2 March 2026 – The Most Emotional Day
We had a full day in Nakuru, and after breakfast Don drove us to search for the place where I was born.
In those days there had been empty spaces around. Now everything was built up. Still, I managed to guide Don to the rough area. We stopped on a street where there was an enclosed space fenced with metal sheets and a small doorway. I got out, walked through the door, and to my amazement there stood the building where I had been born.
I cannot fully describe the feeling.
The building contained four two-bedroom flats. Ours had been upstairs. Next to us had lived the Joshi family. Downstairs on one side had been the Ambalal Patel family, and on the other side the Gosai family. As I looked at the building, childhood memories came flooding back with extraordinary force.
Don asked around, and eventually the man now living in the same flat came out. We spoke to him, and he kindly invited us inside. We met his brother and mother, who were also excited by our story. I was able to take photographs inside the flat, and to my astonishment it all seemed very much the same.
The man was a pastor, and his brother was suffering from an illness. Moved by their kindness, we gave his mother one thousand shillings, for which she was very grateful.
A year into my life, a photograph had once been taken of me there, near the stairs, with the flat number visible and my grandfather holding me in his arms. Now, seventy-two years later, I stood in almost exactly the same place. My wife Hansa and I took a photograph there with the pastor. Once I had stood there as a one-year-old child. Now I stood there as a seventy-two-year-old man. That was one of the most emotional moments of the whole journey.
From there we went towards Afraha Stadium in search of our second home — the house my father had built. But the roads had changed, and the route I remembered no longer existed. In those days there had been a horse racecourse in front of our house and, about a mile behind, the Langa Langa Formula One race track. There had been open land all around. Now the race tracks were gone and the area had become heavily populated.
We searched and searched, with Don driving patiently. Eventually we went looking for West Primary School, which I had attended. The school still existed, though it is now known as Mama Ngina Kenyatta School. As a child I used to walk about ten minutes through the racecourse fields to reach it. Using that remembered route, we backtracked — and finally found our lost house.
What a feeling of achievement that was.
The house, once standing with ample land around it, was now hemmed in by hundreds of other houses. The large building of around fourteen rooms had been partly demolished and converted into teachers’ quarters. The land where we once had a poultry farm now contained a madrassa, an orphanage, and a small hospital. The Sheikh from the madrassa kindly invited me into his office for a chat. Everything had changed beyond recognition, yet the front three sections of the original building still revealed its old identity. I was immensely happy to have found it.
From there we drove past Afraha Stadium and my first home area in search of the Hindu temple we had once frequented. This time my bearings worked. I recognised a small hill, and up the hill on the left stood the Sanatan Hindu Temple. When we reached it, the priest was preparing for the Holi fire, as that day was the festival of Holi. The Holi fire was to be lit at 7:00 pm, so we asked Don to bring us back in the evening.
We then moved on to look for my first school, Lake Primary School. We found it, though it is now known as Jamhuri Comprehensive School.
On the way back into town, we stopped to enjoy roasted corn on the cob with chilli and lime, another simple pleasure made perfect by the setting. Don then took us back to the hotel, where we had a little drink and some rest.
We had just under half a day left in Nakuru. As usual, Hansa and Bharti chose to spend some time shopping, while Ramesh and I went out for another stroll. In my day there had been two cinemas in town: Odeon, which still survives, and Eros Cinema, which has now been converted into a church. We walked to the end of Kenyatta Avenue and turned right at the filling station, going past the matatu stands and seeing the market where our parents used to buy vegetables.
After circling the block and walking a little further, we went near Odeon Cinema. I remembered that there had once been a boxing club just behind our shop. We walked along that street and found the Nakuru Amateur Boxing Club still there, looking almost the same after so many years.
By then it felt as if everything was drawing gently to a close. At 6:45 pm, Don picked us up and took us back to the temple for the Holi fire. A large crowd had gathered. After the priest completed the rituals, the Holi was lit and everyone moved around the fire chanting. Then, quite suddenly, it began to rain, and everyone ran back to their cars.
We asked Don to join us and took him to Gilani’s Restaurant. The Gilani family has lived in Nakuru ever since our old days there, which made dining there feel especially fitting. After an excellent dinner, we returned to the hotel for the night.
