Mama Golparii and the grumpy camel; A different Mombasa

After the usual Fort Jesus tour, being charged with story-worthy non-Kenyan rates,  my husband,  daughter and I, visited the Mombasa that isn't on the brochure. The parts that have no East Africa visitor rates,  where there are no breadcrumbs to guide you,  just faith that the weather-beaten self-taught multi-lingual guide knows where he's going, to Mama Golparii's, the medipreneur..

At Mama Golparii's

Street art

Our elder daughter,  you see,  suffered severe eczema and there was a Persian medicapreneur,  Mama Golparii who lived in the heart of the maze of closely built flats, joined by winding alleys and stories.
It was told that in order for our daughter to be completely healed from eczema,  she needed to apply this natural vaseline which would cause all eczema-inducing vermin to flee.

Mama Doctor was non-assuming,  flirting with our daughter's ailment like a boy would flirt with an older lonely woman. The doctor had the tools to cure and the confidence we'd be singing her praises to the whole of East Africa. And there were cats everywhere.

The vaseline looked like dried sorghum seeds in a banana smoothie. There wasn't a particular smell just an air of cheerful confidence.
She gave us the prescription and we paid her thanking her for her generosity and wishing her a prosperous career.

On the way back were a mixture of lucrative apartments with more humble accommodation;  the guide mentioned that pirates often used their loot to build homes for their families.

Now that our daughter had received divine healing,  it was time to treat ourselves to a camel ride. The camel almost flung me down as I balanced myself on its otherwiseindestructible hairy humped body. It wasn't an impressive camel,  not like the ones King Solomon used to ride. It wasn't meant for family amusement and screaming children. This camel belonged to the working class;  carrying heavy loads for food and water.  I could sense the camel was getting grumpy. All I needed was a photograph and not a ride back to our hotel.

 Mombasa is more than the tourist magazine. Try it again with an inquisitive heart.

I endorse tourism.