Sarissa’s story.

I met Sarissa and her three children on Diani beach , just west of Mombasa in Kenya where she was selling coconuts to tourists, trying to raise a few shillings to feed her children and herself, in October of 2024

This is her story, in the spirit of Gonzo Journalism, as she relayed it to me.

The first thing I noticed as the diminutive young Kenyan lady held up a freshly picked coconut and indicated that it was full of refreshing coconut water, were the two tiny children accompanying her. 

They looked at me with caution, almost suspiciously, perhaps afraid that I, like so many of the male western tourists in Diani, were more interested in buying sex, quenching a different thirst!.

I couldn't have blamed them.  Only that morning as I drank my coffee in the town centre I’d watched as the tables around me filled with middle aged white men who would wait to be approached by a young Kenyan woman. Negotiations were usually swift, mobile phones would facilitate the transfer of Kenyan shillings into mobile wallets and off they would go. Their place immediately taken by another middle aged white man.

I was about to politely decline the young lady’s offer when the youngest child spotted my bangles and necklaces, motioning to her oldest brother to look.

As it happened I had a few spare necklaces in my backpack and I pulled them out and asked ‘Mom’ if the two children were allowed to pick one each.

I couldn't tell if ‘Mom’ looked more grateful, or more exhausted. It was hot that day and I guessed she had been trying to earn a few shillings since the morning so I asked her if they were thirsty. Two minutes later I’d learnt that Mom’s name was Sarissa, that the children were aged 3, 5 (almost 6) and that she had a 12 year old daughter at home. The two youngest decided which necklace their older sister would like!

When Sarissa offered me a free coconut as payment for the simple, cheap, necklaces I had to pretend to turn away and cough so she couldn't see how deeply her honesty and dignity had moved me, I didn't want her to think I felt sorry for her.

She obviously saw through my bravado because what she did next will stay with me forever.

She knelt down in the sand next to me, took my hand in hers and said, don't be sad, thank you for treating us like people not beggars, my children are smiling so I am smiling

I mumbled something inadequate like, ‘I can see how hard life is for some people in Kenya’, Sarissa replied yes, especially for them, their father ran away when I was pregnant with the youngest.

I've been told I'm a good listener and for the next hour or so I listened as Sarissa sat opposite me in the sand and told me her story. She didn't ask for anything, she just needed to talk, to be heard.

Sarissa and her younger sister grew up in a simple household in Mombasa, they had what she calls a normal life. That changed when in three turbulent years, both of her parents died.

From that moment on, she says, her life was hard. She and her sister went to live with her Aunt, her Mother’s sister, when she was 10, her aunt also passed away.

She remembers thinking that from then on it was up to her to raise and protect her little sister. At the age of 10 her role in life was basically that of a mother. Life was a constant struggle of finding food and trying to keep her little sister in school. As orphans, society was not equipped to support them. Sarissa told me her biggest regret was that she was unable to remain in school, she managed to keep her sister in school but for her, life was about finding ‘piece’ work, her aunt taught her to sew, and keeping the two of them safe from violence and sexual exploitation. 

She isn't in contact with her sister nowadays, the last she heard she was working in Nairobi, she isn't bitter, she tells me she is grateful to God that she was able to help her sister get an education.

Without an education of her own, the chances of Sarissa getting a full time job are virtually zero. Besides, she's a single Mom to three children.

Her husband left when she was pregnant with her daughter, he too is working in Nairobi and makes no contribution to the family he left behind. He has never even seen his youngest daughter. Sarissa was 16 when she first fell pregnant, her eyes cloud over as she tells me that she thought her life was finally changing. That she would have a good husband and a family of her own.

Sarissa is incredibly resilient. She grows vegetables when she can and spends her days trying to sell fresh coconuts to tourists on the beach, sometimes she gets sewing work. The problem she tells me is that her community are all poor, desperately poor so even when she gets work, it barely buys food for the four of them.

