I didn't want to go back to Kenya.
Not that I didn't like it, I liked it more!
I had enjoyed myself in profusion.
The blue sea, the turquoise sky, the pink beaches, and even the beautifully coloured women, other than the grey of Itaglia which was once white red and green.
I didn't want to go back there, especially because I had read some bad things, that you might go to an Italian bar and get kidnapped or put some expired medicine in your coffee, or that you might want to help a poor child and then they would find out and fire you at the office in your country.
I was almost terrified, but my friend Geppe, who is a man who has been shot because he has also been to Santo Domenico and Dubai, told me that there is not only Malindi in Kenya, you can choose a thousand other beautiful places anyway.
Malindi is better because they all speak Italian and some even speak the dialect of Irpinia.
And I asked, but in the other beautiful places are there pink beaches and colourful women?
How many do you want just that they are called differently.
The beaches?
Women too!
The one that maybe was called Jennifer in Malindi, somewhere else is called Priscilla.
Or vice versa.
So I took courage and made the ticket to Watamu.
So I'll tell you right now that the beaches are whiter than in Malindi, but on the beach more than beautifully coloured women there are big men with braids who call you amigo.
Excuse me, but I've never even been a friend of a man with braids, even as a child, at carnival.
There are a lot of white women who have become friends with the big boys, it's because of the braids that they too have braids.
One of the favourite sports that these women do with the big boys is riding motorbikes around Africa. In the end they go so much that they even buy the bike.
They use it all the time.
I don't know if you can buy big boys, but I think you can rent them.
In Watamu everything is touristy: they have tourist stalls, tourist villages, little tourist restaurants, little tourist shops, even many tourists are touristy with backpacks on their backpacks and children in their arms.
Or vice versa.
I have marked some differences between Malindi and Watamu.
In Malindi they are all old, in Watamu they are all young.
And where the middle-aged ones go?
There isn't even a bar with raitalia television and the Benevento matches.
In Malindi the English are all locked up at the driffud.
In Watamu they walk around free they can eat pizza and also drink cappuccino.
In Watamu, if you meet a muzzungu, after a while you go fishing, you can go fishing.
In Malindi, if you meet a muzzungu, after a while he takes you to the Court.
In Malindi many roads have potholes, in Watamu many potholes do not yet have a road all to themselves.
In Malindi you can eat well, in Watamu you don't eat badly.
I went to a restaurant by the sea and ate a lobster that was the same as in Malindi.
They probably swim here, which is not far by sea.
In Watamu they eat too much ice cream everywhere.
In Malindi they eat Watamu's ice cream.
In the evening also in Watamu there is ferment, even if it is called in another way.
But they are all a bit armpit places without air conditioning, important however the waiters understand gin and tonic in Italian and also beer understand tascher.
The women at night in Watamu are a bit more expensive and it's harder to find one that's different from all the others.
They have a lot of the same and there aren't many others.
An Italian who has lived in Watamu since before he existed told me that you have to be friends with a braid and then it's easier, because he introduces you to his friends (not the white ones with the bike, no) who are a bit different. Maybe not students like those in Malindi, because in Watamu they don't have such professional schools, but maybe a bit of secretaries or nurses or nice unemployed women.
Anyway, I decided to go back to Malindi, it was more for me.
I'm going back to Malindi also because I left so many Italian friends there, so many that they owe me money too.
Or vice versa.