1 March 2026 – To Nakuru, with a Detour Through Kikuyu
After breakfast and checking out, we were delighted to see that Don had come again. He had driven all the way from Voi and was now going to take us to Nakuru. We were genuinely happy to see him. During the safari we had developed a warm bond with him. He spoke well, drove safely, mixed with us easily, and even enjoyed our silly humour. He already felt like one of us. His Land Cruiser was spacious and comfortable, making the long drive pleasant.
On the way, Bharti asked Don if we could briefly pass through Kikuyu, where she had been born in 1957. We did so, but as with Nairobi, the place had changed too much. Bharti lost her bearings, and the house where she had once lived appeared to have been demolished. There was now a new underpass leading to a new railway station. We were also told the area could be unsafe, so we did not spend too much time there.
We then continued through the escarpment of the Great Rift Valley and stopped for a quick photo session. The Rift Valley, one of Africa’s great natural wonders, always leaves an impression. Vast and ancient, it seemed to remind us again how small human life is next to the age of the land.
We also stopped briefly in Naivasha, where we enjoyed fresh sugarcane juice mixed with ginger and lime — refreshing and delicious.
Then came the approach to Nakuru.
For me, this was the most personal of all the destinations. I had been born in Nakuru in 1953 and had left in 1971. This was my first return in fifty-five years.
Nakuru had once been a town. Now it had grown into a city. We could see the expansion as we drove in. We passed under a railway bridge near the city entrance, and I distinctly remembered a steam engine derailment there in the late 1960s. That memory came back so clearly that it felt astonishing.
When we reached Midland Hotel, I was momentarily confused. For years I had somehow believed that Midland Hotel was the old Stags Head Hotel near the Post Office and Queens Park, where the East African Safari Rally cars used to stop overnight. In those days we used to go and watch the race cars, including the famous Joginder Singh in his Volvo. I had therefore chosen the hotel partly because of that mistaken memory. In fact, I had mixed the two places up. Never mind, because Midland had its own significance — we were told that the Queen Mother had once stayed there.
As we checked in, I was surprised to see a framed photograph of the old derailment, which further stirred my memories. After a little rest, we all ventured out into town. It was Sunday, so many shops were closed. Nakuru is small compared to Nairobi, and as we walked I slowly tried to regain my bearings.
Coming out of the hotel and turning left, we could see the Post Office on Kenyatta Avenue. Further along on the right was a small filling station opposite the Rift Valley Sports Club cricket ground, a beautiful ground where my uncle had played cricket. On the corner, the rounded Spekes building still stood. I was told that Rivelco had burned down. That had once been a lovely old-style thatched building run by a Sikh family.
Opposite stood the place where our own family shop had once been: H.R. Karadia Watchmakers and Nakuru Studio. That building has since been demolished, replaced by a four-storey building. As we walked further, I remembered a cake and pastry shop on a side street. The shop still existed, though run down. Next to it, there had once been a small restaurant. Today there is a restaurant there called Majid’s, where we stopped for masala tea and met Majid himself, who had come from Zanzibar in the 1980s.
As we walked back up the street, I remembered that on one corner there had once been a clothing shop and an optician on Kenyatta Avenue. Next to the optician my uncle had a gift shop, which is now Majid’s Appliances. Looking straight up the hill, the Odeon Cinema still stood, though sadly in a run-down state.
Walking further down Kenyatta Avenue towards the railway station, there was still a filling station near the roundabout. In our time it had been Caltex, and nearby had stood Bodalia Batteries.
By then we were tired. It was drizzling and getting dark, so we went back to the hotel. That night, almost everything in the restaurant went wrong. We ordered lamb biryani and got chicken biryani. We ordered fried papad and they arrived burnt. Even the dal was not what we had asked for. But none of it mattered. I was too immersed in memory to care. Rain fell outside, and we slept.
