Why Kenya Keeps Calling Me Back
Oh Kenya… you’ve done it again.I’ve just wrapped up a whirlwind 10 days in Nairobi — dodging traffic, finding really good coffee in unexpected places, and being reminded why this country always feels like a never-ending adventure novel. Very Out of Africa vibes.
Kenya isn’t just a country, it’s a mix of skies, moods and moments. The kind that make you laugh, pause, or just sit quietly taking it all in. It’s not one neat story — and that’s exactly why I love it. I started out thinking I’d narrow it down to eight landscapes… and then got carried away. Because honestly, how could I not?From wide open skies and thundering herds to quiet waves rolling onto the coast, it’s all here, asking to be explored. I’ve moved through these places over the years in every way imaginable — avoiding crowded matatus, embracing long dusty roads, and small planes that feel like they’re held together by optimism. My camera has the scratches to prove it. My heart has the stories. While I was in Nairobi this time, I managed a quick visit to the national park right on the city’s edge. Rhinos grazing calmly while skyscrapers sit in the background like they’re not supposed to be there. It’s absurd and magical all at once — nature’s gentle reminder that it has not gone anywhere. But enough warming up, let’ me take you straight to where the lions really are king.
The Maasai Mara always feels like stepping into a wildlife documentary — just with a welcoming coffee and early mornings that actually make sense. I’ve watched dawn break here, cup in hand, as the plains slowly turn gold. Lions stretched out like bored royalty, cheetahs suddenly exploding into motion without warning. When the timing is right, the Great Migration rolls through and the place feels alive in a completely different way. And then there are the Maasai themselves, living alongside it all. I once chatted to a chief’s son, who spoke about sharing space with big cats as if it was just part of life. That stayed with me.
Mount Kenya has a very different energy. It’s big and quiet and makes you feel wonderfully small. You start out in dense forest, birds everywhere, rosewood and camphor trees, then move through bamboo tunnels carved out by elephants — actual elephant highways. Higher up, everything changes. Open moorland, giant lobelias that look like they don’t quite belong on this planet, and a cold that sneaks up on you. Near the top, it’s stark and still, and the silence feels like therapy.
Lake Nakuru is a complete contrast. When conditions are right, the lake turns pink with flamingos, noisy and chaotic and impossible not to stare at. Fever trees line the shore, reflections blur sky and water, and rhinos wander through as if they know they’re in a protected space. I’ve always imagined sitting there with a simple picnic, watching the madness unfold without needing to be part of it.
Amboseli is all about perspective. Huge elephant herds moving through shallow marshes, Kilimanjaro floating in the background like it’s trying not to show off. The light here, especially early in the morning, is something else.
Tsavo feels raw and unapologetic. Red dust, endless space, elephants stained the colour of the earth itself. Tsavo East stretches forever, while Tsavo West pulls you into lava fields, rocky outcrops and clear springs bubbling out of nowhere. You can drive for hours without seeing another vehicle. This is not brochure Kenya. This is stories you don’t find neatly written anywhere. Carry water. Tsavo doesn’t do hand-holding.
Head north to Samburu and everything shifts again. Drier, quieter, more stripped back. This is where you find the Samburu Special Five — Grevy’s zebra, reticulated giraffe, gerenuk balancing on tiptoes, beisa oryx and those blue-legged ostriches that always look slightly unimpressed. The river keeps everything alive, elephants bathing, crocodiles lurking, green ribbons cutting through dry land. If you camp here, the nights stay with you. Less polished, more real.
And then there’s Nairobi National Park, which still makes me smile every time. Lions, giraffes and buffalo going about their business with office buildings behind them. It shouldn’t work, but it does. On this recent trip I popped in again and was reminded how special it is. A perfect first safari, or a quick reminder that wildness still exists right next to chaos.
Hell’s Gate, about 90 km northwest of Nairobi, feels playful by comparison. You drive down the Rift Valley escarpment ( should have great views on a clear day) pass Lake Naivasha. You can walk or cycle among wildlife, hike through gorges where steam rises from the earth, and feel the ground warm beneath your feet. Baboons shout at each other, cliffs tower above you, and everything feels alive.
The coast is calling me. Lamu especially. Narrow streets, donkeys, carved doors, dhows sliding across the water at sunset. I’ll be there soon with my camera, and I already know it’s going to get under my skin. Diani’s beaches stretch on forever, Watamu hides reefs and marine life, Malindi carries whispers of old trade routes, and Gede Ruins sit quietly, half reclaimed by forest, beautiful and haunting. I haven’t written much about Mombasa here, but it sits quietly in the background for me — my first doorway to the coast, and a reminder that Kenya always has another layer waiting. The coast moves differently. Softer. Slower. Addictive. Kenya, you’ve got me again.
If you’re planning your own trip, start small, stay curious, and let the place speak to you.
And if you have a favourite corner of this country, tell me. I’m already dreaming and planning the next journey.
Warmly
Vivie
