Displaying items by tag: Writing Retreat

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There are no refunds available when you book. We cannot transfer bookings from one retreat to another. You are welcome to transfer or sell your space to someone else. Should you do this, please inform SuccessSpark Brand immediately of your replacement. SuccessSpark Brand Limited is not responsible for finding you a replacement if you can’t make it

By Maria Birungi

22nd November 2018- Morning.

It is the morning of 22nd November 2018. I am seated in a blue boat with a motor engine, whose sound is slicing through the quietness that engulfs Lake Victoria. I don’t know what I expected but I am surprised that the lake is silent; even the fishermen lack the boisterousness that I thought was a parcel that they carry with them to the water. Instead, they are serious. Everything is serious. Rather, every living thing seems to think that quietness is seriousness. Even us, in this boat. We are so serious that the jokes being made are about the possibility of goonyas and other terrifying underwater creatures. I look up at the cloudless sky and imagine that if someone was to look down at this boat in which I am seated, it would look like a small toy, leaving a trail of ripples in its wake; a child’s toy to be indulged with when the water loses its playful appeal.

22nd November 2018- Afternoon.

In the afternoon of that very day, after we arrive at Lagoon Resort; an establishment with quaint cottages for rooms, a white sand beach and a garden with tall trees which we would later be encouraged by the owner to go and explore in what he called ‘the nature walk,’ Zaina, Isabella, Sam, Flavia and I are seated in a tree house.  We, together with Jackee and Crystal (the facilitators) and Zahara, have just had our first meal in the dining area. The general consensus is that the chef was overwhelmingly good and generous with the portions that we each partook of our meals.  Jackee and Crystal are taking us through the different writing techniques and how each of them would best apply to our individual writing projects. Zahara is holding a camera and focusing it on objects, Haribu-the resident dog, texture, fabric, colour, faces, emotion. The click-click noise that I almost expected to hear from her camera is absent and I soon forget to be self-conscious for the photos.

23rd November

I am doing my assignment given by Jackee, on imagination. I am supposed to be imagining a character’s emotions and feelings. Earlier on in the day we were given texts to read, from which we could borrow a few techniques. They were both very intriguing especially since they were real and yet the events felt like fiction. I guess its true what they say ‘reality can read like fiction.’ My favourite thing about the location is that the quietness is a trigger for thought.

I am walking down towards the lake with Isabella and Sam. The sun is setting; it makes the sky looks like an artist spread an orange hue across it. I walk towards the two small boats that are lazily bobbing up and down. Zahara takes silhouette photos of us. She lets us do whatever we want.This is what peace is. This is what peace feels like.

24th November 2018.

On the night before we leave the resort, everything is slower.  The conversation rises and dips like waves and in some moments, stills. Earlier on in the day, we had individual sessions conducted by the facilitators. My session was conducted by Crystal. she asked me about how I got to know about the Nevender Legacy, which sponsored my attendance at the retreat and my understanding of its objectives. We talked about my writing habits and my goals and how best to improve them. we talked about life’s numerous paths too, where I would like to see myself, where I am and where I am from. As the evening’s light wore on into darkness, we all gathered for one last dinner meal at the dining table.

As the sounds of voices around the dining table dance to a slow rhythm, the darkness thickens. Haribu-the resident dog lies on his tummy next to a sculpture of a man and woman at the entrance of the reception. The candles on the table glow on.

Are you a budding writer? Already published? Returning to writing after a hiatus? Relatively new to writing? Do you want a place to hone your writing skills that offers independent writing sessions, mentorship and professional development? Or do you simply want time and space to work on that idea or story you have carried in your head for so long?

Join us for four transformative days at the Langi Langi Beach Bungalows this October for the one-on-one private mentorship you need.

Are you a budding writer? Already published? Returning to writing after a hiatus? Relatively new to writing? Do you want a place to hone your writing skills that offers independent writing sessions, mentorship and professional development? Or do you simply want time and space to work on that idea or story you have carried in your head for so long?

Join us for four transformative days at the Lagoon Resort this November for the one-on-one private mentorship you need.

By Gladys Chege 

Stepping out of the cab the first thing I noticed was the smell of the ocean air, the salt, a bit of humidity and how all these elements were well blended. The view of the ocean was beautiful, with a soft breeze flowing in. My mind was focused on where we were heading not realizing the so called ‘ferry’ we were told about earlier was just a simple boat that could sit a max of 6 passengers.