Obtaining the coconuts to sell is not easy either. She has to pick the coconuts from the wild trees in the area, there are dozens of trees on the beach but they are ‘owned’ by the nearby hotels. Most of the other sellers are male and they resent a female taking ‘their’ business as they see it. She has the bruises to remind her how deep that resentment runs.

The biggest risk though is with the police. Her son should be in school but even though education is free in Kenya, there are hidden costs that she can not afford. School children have to wear full school uniform and parents are expected to contribute towards the salaries of non teaching staff. She is adamant that her children must attend school. The school is adamant that they wear full uniform. 

She managed to scrape together enough money to send her eldest daughter to school but she too needs a new uniform and she is desperately worried that she won't be able to buy a new uniform for her growing daughter. She also has to buy their textbooks and stationery.

She is desperate for all of her children to  attend school so that they have the kind of opportunities denied to her.

With no way of being able to afford uniforms she takes her children with her to the beach when she is trying to earn some money. If the police see her with her children she can be arrested for not sending them to school!

She told me about being arrested on the beach and jailed with her two youngest children! The three of them were held overnight in an adult prison. The following morning her son was allowed to go to stay with neighbours but she and her toddler daughter were imprisoned for three more days until friends and neighbours raised enough money to pay the fine and buy her release. 

Now the police tell her that her youngest daughter can accompany her but her son must be in school. Luckily it's December and the schools are closed for the holidays.

I noticed that her daughter is coughing and Sarissa tells me she needs medicine but can't afford it, under Kenyan law she is entitled to basic free prescriptions for things like colds and flu, available at primary healthcare centres. The local centre told her that they have no drugs and she will need to pay for her daughter’s medicine. 

Thankfully I always carry pain relief and generic antibiotics so I am able to give her those. I have to insist as she is worried about what happens if I get sick.

It's getting late and Sarissa tells me she needs to get her children home, she still has 4 coconuts to sell so I ask her if I can pay her for the time she has spent telling me her story, when we were talking I asked her how much her sons uniform would cost and before we part I ask her if she would please take enough money to buy his uniform.

Her gratitude is humbling. I know I've paid her far more for her time than she would have earned from tourists who actually haggle over a few shillings! I'm also not naive enough to believe, even though she tells me that her son will be able to attend school in January now,  that the money won't be needed for food and basic essentials before the school year starts.

It doesn't matter how she uses it, it's her money.

Sarissa says she prays everyday and asks God to help her, she doesn't understand what she has done that is so wrong that her prayers aren’t answered. Nonetheless she tells me, she trusts in God’s plan for her and trusts him to answer her prayers. Next year she tells me, she will find a job that means she can provide for her little family and make sure they get the education that she never got.

In total I paid Sarissa the equivalent of about £60 (GBP) for her time. It won't change her life. I hope it helps for a couple of weeks at least.

In all the time we were chatting, Sarissa never once asked me for charity and this isn't charity. I am grateful that she trusted me to listen to her without judging. She leaves me with a smile and her kids happily chewing on a few sweets I found in my bag.

I no longer wish I could have given more to the people I’ve met on my journey through the middle east and Africa, my own funds are limited and I've already given away more than I can afford really.

At the same time I wish so badly that I could wave a magic wand and help everyone.

I can't.

What I can do is what I set out to do on my journey from Gobekli Tepe to Cape Town.

I can tell the stories that otherwise wouldn't get to be told.

Some of those stories are full of joy. Some, like Sarissa’s story, are  full of courage and determination. Pride and self respect. Dignity and humility.

Diani beach has more tourists than I've seen in most of the places I’ve visited. 

The benefit doesn't seem to me to be getting to the people who need it the most.

If tourism does not empower the poorest members of society, its exploitation.

Paying a few dollars to fuck local girls is exploitation.

Haggling over pennies for a coconut is exploitation.

The system is rotten to the core.

The system must fall.

I am the Gonzo Journalist.

I am the Scouse African.

Simunye, we are One.