I didn't want to go back to Kenya.
Not that I had not liked, indeed more!
I had enjoyed myself in profusion.
The blue sea, the turquoise sky, the rosada beaches, and also the beautiful coloured women, other than the grey of Italy that was once white, red and grilled.
I didn't want to go back there mainly because I had read some bad things, that it could happen to you that you went to an Italian bar and you were kidnapped or they put expired medicines in your coffee, or even that maybe you wanted to help a poor child and then they came to know and fired you in the office in your country.
I was almost terrified but my friend Geppe, who is an experienced man because he was also in Santo Domingo and Dubai, told me he was in Kenya not only Malindi, you can choose a thousand other beautiful places anyway.
Malindi is better because everyone speaks Italian and someone even speaks southern neapolitan dialect.
And I asked us, but in the other beautiful places are there rosada beaches and colorful women?
"How many do you just want them to be called differently".
The beaches?
"Even women!" 
The one that maybe was called Jennifer in Malindi, somewhere else is called Priscilla.
Or viceversa.
So I took courage and made the ticket to Watamu.
So I'll tell you right away that the beaches are whiter than in Malindi, but on the beach more than beautiful coloured women there are males with braids that call you amigo.
I'm sorry, but I'm a friend of a boy with braids and I've never even been to carnival when I was a child.
There are many white women instead of having become friends with the boys, it's probably because of the braids they made too.
One of the favorite sports that these women do with boys is riding a motorbike for Africa. In the end they go there so much that you buy the bike too.
That they always use it.
Boys don't know if they can buy it, but I think they can rent it.
In Watamu everything is tourist: they have tourist stalls, tourist villages, tourist restaurants, tourist shops, even many tourists are tourist with 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 go?
There is not even a bar with raitalia television and Benevento football matches.
In Malindi the English are all locked up in the driften wood.
In Watamu they can walk around on the loose and eat pizza, and they also drink cappuccino.
In Watamu if you know a muzzungu, after a while you know him, he takes you fishing.
In Malindi, if you know a muzzungu, after a while you know him, he takes you to court.
In Malindi many roads have holes, in Watamu many holes do not yet have a road all to themselves.
In Malindi you eat well, in Watamu you don't eat badly.
I went to a restaurant by the sea and I ate a lobster that was the same as Malindi.
Probably they get here by swimming, which by sea is not far away.
In Watamu you eat too much ice cream everywhere.
In Malindi people eat Watamu's ice cream.
In the evening, Watamu is also in a state of "fermento", even if it is called in another way.
However, they are all places a bit smelly without air conditioning, important but the waiters understand gin tonic in Italian and even beer understand tascher.
Women at night in Watamu are a bit more expensive and you find it harder to find one different from all the others. 
They are very similar and there are not many others.
An Italian who has lived in Watamu since before it existed told me that you must be a friend of a braid and then it is easier, because he introduces you to his friends (not the white ones with the bike, no) who have a bit 'different. Maybe not students like the ones in Malindi, because in Watamu they don't have such professional schools, but maybe a bit of secretaries or nurses or nice unemployed.
Anyway, I decided to go back to Malindi, it's done more for me.
I go back to Malindi also because I'm left with so many Italian friends there, so many that they also owe me money.
Or viceversa.