Notable Nairobi And The Nanyuki Choo-Choo A photographic Walk Part 1

September 18, 2024 Posted in Travel / The Honey Badger Diaries

Romance, Karin Blixen, handsome hunters, man-eating predators, and giraffes loping in languid, stretched-out strides across a grassy plain are the images I see in my mind’s eye whenever I think of Nairobi. Dust, heat, and colourfully beaded African ladies carrying heavy loads on regal heads and slender necks and Maasai herders balanced on one leg in a yoga pose complete the picture.

While I was contemplating my adventures in Nairobi, Butch was planning and making a snag list of maintenance chores to be completed on the Honey Badger while we were camping at Jungle Junction in Langata, or Karin as the district is fondly refered to, a suburb of Nairobi. Here cattle are still driven and have free passage from their grazing to their kraals at night.

The campsite had been recommended to us by various Overlanders who come to this well-appointed spot. Chris, a keen motorbiker and Overlander, the owner and ex-BMW technician from headquarters in Germany, knows his stuff regarding servicing and repairing anything on wheels.

Parked in neat rows are overland vehicles of all sizes that remain there for an extended period while the owners return to their country of origin, many for a European summer like the Pink Bus from Sweden being prepared for a lay-over while the crew, a married couple, take up their regular professions before returning in six months with a troupe of excited pink, blue-eyed tourists.

At first glance, Nairobi is like any large city: it has high-rise buildings, graffiti walls, overpasses, multilane thoroughfares, ancient tree-lined streets, informal vendors, and litter.

What makes Nairobi unique is the National Park, teeming with the wildest animals, bordering a bustling city of 15 million inhabitants.

Chris’ workshop is always busy, but he assured us he had a slot for the Honey Badger during the week and suggested we take the train to Nanyuki while a team of mechanics got stuck in.

Modern technology is the great equaliser, whether you’re a billionaire living in the USA or a goat herder in Africa. If you have a telephone with a SIM card, you have equal access to SMS communications, and if you’re a little more fortunate with a Smart(ish) phone, you have the internet at your fingertips.

Sitting pillion on a scooter or more comfortably in an automobile, we could get around at the drop of a hat. Chris assured us he jacked the truck up and removed the wheels individually. I felt he couldn’t wait to get us out of his hair. “A watched pot never boils”, I could hear someone say while Chris shooed us off, waving a dirty rag in our direction. His complement of workers eyeing us redolently while sipping steaming coffees

We could order an UBER on our updated Apps precisely as we did in Florence. The drivers were well informed and spoke excellent English and a few other foreign languages, making any journey an occasion to learn something new about Kenya or Nairobi.

On this occasion, we were whisked off to the train station to purchase tickets to Nanyuki, and according to the driver, it would be worthwhile to visit the Railway Museum, which is a kilometre down the road, before returning to our campsite.

Google Maps helped us reach the train station, which surprised me; our driver had never been there. But, I reminded myself people are living in Ysterplaat, a suburb of Cape Town, who’ve never seen the ocean, a school teacher told me years ago.

The ticket officer at the station informed us that tickets to Nanyuki could be purchased on the day of departure only, and she assured us that there would be ample space for us and a first-class coupe was guaranteed, she said, sighing impatiently before and after each answer. She soon made eye contact with the person behind us and swept us out of her way with a beautifully manicured hand. I was transfixed by her artistically lacquered nails and tucked my blunt fingertips into the palms of my hand.

It was a bright blue sunny day, and we agreed that the walk to the museum would do us good. We were not getting enough exercise.

Along the way, we admired the modern skyscrapers juxtaposed next to tiny dilapidated homes and interesting portraits spray painted on walls as we made our way along a tree-lined avenue. The distance, I would guess, was a tad further than one kilometre, but we made it soon enough.

The museum, housed in an early nineteenth-century building, had red polished floors, high ceilings, and a corrugated iron roof, and it was filled with glass display cases.

We paid a small entrance fee to a young girl in a cubicle and were told where to begin our tour. She said there would be printed cards giving us the relevant information about each display or exhibit, and she returned her gaze to her cell phone and Facebook page. Her face lit up at the pings, and with thumbs and index fingers flying across the letters, she soon replied to a comment.

The cool interior was welcoming after the heat of the midday sun outside as we perused the displays and snaked our way up and down the room. Nostalgia oozes from the old-fashioned typed placards and lined index cards filled with information about Princess Elizabeth’s visit to Kenya with her sister, Princess Margaret and her parents, the King and Queen of England.

Encased in glass are replicas of ships, locomotives and memorabilia commemorating Kenya’s vast rail system crisscrossing the country.