I remember when I was about 10 years old I was out in a public swimming pool with my two older brothers. It was usual for our parents to drop us off at the pool in morning and get us in the evening. So it was one of those days. On that particular day I had decided I was going to learn to swim in the deep end. My brothers taught me how to swim and would play with me in the shallow end for a short while then go have fun in the deep end. I longed to experience that liberty of bravery to swim in the deep end.

So, I came up with a strategy on how to manage myself in the deep end. Of course I couldn’t ask my brothers to take me to the deep end, they were protective and knew just how much trouble they would get into if my parents found out, so I knew better than to tell them my plan. So I figured I could ask one of the life guards to make sure I was equipped with the know-hows of the deep end. I could float on my own, I knew how to hold my breath in the water, and my swimming skills were relatively good. I practiced what I needed to do while in the shallow end, then when I felt confident I matched to the steps of the deep end and lowered myself in.

I was excited and scared my brothers would notice me, but I knew the lifeguard was watching over me. I managed to swim across a couple of widths right at the edge so I could hold onto the rail. After a few rounds I felt I could try something a bit more exciting, so I moved off the rail and a bit deeper. That was perhaps one of the most exciting experiences of my childhood, learning to swim in the deep-end. My brothers non-the-wiser, I thought I was going to get away with it!

Then from across the pool over 20 feet away, and away from the pool area I heard a woman screaming “Oh, my baby! Jack, Eric save her, save her! Oh my God! She’s drowning, get her.” It took a minute before I realized the hysterical woman was my mother. I was confused and flabbergasted that that was my mother. I had never seen her so irrational. I felt embarrassed as I hurriedly swam to the edge of the pool and got out. It was a walk of shame in front of all sorts of people. That day I learnt for the first time the extent my mother’s aqua phobia. I had since improved and continued enjoying swimming, and I still love it to date.

However, as I climbed onto the boat off the Feta bay I was channeling that irrational fear from my mother. The swaying of the boat had me frightened it would roll over and everyone with it. This fear was absolutely irrational considering I had been on smaller vessels canoeing on rough waters. But this fear felt real.

Fredrick and one of the sailors assisted me into the boat. Looking at the life-vests, they didn’t seem well maintained and after exchanging a few times with Jackee trying to find one that would fit, I felt sure we were all going to drown. Moreover, there were some rain clouds not too far off from where we were, and a little drizzle began to fall. When we were all in, the boat was pushed off and the motor went on, the boat stabilized. It was a bit of a relief when it stabilized. We were all euphemistically commenting on the boat size and life-vest. Basically, everyone was beckoning fear, as though each of us was silently trembling in our boots. All but one, Fredrick who sat very calmly with no hint of worry on his face. I barely knew this man but he seemed interesting already. His sense of calmness was soothing. He didn’t have to say much –his posture was enough to change the atmosphere in the boat.

Attempting to further ease the nerves we made some jokes about how the boat would capsize and we would drown in 10 feet of water. Trying to get some, solace Ruth inquired on the duration of the boat ride. It was a 20 minute sail to the island. Looking up onto the horizon, the scene was almost surreal. A couple of dhows were spread out floating at a distance, seeming as though someone intentionally placed them there. As we kept going we noticed more islands hidden away, with many plants and trees. The view was remarkable. All traces of fear had left the boat when Jackee identified the island of the Lazy Lagoon from the thatched roofing. By the time the welcoming committee got to us, notably the manager, two dogs and Raphael the masaai man, we were all relaxed and excited about the place. We were welcomed with refreshments. The sand was spotless, the ocean was calm and beautiful, boats scattered across the horizon, and it was peaceful. And all I could think was we made it! And with an eager anticipation for what’s next I knew something amazing was going to happen on this island.

By Frederick

KQ480 touched down at Nyerere International Airport at 08:15 local time. It was a short flight from Nairobi Jomo Kenyatta International airport, another one named after a previous head of state. Ten minutes into the flight the cabin attendant had announced that a woman was on the controls and I remember that warm feeling of African pride. The cabin pressure had been extremely high and I was uncomfortable as we rolled over the Indian Ocean on the approach to the runway. The male chauvinism in me didn’t let it pass as ” a woman was in charge of things”.

