Three days since I came back from Mombasa, and I can confidently say I now fully understand why my uncle, Michael Jakajulu Okombe, permanently relocated from Homa Bay to the Coast.

The man changed his name to Abdallah Jakajulu, changed his religion, deleted all our contacts, never informed anyone of his plans, and disappeared without a trace. To this day, nobody in the family knows exactly what happened. All we hear are rumors that he got married and decided to start a completely new life.

At the time we thought he had lost his mind.

Today, I understand.

Anyway, I received a call from a client who needed a hotel management system in Mombasa. As many of you already know, the work of yours faithfully, The Coding Traveller, speaks for itself. If you need a POS, inventory system, ERP, website, or mobile app, feel free to reach out.

But that’s not even the main story.

I boarded the SGR, got to Mombasa, met the client, did my usual magic, got paid, and finished the project earlier than expected. With about seven hours to kill before my return trip, I decided to play tourist.

Being a lover of Coastal cuisine, I headed to Mama Aisha Swahili Dishes for a plate of biryani. My intention was to feed my stomach. Unfortunately, my eyes had completely different plans.

I was served by Aisha herself, Mama Aisha’s daughter, who was dressed in a dera.

Waheshimiwa, that dera was doing serious work.

The way it complemented her figure was enough to make a grown man forget his travel itinerary. Her walk around the restaurant only made matters worse. To top it all off, she noticed my struggling Swahili and started calling me mtu wa bara.

At that point, the only thing that saved me was the SGR boarding notification on my phone. Had it not arrived, I might still be seated there “waiting for dessert.”

The experience was so distracting that I even forgot to buy mabuyu for my girlfriend. That oversight has already created a small diplomatic crisis back here in Nairobi. Still, if she knew the full story, I believe she would understand.

As a matter of fact, if any of you had seen Aisha, you would probably support my decision to remain in Mombasa permanently.

In fact, immediately after arriving home, I called Uncle Abdallah and informed him that I now understand everything. The man made the correct decision. I, too, almost became Abdallah.

The Coast is not for the weak.

Na kwa hayo machache, tuonane kwa episode inayofuata.