Tom, our university contact at JKUAT, was the first to call us making sure we were all okay. It was comforting to know we had someone close looking out for us. His call broke the eerie silence of the streets, filling the hole that is left by the usual stream of traffic. Even the familiar putter of the small diesel Tuk-Tuks could not be heard. Everyone seemed to be hiding inside including the regular homeless children usually seen meandering the allies.
The news headlines exclaim a variety of the same message: Bomb blast in central Mombasa, at least five seriously injured. BBC is confirming one dead with images of the pool of blood.
We had driven past the Bella Vista club on our way to dinner at the Blue Room. The Vista is a popular spot that we considered visiting several times during our stay as it offers reputable food and is conveniently located within two kilometers from our hotel. We thought we heard something unusual while we were eating our ice cream, but we always think we hear something unusual, but we kept eating and conversing over the rolling electrical black outs. I have never heard a hand grenade explode before so I am not sure I would be able to recognize it as anything more than a bang.
Maybe we have become too comfortable in this beautiful city, lost in the intoxicating clear water and expansive beaches, delighted by the sights and sounds of a modern city threaded into hundreds of years of development and redevelopment. Though you hear of stabbings and shootings at home, I hope to never become accustom to the familiar lobbing of hand grenades into popular clubs as the students of our classes seem to be. I would like to believe that, culturally, we would never accept such activities in Canada and would rise up and take serious actions against such attacks. The importance of education has never been so real and so threatening in ways far more complex than mere life ending.