| 20 April Jambo bwana Angry, tired and sober fell out of the plane. Kenyatta International Airport - Sheremetyevo 93 years. We are Francesca, I and Bilal. Francesca is beautiful. Bilal - too. They are like brother and sister - both have a yellow lion's gaze, haughty lips, feline movements. With them I look faded, shabby circus trainer. Kenyan border guards do not miss Bilal: they say that an entrance ticket to Kenya now costs a thousand bucks for Palestinians. We send Bilal back. Francesca almost cries, is angry with me. I am a bank. But today I have a bank holiday, and money is not issued. In the evening I drank Francesca vodka-martini, which was served to us with three slices of fresh cucumber. We laughed so that we blocked the music and noise, and ordered more and more cocktails - blue “Margarita” soapy taste, “Screwdriver” with southern comfort. Then they frightened the bartender with names that made him big eyes: "Black Rashn", "Long Island", "Bull Frog", "Lamborghini". When we were tired of mocking the staff, we ourselves began to interfere with cocktails and treat everyone at the counter. Then Francesca climbed onto the counter and tried to portray the dancing of an ugly coyote, and I snapped an imaginary whip and jealously drove off the security guard. By midnight, we ran out of cash, and we went on foot to the hotel. Friends told me yesterday that we are two abnormal and everything could end in disrepair. But two angels guarded us - one Russian, the other Italian - and, gallantly holding us under the arms, they dragged us to the hotel. The 21st of April In the central square in front of the City Hall, a motley crowd stomps stupidly. The protest. Sidewalks and spontaneous parking are clogged with taxis. Taxi drivers require a salary. Everything is very family-like - men rally, wives and children culturally relax aside. Francesca and I are lazily chewing breakfast, sitting on the windowsill, and making bets. Her favorite fell three times out of five with a stone in the administration window, mine - in the monument. He beat off his nose. I won because the nose was funnier. And the audience liked it more. Even rare applause was heard. April 22 - Sista, hey sista, you want necklace? Want a mask? Cheap! Come, come here. - Leave me alone, scarecrow, I speak Russian. You are not a real masai. Real Masai drink fresh blood with milk and run naked with spears in the reserves. - Sista, you are breaking my heart. Look 'dis buutaful bracelet. Buutaful on your skin. And smiles with a mouthful of snow-white teeth. I sigh enviously. I’d use such ... Oh, how would I smile then. Masai market buzzes, bargains, sways. Unaccustomed to the local aroma, tourists, blowing their nostrils, roam the rows of the spontaneous market. - How much? - looking at wonderful calabashas with thin threaded threads. - 50 dollas for you sistah. I choose three. "Did you say 10 for these 3?" Eyes widened with indignation in response: "Sistah, I tell you what. What is you name? Yara. Oh, buutaful name. You buutaful. Only for you I give discount, 45. But don't tell anyone." After fifteen minutes of lazy bargaining and exchanging compliments, we conspire on fifteen dollars for three second-hand and two new calabash. I bought used ones in the hope that I will find my free Jock. A little one - for a couple of bucks. It’s safer, because you never know who is selling his Jock in parts. Burnt by shopping, we go to a restaurant. Musicians are setting up instruments on stage. Already twenty minutes. This is not an ordinary boring ritual, but a real jam party. In general, any meeting here is addressed in a party. After five minutes of conversation, the people begin to chorus and dance. In the evening we go to dinner at a local attraction - restaurant Carnivore - eat predators and drink the local cocktail "dawa". Recipe "dawa" A glass for whiskey, 8 ice cubes, 30 ml of vodka, 100 ml of unsalted mineral water, 1 lime, cut into 4 parts, a teaspoon of honey. You must stick a planed stick in a cocktail - stir honey with lemon. There are no vulgar plastic tubes. This is washed down with fried meat of ostriches, crocodiles, camels and antelopes. They ate almost to a twist of the intestines. As heavy as lions after a successful hunt, we crawl into a night club. Next to the sculptural kenyks, we do not look quite presentable, so we sit and enjoy dancing all evening. I enviously draw in the air - on the stage, an absolutely gorgeous girl is doing this, which is why everyone has a head spin. I close my eyes: it seems that the sixth cocktail did not do any good. I am drunk, happy and love everyone. Especially the waiter who brings