I arrived in Nairobi dressed for Moscow. Literally. When I left the States the second time at 21 I had in my pocket an Around-the-World ticket which put me in Russia visiting the family of Eugene Ostashevsky, one of my closest friends, after a brief visit back to Europe. Kenya was the last stop of my journey after Russia where I intended to leave all my winter clothes. Before leaving Oakland, I had connected with a woman who had a print studio in Lamu, Kenya through a classified ad in an arts magazine so my plan was to set up camp in Kenya until the winds moved me elsewhere.

Russia never happened. Instead, this is what happened. I was in London hanging with a friend when I wandered into the Tate Gallery one cold and dreary day. Weaving my way through the galleries, I landed in front of Francis Bacon’s Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion. I gasped, startled out of my day-dreaming. I was floored. By the size, by the subject, by the color- blankets of red washed over me, punctuated by the Bacon cry. I decided to go directly to Kenya where I had a working studio waiting for me. I ran at breakneck speeds back to the flat, inspired and moved…

Some background on Lamu.

Lamu is an island located off the coast of Kenya. It is a one of the first Swahili towns in Kenya- dating back to the 1500s, and, because of its placement on Arabian trade routes, it is primarily Muslim. The population when I was there was around 12,000. Lamu Town is a hodge podge of village housing mixed with Swahili architecture all linked by incredibly narrow streets through which only people and donkeys pass. There are three types of people that live in Lamu: Muslim women who provocatively wear their burkas to reveal bronzed shoulders, old men who sit around playing Bao into the night, and young Rasta boys or “Beach Boys” with dreads who walk around the island all day, high, fishing, and hustling the few tourists who come through.

Swaleh found me first. Not that it was difficult to do. When I first left Joni’s to find my own place every boy in the village wanted to help me locate my new home for a small finder’s fee. You see, there isn’t anything to do in Lamu and there isn’t any way to earn money. Tourists, travelers, Europeans who land there for a moment provide both entertainment and income. I, however, was 21, impetuous, strong-willed and broke.

Living in Lamu. I’ll never forget the first words I learned to say in Swahili mostly because I thought them to be the funniest: Saa ngapi? What time is it?

All the boys walked around the island wearing oversized American-style watches asking each other “saa ngapi?” “what time is it?” when they met. As if it meant anything. Time means nothing in Lamu. When the sun rises, the day begins, when the sun sets, the day ends. And that is how I learned to live.

There was one hotel on the island, Petley’s Inn. I think it was owned by an English couple. There were 11 rooms. Tourists to Lamu stayed at Petley’s Inn when they visited the island. Locals weren’t really welcome nor did they come by except to collect the tips travelers gave them for carrying their bags. When I needed a break from both Swaleh and the Rasta boys I wander over to see what new tourists were there. They served alcohol but because Lamu was mostly Muslim, it was served discreetly and they frequently ran out. I met Philippe at Petley’s Inn. Philippe helped me escape Lamu after the arrest.

The gendarmerie arrived! In this case, three very large African men dressed in khaki military uniforms- head to toe, boots to hats. They knocked loudly on my door. I crossed the courtyard to open it.

“You have been served,” I was told and one thrust a paper into my hand. It seemed my former houseboy, Norman, was from the same tribe as Lamu’s magistrate.

Norman was from the same tribe as the island’s magistrate and he freakin’ sued me. He sued me for a much larger sum of money than what I offered him and because I didn’t hire another boy in his place, I doubly angered the powers that be because I was withholding potential income from the local economy. I bucked the system. I was a plug in the European cash flow pipe line. I had three choices: pay him more money, immediately hire someone else and claim Norman was a shoddy houseboy or go to jail. None of these choices appealed to my now 22 (I had a birthday in Lamu)-year-old way of doing things so I created a fourth option. I asked for a court hearing.

What was I thinking?!?