The African Soul of Kenya. A Travel Journal

Africa. A name, a continent, and a place I chose at random to travel to and explore. It was a chose between South America and Africa, Africa’s pull was greater and I soon began to learn why. Most wannabe travellers study books, watch documentaries or at least research a little into the country they will embark upon. I, on the other hand, walk into a travel agent, wait for my turn and say to the lady, “Umm, Africa, nice at this time of year is it? The next minute, I find myself parting with my visa card in exchange for a return ticket to Kenya. Why Kenya? Well I suppose you have to start somewhere.

It was probably the quickest and most painless experience I have ever experienced in a travel agent. No time constraints, no flight restrictions and no accommodation to book.

God only knows where I would be laying my head for the next few months, a thought only to be had at the end of each day. The idea of travelling to Africa was daunting but also growing on me day by day, due my naivety about the beauty and culture. A challenge for this twenty two year old girl venturing into the unknown, discovering for myself why Africa captures everybody’s heart.

Jabs, rucksack, walking boots, first aid kit, sleeping bag, what clothes to take, how on earth I was going to carry all this. I know, put it on your bed and half it, nice theory but it doesn’t always work. Another useful tip I learnt is to purchase a fake student card, you get far better deals when buying all these items that you are supposed to need.

The day had come, I was flying to Kenya. Friends all came to the airport to wave me off, emotions ran high but in a few months time I would be seeing them all again. Where and how long I would stay in Nairobi I had no idea. Not planning or designing my trip was the best plan I ever made. Travelling is like a game of scrabble; you make it up as you go along.

Nairobi, a city to be taken with caution and I admit to finding it quite daunting at first. It was my first experience of a busy, African city. I felt a bit intimidated to begin with, being one of few white people. Not wanting that comment to sound racist but normally I was used to the ratio being in reverse.

After spending a few days in Nairobi I begun to relax, but you still had to be on your guard, rules were there to be abided by; keep bags close to your person, money carefully hidden, and expensive jewellery not to be worn, basically to try and blend in with the local community. It sounds like travelling within a prison but you soon begin to adjust.

Nairobi didn’t inspire beauty but it held character, and there was life around every corner. Children as young as three and four were wandering the streets begging for food or money, elderly gentlemen sat at the side of the road mending garments on their antique “Singer” sewing machines, ladies would be carrying one months washing on their head with a baby strapped to their back, and gentlemen with torn trousers and threadbare jackets would proudly be wearing a pair of shiny shoes.

I had never felt so alive and alert as I was when I set foot on African soil; I was just soaking up everything around me. I now felt relaxed and enjoyed the communication I shared with the locals. Up early again and on another mission to explore new places, every day was a new adventure.

Outside the hostel gate, which was patrolled night and day, I had yet another decision, left or right? A backpacker’s day is never easy! I started to walk up the road and couldn’t resist buying some mangoes from a little girl sitting on the kerb. I had not yet familiarised myself with the local prices but I bartered as best as I could.

During the course of my walk I managed to collect an ankle full of children. Not being able to consume all the fruit myself, I shared the remainder amongst them. No journey was quick, however short the distance, there was always a conversation to be had or a photo to be taken.

I caught the first bus that arrived at the end of the road, hoping that it would drop me off…….somewhere! I forgot my Lonely Planet in the hostel room and I had no idea where I wanted to go, so carefully noting the direction I was going in and the hostel name, I proceeded upon my journey. Just as I was about to ask the driver, in my best pigeon English, in what direction the bus was heading, everyone behind me burst into song. An array of young, harmonious voices encircled me, I guess school had finished!