John Goldbach - It Is an Honest Ghost

‘It is,’ the waiter said. His name tag said Robert.

‘My name’s John,’ I said.

‘Nice to meet you, John. I’m Robert,’ he said, making no motion to his name tag, and then he added, ‘Would you like some coffee or tea?’

‘Tea would be great,’ I said. ‘And I’ll have a bottle of water, too, please.’

‘Not a problem, sir. But the bottled water isn’t included with the breakfast.’

‘That’s fine,’ I said.

‘Do you know what you’d like for breakfast?’

‘I’ll try number one,’ I said, ‘with the pancake.’

‘I’ll bring you your tea and water,’ he said and was gone.

Cars continued to pull up to the entrance and drop off staggering travellers. Robert returned with a small steel teapot with a teabag in it, a ceramic saucer and mug, some sugar packets, a shot glass of milk, a bottle of water and a glass.

‘ Asante sana ,’ I said.

‘ Karibu ,’ he said. ‘Your breakfast will be right out.’

‘Thanks.’

Breakfast was good. I ate most of it, then asked Robert for the bill for the water, which I paid for in shillings and left a tip.

In the lobby a line of people stood waiting to get to the front desk, where the same concierge from the night before checked them in, one party at a time. They looked hot and tired and I sympathized, but I was more surprised that the same concierge who was working at ten o’clock the night before was manning the desk at nine-thirty a.m. He looked dapper, too, and very fresh. I didn’t feel fresh at all.

I felt a slap on my back.

‘How’s it going, man?’

I turned around and my friend Mark was grinning, his hair wet.

‘Mark!’ I said. And we briefly hugged.

‘When did you get in?’ I said.

‘Last night, around midnightish.’

‘Ha,’ I said. ‘I drank a few beers at the bar, thinking I might catch you, but then I sort of faded off.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, laughing, ‘I saw you sitting at a table when I was checking in. You looked like you were falling asleep. I wanted to come in and say hello but I had to hit the rack. I was a zombie, too, and couldn’t drink.’

‘Oh, man, how embarrassing,’ I said. ‘Yeah, Boris’s father-in-law got us a little drunk upon arrival, doing vodka shots in his backyard.’

‘Nice,’ said Mark. ‘Sounds like fun.’

‘Yeah, I mean, it was fun. But after twenty-four hours of travel probably inadvisable.’

‘Of course,’ said Mark. ‘But you’re in one piece.’

‘Sort of. I don’t want to ruin the trip with hangovers.

‘Have you had breakfast?’ he said.

‘I just did.’

‘Oh too bad,’ he said.

‘I’m just going to head back to my room but we’ll catch up in a bit,’ I said.

‘Sounds good.’

‘Enjoy your breakfast,’ I said. ‘It’s good!’

When I got back to my room I brushed my teeth again, after having put corn syrup on my pancake, and took my anti-malarial medication, which I’d been taking in the mornings after eating a little breakfast. Nairobi doesn’t have a malaria problem, but the island I was heading to, Lamu, is in a malarious region, so I took the pills in preparation.

Then my bedside phone rang, which startled me.

I picked up and it was a young woman saying that a Mr. Boris was in the lobby, waiting for me. I’d be right there, I told the woman on the phone.

Boris was sitting on a red velvet upholstered bench reading the Standard , when I walked the few steps down into lobby. He spotted me right away and stood up, folding the news — paper and setting it on the coffee table in front of him.

‘How’s it going?’ he said.

‘Good,’ I said.

He patted me on the back.

‘You got here okay,’ he said.

‘Yes, Martin made sure I got in all right. He’s terrific, a very nice man. And he and Billy were funny; he told Billy that if he didn’t look after us he’d kill him.’

‘Ha,’ said Boris. ‘That won’t be necessary, I don’t think.’

‘How’re you?’ I said.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘But I’ve booked myself a room here till we go to Lamu. I talked to Anita, and she gave me a room. This way, too, I can just be here where everybody will be and take the odd photo for the piece.’

‘It’ll be more convenient,’ I said.

‘Yeah, this way I don’t have to take cars constantly,’ he said. ‘It’ll be easier, and Tanya’s having a great time with her cousin and aunt and grandparents.’

‘Sounds good,’ I said.

‘We should head into town and pick up cellphones,’ he said. ‘They’re inexpensive and it’ll make communicating so much easier. That way I can check in on Tanya, too, when we go to the coast. And I can call Nina.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Do you know where to go?’

‘Yes just downtown. There are a bunch of places. Cellphones are big here.’

And, indeed, cellphones were big in Kenya. On the car ride from the hotel to downtown, a ride that took about twenty minutes but only because traffic was so congested, I kept seeing advertisements for Safaricom, Kenya’s largest cellphone provider, and a few ads for its much smaller competitors. Instead of us calling Billy Mutinda for a ride, the security guard at the front gate simply opened the gate and signalled for a car to pull in, one of the many that waited outside the gate for a fare.

The sun was bright and high and I was excited to see downtown Nairobi. People walked alongside the idling cars. Black exhaust filled the air around us but the sky above was endless blue.

‘Martin told me that the city had passed emission laws, like if your car was emitting black smoke the cops could pull you over,’ Boris said. ‘But it became just another way for the cops to bribe people, so the law’s not really upheld anymore.’

Both of us needed cash so we got dropped off at a bank on Haile Selassie Ave. They had an atm out front. From there we went to the first cellphone store we saw. Within twenty minutes Boris had us outfitted with simple Nokia phones with 200 international minutes on both phones for approximately seventy-five dollars U.S., so less than forty dollars each. It seemed worth it, and we’d recoup most of our expenses.

We strolled up to Aga Khan Walk and came upon the Nairobi Cinema. I said to Boris, ‘I just want to see what’s playing.’ And I walked up and checked. I ran back and said to Boris, ‘The new Bond’s playing here, too: Casino Royale . Same as home.’

Since we were both thirsty, we stopped at a café for tea and bottled water.

‘What’s on the itinerary for tonight?’ I said.

‘There’s an opening reception for the festival. But it’s just at the hotel’s restaurant. So it’s easy,’ he said.

‘Good. I want to try and catch up on some rest.’

‘Me too,’ said Boris. ‘It takes a few days to acclimatize. Really, that’s the only problem — we don’t have enough time here this trip — by the time you’re feeling good and not jetlagged, we pretty much have to go.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But we’ll be home in time to celebrate the new year.’

‘Nina’s having people over, if you want to stop by,’ he said.

‘Thanks. I’ll have to talk to Stacey first.’

We decided to walk back to the hotel alongside Kenyatta Ave. It took us about forty minutes and it was the hottest part of the day, the sun high above us as we walked through exhaust fumes. Nevertheless, we were both happy, Boris especially so. Back in Montreal, I’d never see him smile so much, or for that matter, feel like taking a walk for forty minutes alongside traffic. But here he did, with a smile on his face.

‘Those are called matatus ,’ Boris said, pointing at a wildly painted minibus.