The harbor by the town being too shallow for our large ship, we glided by a well-buoyed channel around to the inner side of the island to Kilindini. As we entered this channel, to the right lay Mombasa with its low bungalows buried in foliage, the old Portuguese fort being a conspicuous landmark. To the left the waves broke in vast white semicircles on the coral reefs, while the adjoining point of land with its dense forest of palms presented a most tropical appearance. Robinson Crusoe might at any moment have come out of the jungle, and signalled us. Being but a few miles off the equator, Mombasa does not invite to physical exertion, neither does the climate encourage horses, so the question of intramural transportation is solved by a system of hand-run trams, called trolleys.
Narrow tracks lead from everybody's front door through every street.
Two native boys push these from behind at a swift rate. In front is a foot-brake that can be operated by the person sitting on the left, in case of too great speed or danger of collision. At every comer or intersection are switches, so that one can go in any direction. The system is most complete and is eminently suited to conditions in Mombasa. Gharries or rickshaws supplement these, while one or two of the Hindoo merchants, who batten on East Africa, have carriages and horses.