mineral water and cute shuffles a leg. April 23 Morning. Am I still here? Someone pokes his wet nose in the face. Nina, lovingly fed by Regina to the size of a good pig, is a lazy and voracious dog on the female floor. From the rottweiler in her only ears. He can’t even bark, because the vocal chords are tightened with fat ... I turn away, and meet nose to nose with Maly. Small makes touching eyes and hits the blanket with a dirty tail - The owner sent to invite to breakfast. Conscientious dogs, you will not say anything. It was only he who could call them that - “Baby” and “Baby” - Nina and Malaya. We bought them on occasion, it is not clear where, and so long ago that even Regina does not remember where they came from. Probably originated from the greasy brown mud behind the fence, in which they like to spend an afternoon rest. While I am leading the morning marafet, Regina silently swims in with a tray. Kenyan coffee is disgusting. How they managed to make it one of the main export products is unclear, probably, even to the Kenyans themselves. In theory, they should export their exuberant colors, good mood and Swahili language. Swahili is so handsome that it is amazing how half the world is still not talking on it. “Jambo!” The banana merchant at the crossroads tells me. “How are you? How is your health?” - All is well. How is the trade? - Fine, wonderful. And eyes shine with genuine happiness. And again a big smile. What is the matter with them? Why are they so happy? After all, they are poor, like church mice. So, after all, not in money ... So, we missed something. April 24th Kenya bewitches, intoxicates, bewitches. Travelers unprepared for such luxury, like Francesca and me, face a complete and hopeless love, helplessness and a return to childhood. We are glaring with insatiable eyes, we absorb all this beauty, and it’s not enough for us. I look at Francesca - she is crying. Just like my assistant from the exhibition, the chubby, sweet girl Jackie, who accompanied me to the airport. Bravely held on to the last, and then, covering her mouth with her palm, burst into tears. Stunned and stunned, we climb into the Hemingway Lounge. They say he lived here. Most likely they lie. It would be better if they drove tourists to the hospital where he was wallowing with dysentery. It would be very piquant. But the hospital is no longer there, only the tourism industry and the main brand remain - Ham and his safari. "Hemingway Memorial Safari." "Hemingway and Africa." Hemingway and Kenya We order a cocktail. The waitress is in no hurry. There is a suspicion that she fell asleep at the bar. Pais explained to us that this is customary here. You make an order and fall into a nap. After a while, the waiter wakes up himself, brings the order and wakes the client. Your nervous tapping on the table with your knuckles will not speed up the process, it will only add negative emotions to everyone. Explosive Francesca rolls her eyes to the ceiling and moans: "You Slavs ... only you can live here. You have the soul of the Black Masai and the habits of lazy people. You need to drive the Europeans out of here, and then there will be a complete idyll." She does not even suspect how close to the truth. The Slavs are not just loved here, they are quietly adored. If those singers at the airport who sang Jambo Bwana to us knew that I was Russian, they would only sing to me: "Welcome, madam, leave all the troubles behind me, don’t worry about anything. Hakuna Matata." 25th of April. Noon Empty airport. The slanting rays of the sun break through the clouds. There, outside the window, remained a fairy tale. Ahead of the plane, the crush of the first terminal, a Dubai taxi and dusty Sharjah. I cry in a chair, hiding in a blanket. It is foolish to cry at thirty-five. 26 April Paints, smells, sounds, air disappeared - so I'm at home. Africa accepted, caressed and promised to wait. For complete confidence that I will return, she gave me a man, provided that I use it only on her territory. Because a man walks in a bag with a clear sky, an evening cool breeze, a house on a hill, Ninya and Maly, Regina's silent tread, dinners on the terrace and deafening singing of cicadas. She also lured me into the forest and promised that if I return, he will be all mine. And she showed the evening sky, saying that if I return, she will show it to me every day, and this is much cooler than any TV, even if it is plasma three times. And she asked me not to take a laptop, business cards, prospectuses, price lists, or other rubbish that interferes with living anymore. I promised to come back. Maybe even permanently. Yaroslav Kireev |
