Take nothing but photographs...and sometimes not even those

I've just enjoyed the most incredible few days on the island of Lamu, in Kenya. A UNESCO World Heritage town, this ancient Swahili settlement has preserved much of the old ways, skills and culture, a difficult task in our everchanging world.

It is interesting to me to reflect on people's differing responses to Lamu. Comments from 'you absolutely MUST go, the old Arabic influence is so beautiful' to 'Lamu was a big disappointment, just a lot of broken down old buildings' rang in my ears. 

Quite. Horse for courses indeed.

I fall into the 'if it's old it is to be treasured' brigade so Lamu and I got on famously and from my side it was love at first sight. Actually, I had fallen head over heels with the idea of Lamu years ago and a huge lump of emotion caught in my throat before the ferry boat from the airport across the channel to Lamu town had even cast off. It was absolutely, perfectly, exactly as my dreams, but better because it was real.

If you've ever contemplated visiting, do so now. The first boda boda motorbike taxis have arrived on the island and the seawall is no longer sufficient to keep technology and the millennium way of life at bay. A high tide of change is approaching, UNESCO site or not.





Chatting to some Aussies it was fab to find fellow travellers with the same ideals. They'd spent what they considered a wasted day at Shela, the gorgeous and romantic beach resort area just outside the old town. Screwing up their noses they firmly said that there is "nothing like the real grit of Africa, Shela is just too clean and modern." 

Those damn horses again...

Meanwhile, we embraced the Old Town complete with noise, donkey turds, less-than-aromatic aromas and nasty rubbish heaps partially hidden behind tumbledown walls. Oh, and the early morning, lunchtime and Friday chorus megaphoned from several majids! It has to be said, however, that we quickly picked up the different 'sermons' - one chap preached with fervent energy, brooking no argument. Another was poetic; I was entranced by his sing-song storytelling. A third seemed to be on repeat, the same or similar sounding phrases over and over. 






Somehow, the strangely elastic dimension of time over Lamu, which bends and stretches on top of and around rather than linearly, crept into the fibre of my soul. Everything happens slowly, bringing with it an ability to embrace and accept absolutely all as perfect.

Deep, soul sigh of contentment and wellbeing.   



Even my beloved hobby, photography, changed approach. I'm addicted to taking photos in an endeavour to capture and keep every slice of beauty that I see. Conversation over breakfast one morning debated the point of hiding behind a lens. As Oz No.1 said, someone has already taken that photo and he has now decided to be in the moment rather than fuss with snapping away. It's true my external hard drive bulges with thousands of images I don't even look at, typical of most camera happy people. But still...



After that, I consciously put the camera down, a lot, so as to better be right in that place at that time and yes, it was the right thing to do. 

Although hedging my bets, I set aside my last day strictly for photography and ambled up and down the narrow passages for hours, pausing often to photograph.             







Ending up in Mkunguni square in front of the Fort, it was time to spend an hour sitting on a stone bench watching Lamu going about its business before moving to the seafront and absorbing the action along there.


I do believe that I found a balance. Now to hold fast to that in future...