It was not difficult to imagine muscled, turbaned porters pushing trolleys, heavily loaded with valises, hat boxes and leather suitcases and trunks to compartments while bare-chested, beaded Maasai gun bearers[M1] proudly scanned over-dressed settlers clad in heavy khaki, winter white and cream linen “safari suits” their cream pith helmets sitting heavy on their heads. Umbrellas, fans and handkerchiefs were hopelessly inadequate in keeping the flies, heat and dust at bay.

The conversations concern hunting, trophies (both human and animal), the heat and, in some cases, their longing for “home”. An extraordinary and transient bygone, hedonistic time of decadence and irresponsibility

I hear the whistle of the station master, the great whoosh of steam billowing from the chimney stack and along the pavement, sending passengers scuttling backwards to prevent skirts from grimy soot stains, and the heat of the gluttonous coal fire whose insatiable hunger is fed continuously by glistening, soot-stained men who take turns to stop to stretch their backs and wipe their brows with blackened cloths before returning to their tedious work.

As an outsider looking in, I have the luxury of being an observer only. I stand here; a century later, the social injustices and exploitations hit me in the solar plexus.

A light touch on my shoulder brings my reverie to an end. I see a small, wiry man with a beaming, toothy grin. He apologised for the intrusion but couldn’t resist the opportunity to chat. I am delighted, of course.

Abdo, a survivor of Africa’s longest civil war and a refugee from the Sudan, tells me he’s been living in Nairobi for a few months, having walked from his war-torn homeland. Listening to him describe the atrocities happening in cities across South Sudan is horrific, and his reasons for leaving are justified.

While we wait for Butch to catch up, we sit on a bench and discuss our experiences in Kenya and his interest in South Africa inspires me to tell him all about our beautiful country. He tells me that although the thoughts of civil war take an extraordinary toll on him, he believes remembering his past and the pain he had to endure promotes healing, awareness and accountability. Abdo will, God willing, return to his homeland. he promised, smiling.

With tears glistening in his eyes, this man with the kindest eyes says our hugs are healing to the soul. I couldn’t agree more.

Tea, a healing balm for the soul was what we needed and of course Cheese cake. A reward.

---oOo---

Feeling pensive and emotionally drained, Butch and I decide to treat ourselves to a night out and reserve a table at a top-notch restaurant nearest our camping spot. Sitting in the restaurant’s cool interior with the lively chatter and laughter of diners, we relate the extraordinary experience we were privileged to share with a stranger, a man who, notwithstanding the devastation he’s lived, still yearns for friendship, hope and peace.

From my handbag, I removed the photocopy of a camel train he gave me, telling me that is how people traditionally travel in Sudan. In better times, he added pensively, before resuming his museum tour.

The Talisman Restaurant was the perfect setting for a beautiful evening of fine dining in an eclectic environment. The décor features pillars from Pakistan, Afghan rugs, fireplaces, cushioned couches, local art and monochrome photography.

Conversations were lively in a melodiousness of languages as expats and locals celebrated, catching up with returning friends. Couples enjoy romantic candlelit dinners in multiple secluded settings and gaily-lit courtyard gardens.

We were determined to explore the vibrant dining culture of Nairobi, we vowed on our drive back to the Honey Badger.

---oOo---

Dear Elizabeth,

I hope this long overdue letter finds you well and that you’re enjoying the last warm flush of summer so far from your beloved home in Nanyuki.

Early on Friday morning, Butch and I slipped out of bed and sipped our coffees before brewing our second cup to enjoy on the train. Other campers were fast asleep all around us; not even the birds had started their excited daily chatter.

The friendly basket seller was the only person on the street as the sun crept over the tops of the tall trees when the Askari opened the gate for us. Our pre-booked taxi was spot on time, and we set off determined to beat the early morning Nairobi traffic into the city centre. Not surprisingly, vendors were already setting up their stalls, heavily laden smoke-billowing motorbikes were buzzing along at full throttle along the highways already, and in drips and drabs, early risers were taking to the streets in an attempt to be at the office early.

We joined the queue at the ticket office. Ahead of us was an elderly couple from Rajasthan with their daughter who were on a pilgrimage to the gentleman’s birthplace seventy-five years ago. His daughter, now living in Nairobi, would be their guide, they told us excitedly, Dad wiping perspiration from his brows while Mama waited quietly, gripping her handbag with both hands, to one side.

On the platform, we settled in for the wait. While Butch caught up with news on the News24 App, I stretched my legs and admired the lady swinging her mop from left to right, a rhythmic slow side shuffle dance as she brought the floors back to a shiny gleen. A solitary figure drifting off in her own world, she made good progress, and by the time I neared her, the floor was bone dry in the early morning heat.

