Wonderful Land of Vibrant People

Every journey carries its own weight of anticipation. As I stood in the check-in queue, a couple ahead of me spoke in hushed excitement about their anniversary trip to the Masai Mara. Behind me, a young woman nervously flipped through the pages of her passport, as if reassuring herself of its presence. We were all bound for Kenya, but each with our own stories, our own reasons. The flight from Delhi to Nairobi was smooth, punctuated by the occasional turbulence that sent coffee cups skidding on tray tables. I found myself seated next to an elderly man from Gujarat who, upon realizing my destination, beamed with familiarity. “I have lived in Nairobi for forty years,” he declared. “You will love it! But be careful—once Kenya enters your heart, it never leaves.”

Upon arrival, the warm Nairobi air was a stark contrast to Delhi’s October chill. Jomo Kenyatta International Airport was alive with movement, a symphony of voices and rolling suitcases. I was met by a taxi driver, Julius, who grinned as he took my bags. “Karibu Kenya,” he said, welcoming me. As we navigated the streets towards my hotel, he told me about his brother who had once worked in Mumbai. “He always said the traffic in India is worse than here. I did not believe him until I visited last year!” We both laughed as we edged through Nairobi’s evening congestion. The next morning, I walked through the streets of Nairobi, where high-rise buildings coexisted with vibrant markets. A street vendor named Amina called out to me, offering roasted maize. “You must try it,” she insisted. The sweetness of the corn mingled with the smoky char, and for a moment, I could have been back in India, biting into a monsoon-special bhutta by Marine Drive. We chatted as she worked, her hands skilfully turning the cobs over the open flame. “I dream of visiting India one day,” she said. “I have heard that in Delhi, the markets never sleep.”

A few days later, I found myself on a small propeller plane heading towards the Masai Mara. The vastness of the African landscape stretched endlessly below; golden grasslands punctuated by acacia trees. At the landing strip, I was greeted by my guide, Daniel, who had an infectious enthusiasm for the land. “You are lucky,” he said as we set off in a jeep. “The great migration just ended, but the lions still linger.” That evening, as the sun cast a crimson glow over the savannah, we spotted a pride of lions resting under a tree. I watched in awe, their lazy yawns and flicking tails—a stark contrast to the thrill they inspired. Daniel told me about a lioness he had once seen mourning her lost cub, a sight that had left even the most seasoned guides speechless. “We sometimes forget that they feel, just as we do,” he said softly. That night at the safari lodge, I sat by the bonfire with a group of travellers from around the world. Stories were exchanged over plates of nyama choma, the Kenyan-style grilled meat that left its smoky imprint on my fingers. A couple from Canada spoke of their travels across Africa, while a photographer from Japan shared how he had once camped among the elephants. An elderly woman, traveling solo, laughed as she recalled being chased by an overenthusiastic giraffe during a morning trek. It was a reminder that no matter where we came from, the love for adventure was a language we all understood.

The next leg of my journey took me to Lake Naivasha, where the water shimmered like a silver mirror under the sun. A boat ride revealed a world of pink flamingos, lazy hippos, and fish eagles that soared with effortless grace. My boatman, Robert, pointed to a particular section of the shore. “That is where Joy Adamson lived,” he said, referring to the conservationist behind ‘Born Free.’ “She loved these lands deeply. Many do.” I met a young Masai boy named Elisha near the lake. Barefoot and dressed in a traditional shuka, he greeted me with a bright smile. “Do you have lions in India?” he asked curiously. When I told him about the Asiatic lions of Gir, he nodded sagely. “Then I must visit one day.” We sat by the water’s edge, exchanging stories—he, about the elephants that sometimes wandered near his home, and I, about the monkeys that often raided our gardens back in Delhi. In that moment, separated by continents but connected by our love for the wild, we were simply two people marvelling at nature. As my trip neared its end, I found myself back in Nairobi, wandering through the Karen Blixen Museum, the former home of the Danish author of ‘Out of Africa.’ The colonial house, with its old-world charm, echoed with memories of a time gone by. As I stood in her garden, looking out at the Ngong Hills, I understood why so many had fallen for Kenya’s spell. The land had a way of etching itself onto one’s soul. On my flight back to Delhi, I thought of the people I had met—Julius, Amina, Daniel, Robert, Elisha. Each had shared a piece of their world with me, and in return, I carried their stories home. As the plane ascended, leaving the twinkling lights of Nairobi behind, I knew what the old Gujarati man had meant. Kenya had entered my heart, and it was never leaving.

The writers are freelance travel journalists