COAST.... photos below

GOING COASTAL... – 4:50am the alarm tune starts playing away, my eyes creep open to see the darkness still blacking out the curtains and window frames, turning on the bed side light my eyes scrunch up as though someone is trying to gouge them with their fingers and I need to protect them. It’s time to get up, check the boys are awake, quick shower and then hit the road. I open the bedroom door to walk to the bathroom, via the spare room, knocking gently asking out loud ‘are you awake?’. I open the door to see the light is already on and two smartly dressed boys sitting on their made beds, suitcases nearby ready to leave. A little surprised I congratulate them on their readiness and still eye scrunching I head for a shower to wake me up. James who is helping me on this expedition woke at 4:30am and decided to get the other boys ready. Charles the gardener is busy in the kitchen making hot chai for the boys. I throw on my clothes, gather my bags and head for the kitchen and car to start packing. Outside is an eerie silence not normally associated with the Nairobi city life, it is still early enough that most are in bed, except for the few cars wishing to avoid rush hour traffic and heading to work early. Everyone climbs in, the car is packed, the boys are excited, after a quick prayer for a safe journey we exit the gate, waving goodbye to the house staff and start meandering through the empty city streets. It is not long before we are out on the Mombasa highway and heading south. We are on the Athi Plains just as the sun starts to rise, this is record timing, the journey has now fully begun... 600kms to Watamu on the coast of Kenya. THE REASON WHY? – So what was this trip all about? Well Peter who is now 13 years old has been battling with cancer for almost 18 months now. He has a neuroblastoma on his forehead. Chemo was attempted for 12 months at one of Kenya’s top hospitals, but as the course came to an end, the aggressive tumour came straight back. This left us with the agonising decision of what to do next. In the end, following doctors advice and looking at predicted outcomes it was decided Peter had had enough treatment and discomfort of chemo. It was now time to leave him in God’s hands, barring a miracle Peter will not make it, probably before the end of the year, but timing no one really knows. It was now time to move from investing in Peter’s treatment to investing in Peter’s life and the time he has left. After a quick rallying cry to many supporters money was raised to take Peter on a trip of a lifetime, a week on the Kenyan coast, something that most Kenyans never get to experience in their lifetimes, but what would be considered a middle class holiday for the average westerner. So the road trip party was going to include: Peter, one of his best friends Erico and James who has finished high school and awaiting university who cares for Peter and looks after him, plus myself obviously, the chauffeur, holiday planner, first aider and parental figure. This trip was all about spoiling Peter. WATAM’’S – The resort which gave us a special discount for our trip and were so amazing helping us in making this trip possible was Turtle Bay Beach Club, which is in Watamu, soon to be nicknamed ‘Watam’s’ by the boys. Watam’s is nearly 2 hours drive north of Mombasa on the coastal road. With numerous beach resorts along the coast line Watamu is one of the slightly quieter ones but one of the most glorious beaches. Turtle Bay Beach Club although providing your standard resort type stuff with all inclusiveness somehow manages to retain a family run feel. This place was chosen because it is great for families and being all inclusive meant it would be easy for the boys. So for 6 days the boys where on the coast and it was an interesting time... EYES WIDE OPEN – Walking down the steps towards the lobby, luggage in tow were 3 boys with eyes wide open, gasps of breath, followed by little giggles. The lobby was huge, cold towels brought out to freshen the faces and along with cold juice, it was time to feel like Kings. After dumping the bags in the rooms, with the now constant giggling and shocks of awe we headed down to the vast pool and there at the edge was the white sands of Turtle Bay and the big blue wide expanse of the ocean. Shock and awe was finally defined by the 3 boys. I headed with Peter down to the sea, the other 2 standing slightly back, afraid of the vastness and size of the ocean, seeing waves crashing into the sands for the first time and being intimidated by its power. Peter though, unafraid and craving adventure walked with me down to the edge, barefooted and ready to plant his feet in the ocean for the first time. Although Peter grew up next to lake Victoria, a rather sizable lake connecting the countries of Eastern Africa, the ocean was a whole new ball game, this was big, I mean really big. He slowly placed his feet in the zone where the waves would gently lap up onto the white sands, the luke warm feeling of water rushing in between his toes and over his small feet, this was the Indian ocean, Peter’s first ever ocean. James and Erico stood back and watched in amazement. For firsts, they don’t come