I AM SITTING IN A BALCONY surrounded by swaying palm trees and makuti roofs. I can hear the sea in the near distance, its waves crashing against the shore and then retreating.

I am in no hurry to go anywhere or do anything. No “to do” list fills up my brain. I am in a state of blissful tranquillity that is only interrupted by the adamant mosquito that lazily hovers over my head. I am not dreaming. I am in Malindi.

Yet, a nagging sense of bewilderment and guilt pervades my thoughts. What did I do to deserve this slice of paradise? Should I be sitting here doing absolutely nothing when there are Kenyans starving in camps and when the country is in a constitutional crisis? And why am I writing about bliss in this column when there is so much misery on this planet?

Those of us who live in Nairobi most of the year find it hard to enjoy the Kenya that one sees in Safaricom commercials. You know, the one where boda boda cyclists traverse pretty country lanes and lush green farms and where jovial fishermen ride their boats into the sunset.

For us Nairobians, the Kenya we see is a chaotic, desperate place of traffic jams, slums, potholes and joyless humans trying to make a living any which way they can. When we are confronted with the incredible physical beauty that pervades this land called Kenya, it literally leaves us breathless.

I know, I am beginning to sound like a KC (for those who don’t know what this term means, it is short for Kenyan Cowboy, that unique white Kenyan tribe whose members spend much of their time out in the bundus looking for rare white rhinos or frolicking in villas by the sea where they indulge in their African fantasies by donning kangas and walking barefoot.)

But in Malindi, I am beginning to have KC fantasies of my own. For instance, I am beginning to ask myself whether it is normal for a woman my age to be fighting matatu drivers every morning and eating take-away food every night because I am too exhausted to cook after a full day at a stressful job.

I am fantasising about moving to Malindi for good so I can watch swaying palm trees all year round and swim in the Indian Ocean whenever I feel like it.

I am making mental calculations about how much money I will need to survive without being in paid employment for the rest of my life and whether I have sufficient funds saved to retire early.

If I quit my job today, would that be an incredibly reckless and stupid thing to do given that the world is going through a recession and many Kenyans remain unemployed?

IF I REALLY WANTED TO, I COULD survive on fresh fish and coconuts all year round and have just enough money to maintain access to electricity and the Internet (two things I am not willing to give up at any cost).

I could then spend all my time doings things that I have postponed doing, like reading Nelson Mandela’s autobiography and writing that novel that I have been contemplating for years. I could eat more healthily, walk and swim more, find more time for myself.

But being the jaded and cynical Nairobian that I am, I cannot look paradise in the face without seeing the cracks beneath it. I have barely been here a week and have already started to wonder whether this bliss is just an illusion.

The desperate poverty around me is a reflection of the underdevelopment of this region. Statistics show that Kenya’s coastal people are among the poorest groups in Kenya. People are so poor they are selling their children to paedophiles.

Foreigners love this place because it offers luxury at a bargain price, but tourism has not lifted the living standards of the majority of the local population.

My bliss is momentarily interrupted by these nagging realities. But I am also weighing these with all that is wrong with places such as Nairobi.

Unlike Nairobi, life in Malindi is devoid of the rigid class system and fears that define Nairobi. The working classes — tuk tuk drivers, watchmen, cooks and the like — have no idea that it is considered impolite to talk to your employers as if they are your equals.

It is refreshing to know that despite their poverty, people here carry with them a certain dignity and self-confidence.

Since it is a small town and everyone knows everybody’s business, people feel safe. No one is looking over their shoulder to see who is going to rob them. I can actually drive here without shutting and locking all my car windows!

So, for now, I am savouring all that is good about Malindi before I head back to the savage jungle called Nairobi. But I know I will be back.

Author: Rasna Warah. Source: Daily Nation, 28/12/2008.

Ms Warah is an editor with the UN. The views expressed here are her own and do not necessarily reflect those of the United Nations.