built in 1977. I wondered if I was still as sturdy, if I still held its charm and resilience. It moved so stealthily through the water that at some point my son, absorbed in watching a Liverpool match on his phone, looked up and asked: "Are we moving?"
We pointed at lit old buildings along the shore. What's that? And that? Mombasa looked magical from the water—utterly astonishing. Our waiter was a gentleman of great flourish called Lewis: charming, theatrical, truly masterful at his job. He kept calling everyone "darling.” My daughter and Lady adored him. My son was fascinated.
We dropped anchor somewhere in the dark water for our main course. An hour, perhaps longer. The band hit full throttle now. The synchrony of the staff was a well-tuned tango, a choreography of service.
It was someone's birthday: a lady turning 80. We all sang for her. She shared her birthday cake. I thought: what an honour to turn 80 on a dhow, in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by strangers who become, for one song, a chorus of family.