much better than this. All I could think of, after all the rubbish that I’ve faced in recent months, was ‘how amazing is this’, it felt like a huge honour and privilege to be there, to witness such joy and wide eyeness. How many oceans have I seen, how many seas have I swam in, from a young age, to me this is just another ocean full of fun and excitement, to the 3 boys this was the edge of the earth, the furthest perhaps to travel in 1 lifetime, miles and miles away from the Nairobi frenzy. It was just time to stand in awe and wonder, who could make something so magical, so powerful and so utterly beautiful as the ocean. BEACH LIFE – There were only a few beach beds by the pool but many on the beach itself right at the hotel, next to thatched rooves and shades. The first morning we selected our patch (which would end up being ours for the week), my plan to be in sight of the pool and the ocean to keep close eye on the boys, with a metal table allowing me to padlock my bag to it and keep the valuables safe. Some beach life educating needed to be undertaken, but was soon abandoned. The boys could not understand... why would you sit all day on a beach bed sleeping when there was a giant pool with crystal clear water and a scary ocean just begging to be explored. So we hit the pool, knowing that I had about 2 and half swimmers in tow. James took to the pool water with ease, Peter strode in with confidence and demonstrated his swimming abilities, basically front crawl, head in the water, powering as hard as he could until he needed to breath again which would required stopping, standing up, wiping his eyes and taking in huge gulps of oxygen, this obviously limited the distance he could swim at any one time. Erico, pretending to be able to swim seemed to wade through the water never really daring to lift his feet off the floor. The swimming pool was huge which about two thirds set a low depth and then a slightly separate deeper end. It soon registered that swimming lessons for Erico would be required. Having been 15 years since getting into the baby pool at Rydings School in Zimbabwe and teaching Gabriel to swim for the house competition I was a little concerned I had forgotten how to teach swimming (although even 15 years ago it had all been made up at the time as well, although Gabriel did eventually swim an entire length of the senior pool with a paddle board, what I genuinely feel as one of my greatest achievements and proudest moments). After about 20 minutes of lessons Erico was free to do his thing and well for the next 5 days he practically lived in the pool, when he was not in the pool he was at a table for lunch, or in the bathroom, or heading down to the ocean and canoeing, or cycling, but at all other times he was in the pool, the least of us at swimming but with the biggest heart for dwelling in the water all day, he was quickly named ‘Erico the fish’. By the end of the trip Erico could swim breast stroke, swim under water and had all the confidence of a child having enjoyed a lifetimes worth of summer holidays. DRESS CODE – So the restaurant was next to the pool and reasonably informal. One thing that concerned me before travelling was the extent to which Peter’s tumour was growing, and his desire to constantly cover it with a hat. We discussed as we headed to the pool that he could keep his hat on if he wanted, but the temptation of splashing around without the care of looking after a hat meant in the pool he was happy without it, there were too many other distractions to bother thinking of what other might see, or think. Outside of the pool though is a different story, with adults starring and looking at us like we were some motley crew, 3 kenyan kids an a white guy, I guess we did kind of stand out. For the first dinner we headed to the restaurant. I knew there was a dress code, I knew hats were not allowed, but while trying to identify some sort of manager the boys where already at the buffet getting food. I gave up looking and just decided to get on with it. Some of the chefs at the buffet had questioned him over the hat, and feeling very protective I wanted to bounce over and tell them to back off in the politest way possible. But when eventually the dress code manager person came over to mention he should remove the hat, slightly embarrassed I stood up and took him to one side, in some attempt to be out of earshot of Peter, to explain to the waiter the situation. No problem, no problem, now it has been explained was the message from the waiter. Still for a few meals from the waiters or chefs not aware of the situation they would say things to Peter and I realised he was being rude in response... not surprising really, in the end I told him if anyone has issues just tell them to speak to me, in my best big brother attitude. After a couple of days though, everyone was used to us, the waiters, chefs and manager guy were all really nice and we were fine. Well how could you not be fine with soooooo much food available. The boys feasted. At times perhaps it was a challenge to find the right food for them at the buffet, particularly as it was tailored mainly to western tastes, but the boys soon found their groove. The most