Our train was ready and waiting for us to board, and at the appointed time, the doors opened, and we were invited to board the train by the throaty voice of the conductor. Our coupe in the third carriage from the engine was perfect. Butch and I settled, retrieved our books, mine the bestseller White Mischief by James Fox and our phones. We stowed our backpacks on the top bunk and excitedly awaited our departure.

A steady stream of passengers filled the train, and soon we had neighbours. Two chaps right next door turned the volume up on their playlist, and we would have a lively songbook of music to Nanyuki. This is a trip our intrepid Rap DJs do regularly to get out of the hustle and bustle of the city, they told Butch later.

At a snail’s pace, our train snaked its way through Nairobi and a vast satellite of districts while the steel python rhythmically clickety-clacked sluggishly over modern sleepers and rails, grinding to a halt at every station along the way.

We’d packed provisions for breakfast and lunch in a picnic hamper and various favourite snacks, sweeties and juices. We spread our red check table napkins on our laps and tucked into our breakfast yoghurts while the train shunted on. We left the city limits one hour and forty-five minutes after setting off, having stopped at numerous stations.

Signs at stations mentioned unpronounceable names as we rattled our way past Starehe, Makadara, Embakasi West, Nairobi, Ruiru, Juja, and rural towns and villages like Thika, Gatanga, Maragwa, Kabati, Saba Saba, Kiharu, kicking up dust near Sagana where we decided to unpack our picnic hamper and have lunch.

Sharing is caring, and soon, passengers in adjoining compartments were swopping treats. We were presented with a beautiful, fragrant mango for dessert. “Picked this morning”, the couple next door said, the fruit cupped in her hands.

The landscape was changing as we started climbing the greener valleys and escarpment near Nadia, Karatina, Mathira, Kieni, and the lovely sounding Naro Moru, where passengers started asking for a small fee, the driver to stop for a minute so that they could disembark.

---oOo---

Near Kieni, near the market town of Nanyuki, situated just north of the equator, our generous neighbours, farmers, requested a stop near their farm. The engine driver, a very accommodating fellow, agreed.

The sky was turning pink, and we realised we were near our destination when we spotted Mount Kenya in the distance.

As you suggested, we could negotiate a ride at a reasonable price to your self-catering Air B&B on the outskirts of town, where we’d spend two nights until our return to Nairobi.

Our 7-hour journey was relaxing and thoroughly enjoyable, we agreed slipping our lighter backpacks over our shoulders before disembarking the Nanyuki Choo-choo.

Our very informed driver gave us a list of recommendations for our stay in Nanyuki and agreed we should walk down to the village in the morning, followed by a trip to Nanyuki.

Thrilled to be “home”, we stepped into our ox-blood ochre rondavel with windows overlooking the mountain. Just then, the sun set, and the sky turned a glowed blushing apricot, casting a blue spell on Mount Kenya. A good omen, we thought, settling in.

Kindest regards,

---oOo---

The driving distance between Nairobi and Nanyuki is 190km and takes approximately, traffic permitting, 2h47 minutes to drive.

We were welcomed at our self-catering accommodations, Elephant Hut at the foot of Mt Kenya at the Forest Gate, by Faith and Mwenda, who received us and showed us to our rondavel. Just finishing their supper was James and his charming wife, a couple from the UK who were retracing James’ childhood steps. Born in Kenya thirty years ago, he, like many Kenyan children, completed his education in the UK and went on to study there, and the rest is history. He met his beautiful wife and will likely remain in London, where they’re based.

The heady scent of Lavender blossoms trilled the cooling air, and soon after supper, we were in bed with the windows wide open so that we could see the stars twinkle and the moon streak its way across the summit of Mt Kenya.

We only had one day to do all the exploring we had on our list.

A good long walk was all the encouragement our knees, hips, muscles, and joints cried for after our long train journey and the forthcoming one on Sunday. Into our walking boots, we jumped up and set off to the village for coffee and something to nosh for breakfast.

We set off briskly and arrived at the little trading post exhausted, hot and flushed. The coffee went down a treat: pure ground Kenyan coffee. Full-bodied and flavoursome it was. With our spirits lifted, we perused the fabulously stocked deli, colourful gift shop, interesting décor shops, and the Butterbean. I could’ve spent hours browsing the interesting locally produced products, colourful fabrics, woven goods, and mouth-watering delicacies.