Taxing towards the arrival terminal, exhibits of aging neglect were littered everywhere. An old Dakota was parked on the grass behind an old shack. This is the most politically stable country in East Africa but clearly its main gateway to wide outside world was needing some attention.

As the taxi pulled out of the airport onto the main road to Bagamoyo, Peter the driver was giving us a tourist guide of his hometown Dar el Salaam. The motorcycle taxis that have sprung all over African cities were here too in full swing. Like everywhere else, the riders carried on with the same careless wheezing through traffic line with no care for the safety of their passengers. Peter knew his way around this town. We avoided all the traffic hotspots and were out on the country road to Lazy Lagoon in no time.

Lazy Lagoon Island had been described to me in a romantic language by Google and Trip Advisor as a private Island surrounded by white sandy beaches set off about twenty minutes from the Tanzanian mainland. The pictures on Google were like dreams of the sweetest dreams and I had spent time in my preparation for this trip, planning how I was going to spend time picking shells, digging my feet in the white sand and snorkeling in the blue ocean waters. My office mate Lynder had been blue with envy when I shared those pictures with her and her previous holiday location in Malindi was no match to where I was going to spend a week with a few handpicked professionals on a story writing retreat.

All was going well. Coconut and cashew nut trees lined our country road. Ruth broke the silence. She wanted to know where to buy cashew nuts to take home. Jackee knew everything. She suggested a market run on the way back. Apollo was staring through the window taking in all the details. Gladys kept silent and I was no different. The anticipation of the ferry ride that was going to whisk us to the dream Island was rife.  This was going to be one of those swanky ferries that hope from Island to Island dropping and picking the rich and famous.

Peter started indicating a right turn and in a silent dismay I saw a wooden washed road sign saying “Lazy Lagoon”. We turned right onto a bush track. I looked at Peter who didn’t seem concerned. Everyone else was silent as we hurtled down this winding path. This couldn’t be it I said to myself. Peter must be taking another shortcut to avoid traffic on the harbor approach. Ten minutes later we come to a dirty white gate at the end of the path. Peter hooted and a brown teeth guard came towards up. They spoke in Swahili and seemed to know each other well. He opened the gate to let us in. There was a big sign board off which I caught the word FETA. This must be an acronym of something but it surely wasn’t Ferry. Where have we come to? My whole inside was rolling in questions. Jackee was our hostess and was not providing any quick explanation of this situation. We drove past a row of while dilapidated building and by now I was expecting Peter to pull up in front of one of these and switch off the engine possibly announcing the end of our trip in Swahili. 'Caution Frederick, Caution,' I kept saying to myself. We went around the bend and the ocean came into full view. We were driving to the ocean front. There was a sigh of relief as the taxi came to a stop. I was the first one out and quickly I scanned the beach and the beautiful, clean Indian Ocean.

There was no harbor and no pier. That didn’t bother me much as I was sure that this journey was continuing by water come what may, and It did come pretty shortly in form of a small boat that was bouncing off the ocean waves with a lone soul on board watching us with interest. This was going to be our transport to the Lazy Lagoon, out there on the ocean where I have heard that waves can rise a mile high.  The boat owner helped us with the luggage and we were soon off to our destination. The worried look on Ruth's and Gladys' faces reminded me of my scary experience on Lake Albert some years back.

I took a couple of selfies to try and calm them down. The ride was smooth, the wind was low and the sun was up. We were headed for the Lagoon. The engine purred softly as we sailed on towards a dense mangrove island. We all made jokes about what might be lurking below us in the water trying to cheer each other up. The boat turned right and away from the mangrove thicket towards the open ocean. The blinding sun rays bounced off the waves as we increased speed to clear the path of an oncoming passenger boat. Suddenly there it was.

Hiding behind the mangroves was the most spectacular view I have ever seen in my life. Jackee saw it first; "There it is!" She exclaimed. The characteristically pointed thatch roofs that I had seen on Google were right there in front of me. We were now heading towards a pristine white sand beach the type you only see in photoshopped glossy magazine pictures. As we pulled up on the beach of this Lazy Lagoon Island, the Lazy Lagoon Lodge in its might and splendor was standing there waiting just for us. We were here at last.