interesting choice they made was breakfast which generally consisted of an omelette with bacon or sausages on bread... bread covered in strawberry jam... each morning it left me delivering a giggle of my own, although that was lost on the boys. ALL BOYS NEED ADVENTURE – bicycles were free to take out, and this was Peter’s biggest wish, to get on a bicycle and go somewhere. We went to try them out, finding bikes the perfect size for the boys... and for me... well it felt like I was on some bmx for an 8 year old. I decided I would manage, having ridden bikes for years in Edinburgh. Helmets were adorned onto the boys heads, somehow managing to get over Peter’s tumour. Obviously being the experienced cyclist and bad rolemodel that believes in ‘do as i say and not as I do’ I decided to fashion a nice baseball cap instead of a helmet, so that I could keep the sun off my forehead and hoping that the protective layer of thin cotten fabric would protect me from any unfortunate tarmac to forehead greetings. Off we went, heading to the centre of Watam’s along a very straight and slightly potholed road. Pain, then some more pain, shortness of breath, sweat pouring down my back, my neck, my forehead, pain, more pain, knees starting to snap under the pressure, yes this bike was indeed far too small for me. Worried I was going too slow I managed to keep in front and lead the way. Watam’s consisted of a bank, a salon, a petrol station, a few little shops and about 3 roads, oh and an Ice Cream parlour. After the first leg of our Tour de Watam’s there was a significant requirement to eat ice cream, so sat around the plastic patio furniture we ate our Italian Ice Creams, satisfied that they were truely earnt, even though we had just gorged on a huge lunch just an hour earlier. 3 very happy cyclists and 1 older guy with a knee broken, head spinning who was pretending to be able to ride a bicycle with some kind of skill. We headed back to the hotel, with Peter who had a HUGE big grin on his face, this had made his day. That was it, I realised we just needed one big thing each day, one thing that he would love and enjoy, beyond the already awesomness of being in the swimming and by the sea, something big that a story could be told from. Canoeing was the order of the day next. As the ocean would leave the Turtle Bay shores to venture on to some foreign beach perhaps in India or somewhere far away, we were left with a big open space to explore fish, crabs and anything we could find. A sand bank would appear in the ocean, and a smooth glass like surface on the water of the lagoon as the waves had moved away to focus their attention on the breaker further out and coral wall with the tide over on that distant shore. Canoes were free for the hotel guests and so we set off paddling. Slightly concerned about the swimming abilities of some of the crew, life jackets were forced upon the 3 boys, again by the overly confident, bad role model adult who clearly didn’t need one. Heading out in 2 canoes we left the shore line for our first adventure into the deep ocean (well slightly deep lagoon, well maybe 5 foot deep lagoon). We reached the sand bank, parked up the canoes safely on the sand, and wondered around the coral to see what we could see. After many small fish, a big green fish, bright red star fish and an octopus we decided to head back. This was to be the first of many adventures in the canoes. PIZZA – If there is one thing that makes a boy smile, its the word ‘Pizza’. Apart from the main restaurant there was also a Pizza restaurant we could go to. Once tasted it was not forgotted, and in some attempt to avoid pizza at every meal I negotiated our way through a week or alternating between the main restaurant and the pizza place. BALANCING ACTS – being a resort type place in the evenings there would be some kind of performance, perhaps a choir, a band, acrobats or a magician. Probably the highlight was the acrobats, about 8 super strong Rasta’s who must spend most of their time in the gym jumping through hoops, climbing massive pools, all balancing on each other and doing flips and flops on some very hard concrete. They had truely remarkable skill. Unfortunately Peter didn’t always make the evening entertainment. It became clear after the first cycle trip and the canoe trip his body couldn’t cope with huge amounts of exercise, he would become very tired, and the headaches had started to really set in more and more. Each day we juggled with doing some fun activities with also time to rest and chill and it wasn’t long before he discovered the purpose of those beach beds. In the evenings I decided it was best he had early nights, to make the most of each day. It was a balancing act between having fun and not pushing him too hard, by the end we had it down to a tee (or is that tea, I’m not sure?). AEROBICS AND OTHER POOL ACTION – The pool was generally a casual area, with kids and adults all messing around. At around 11am each morning the music would come on, blasting through some huge speakers and for a brief moment you questioned yourself and where you actually where. Was this a beach resort in Kenya a or cheesy nightclub in the UK pumping out Rihanna with possibly the worst DJ in the world who only liked listening to songs for approximately 30 seconds at a time before moving on to the next. James and Erico decided to join in on the first day, yes it was time for water aerobics. 