I did leave with a beautiful, locally produced Kenyan basket. No matter how my fingers itched, I had to leave the bunch of fragrant basil. We would return after our forays into Nanyuki to restock our picnic cool bag. Later, we decided, and have an ice cream Butch promised. I think he did it to get me going.

---oOo---

Nanyuki is an easy-to-navigate, lovely, big town with a large expat community (not that that is the criteria for the nod, as far as I’m concerned.) Towns with exciting shops, farmer’s markets, friendly street vendors, excellent eateries, and street food get my thumbs up. Nanyuki has all that and more.

Although I never mentioned it nor complained, my walking sneakers showed signs of wear and tear. Without fail, I’d have to remove small stones now and again while we walked. On closer inspection, I discovered my one sole was flapping in the breeze and worn away. Eighteen months of constant wear had taken its toll.

Butch spotted the rack of new trainers displayed on the pavement and insisted I try on a pair. I was dubious but succumbed to the offer. The owner had extra sizes stashed away, and soon, I was sporting a new pair of walkers precisely like my old ones. I reckoned they couldn’t be fakes and happily paid the 4500 Kenyan Shillings. Butch insisted I leave my old worn ones behind, and I must confess it was with a heavy heart that I passed them over to the stall owner, who said he’d dispose of them. Those sneakers had walked and cycled all over Africa and to Nanyuki, I argued as we headed to the restaurant for lunch, but Butch wouldn’t budge and loped off vigorously ahead of me.

I realised that it is possible to buy anything on the streets of Nanyuki, passing the vendor selling sunglasses. I spotted a pair of “Ban Rays” and the signature Gucci twirl on another pair. The price was too reasonable to be true.

Lunch was a simple affair at a brewery in a gorgeous garden with manicured lawns and tables scattered under giant Indigenous umbrella acacias and rubber (ficus) trees or under the roof at the bar. I enjoyed a vegetarian curry, and Butch opted for a very interesting hamburger garnished with a deep-fried indigenous leaf.

We returned to the local outpost by taxi to stock up on some delicious deli produce for our return trip to Nairobi.

Nanyuki is currently the main airbase of the Kenya Air Force, and The British Army Training Unit Kenya (BATUK) has a base at Nyati Barracks—infantry exercises are carried out in Laikipia and on Defence land at Archer’s Post. An excellent economic injection I’m sure,

While pondering this information, we were startled to see a convoy of dozens of mammoth trucks carrying serious military weaponry, Hummers, tanks and cannons labelled as military hardware from the USA, which also has an army base at Nanyuki. Kenya borders many countries at war: Somalia, South Sudan, and Ethiopia. I suppose that sometimes the troubles spill over.

I experienced a cold tingle of anxiety running down my spine. The thought of armies of foreign soldiers and the social problems stirred up flashed through my mind. A report of the gruesome murder of a young sex worker in Nanyuki in 2012 confirmed my suspicions.

On a lighter note, this reminded me of Major Allison Digby Tatham-Warter, a British Army officer famed for wearing a bowler hat and carrying an umbrella into battle. He moved to Nanyuki after WW2 and lived on his farm until his death in 1993.

As promised, we indulged in a locally produced ice cream. An Italian gelato couldn’t beat Delia’s delectable ice creams.

---oOo---

We were up the following day at dawn, ready to depart for the station where we would board the train back to Nairobi.

Our excitement was less enthusiastic this time, and we settled to read our books. I was reading wild tales of life in Nairobi in the early 1900s when big game hunting was popular amongst settlers. I napped, and we enjoyed our picnics. We arrived back in Nairobi after a very relaxing day without any dramas. Or delays.

My camera was much quieter this time round which was liberating I must confess.

Our picnics are always a treat. Now I understand why my brood of children always dived into our Tupperware containers shortly after setting off on a road trip. Glaring at them, eyes off the road and over my shoulder, I often complained that we were eating our way to Knysna or Beaufort West.

---oOo---

Our review of Elephant Hut, Mt. Kenya forest-Gate on Air BnB: “We loved every minute of our stay and met a delightful couple also staying at Elizabeth’s place. The staff, Faith and her husband Mwenda, are friendly, helpful and always available. We enjoyed relaxing in the beautiful garden with excellent views of Mount Kenya. We can recommend this stay and would love to return.”

And there before we knew it we were on the outskirts of the city and back in Nairobi.

---oOo---

Back at the campsite, a forlorn Honey Badger still on jacks awaited us. Even her headlamps seemed dimmed, I noticed as we strode up to her. The work had not been completed due to delays in delivering the new tyre and two rims from Johannesburg. We would be sleeping with our baby on crutches for a couple of days, we were told.