2 young Kenyan boys amongst a whole bunch of white Kenyans, Europeans and Americans. It was hilarious as in the water dancing began. Photos would never do justice but a good time was truely had by all. Later in the afternoon was water polo. On day 1 I ended up taking the position of goalie, which wasn’t so much fun, particularly as the slightly aggressive British guys decided to take it a little too seriously and felt being a big guy it was fair to stand 1 metre in front of my face and throw the ball as hard as possible into my face. My purpose for being there was to try and include as many of the kids playing as possible and also to keep an eye on Peter and the boys, making sure these over eager adults were careful with the boy, who by visibility alone was clearly in need of being taken on gently by any would be attacker. My days at water polo were limited, in fact 1 match was enough, but for the other days the boys continued to play and for Peter scoring goals was a particular treat he managed to enjoy quite a few times. Towards the end of the trip, about 3 evenings in a row, as the sun began to lower in the sky, the shade moving across the pool, the hotel guests slowly starting to depart from their day at the beach and heading to rooms to freshen up for dinner, I was in the pool with Erico and a British boy, a similar age to Erico. We hardly spoke the 3 of us, but for probably over half an hour each evening we threw the polo ball to each other, sometimes deliberately splashing each other, sometimes just trying to do spectacular catches and sometimes just enjoying the simple pleasure of throwing and catching a ball. We did occasionally say some things and talk and I discovered this young lad was here with his family, but was the youngest, didn’t really have anyone to play with and was from Wales. I loved it, here was this young lad from the UK, on his annual family holiday, with Erico a young orphan from the slums of Kenya both in the pool throwing a ball to each other, simply as equals, simply as two young lads just having fun. For me it was just another pleasure to be part of. DHOW (NOT REFERENCING HOMER SIMPSON)– On the last day at the resort I booked a special treat for the boys, a trip on a Dhow (a traditional sail boat used to transport goods up and down the coast). It was a sundowner trip, down the local creek, with cocktails and bitings. Normally the boat could take up to 35 people, but on that day only 8 of us had booked, so we had the boat to ourselves. We cruised down the creek, drinking yummy cocktails (non-alcoholic for us) and ate plenty. Probably the best part was the plate of breaded king sized prawns which was left for myself and a British guy to finish off as no one else seemed to like prawns. YUMMY! THE HOLIDAY THINGS – So when you’re on holiday you write postcards, you use your pocket money to buy souvenirs and both of these were enacted by the boys. Through the generosity of so many people I was able to give the boys pocket money to spend in the hotel shop. In the cool air conditioned atmosphere of the hotel shop the boys perused the shelves and items until decisions were finally made and hats and t shirts were purchased, soon to be worn by the newly graduated tourists. Post cards were written to the doctors and people at the Nairobi Hospice who have been helping take care of Peter and also to Cheryls, to bring sunny coastal greetings to all the staff and kids. LEAVING – The day finally came where it was time to hit the road again, it was greeted with much sadness and an almost unbelievable notion that such a holiday could end. But the treats were not over and a brief stop at Mombasa city brought in a tour of the famous Fort Jesus, something studied at school along with a passing by of the massive (fake) elephant tusks that cover the road in the middle of the city and represent the iconic image of Mombasa, something often seen on TV but again for non-coastal Kenyans, hardly ever seen. Heading back up the highway an overnight stop was held at Maneaters Camp, as one of the few guests we pretty much had the place to ourselves. The swimming pool was tiny in comparison to Watam’s but presented an excellent size for playing tig in the water. The camp is situated at the famous area where Colonel Patterson killed man eating lions who terrorised the workers building the rail road through Africa, watch ‘The Ghost and the Darkness’ film for the gory details! The following day it was time for the long tarmac road back to the big smoke of Nairobi, putting the sunny coastal region further and further behind us and arriving back in the cooler climate of Nairobi. The adventure was over, but would be played over and over again in the minds of the 3 young Kenyan boys. A trip to be truly remembered until the day you die, whether that be this year or in 60 years, it was a really blessing, something to be treasured and never forgotten something that helped to put life into a young boys days, whose days may be numbered.