I decided after my end of semester exams to go visit my grand-mother down in the countryside. I woke up early on Friday and had set my mind that I would escape the hustle and bustle of town to enjoy the calmness that came with the tranquility of the countryside.

It was just for the weekend.

Home is in the interior of the Great Rift Valley that came about the drifting apart of the continental plates. I went to school people, and yes, I did Geography! The journey was long and apart from being tiresome, the scenery was breath taking. The majesty of the hills, valleys, depressions, flora and the rocks that at any second, one would think would topple down and bury you alive made my heart beat faster. Not forgetting the cool breeze that made you want to inhale without exhaling. The fresh air cleared my mind and energized my spirit. Maybe for the first time, I felt a oneness with the surrounding.

I arrived at Nakuru to board another matatu that went to Kabarnet. What really amazes me in Nakuru is that motor bikes are way far more than vehicles. No lie! On a light note; the four-wheeled are about as common as dew in the desert – ha-ha! It’s a business town. I had lunch of a soda and two scones.

And on the way, if you have seen ‘fast and the furious – Tokyo drift’ and seen the road where the drift is taking place (DK’s mountain), not to brag or anything but the road to home was a similar one as it winds up the hill for about four kilometers. There is no beauty like this, wonders I tell you! It exhibited an exquisite tribute to the symphony of nature.

I arrived home at about 7pm and by that time, I had forgotten about the stressful life of the city. I felt entirely liberated from the strain and pressures that personified my ‘city’ life. Which goes something like this; School. Walk. School. Walk. School. School. I know, right? I met my grandmother who was going on with her endeavors as usual. She is so amiable taking care of one of her grand-daughter like a fruit from her womb.


Life is great here in the countryside as everyone is family. For every young man who has undergone ‘the knife’ is regarded with respect. What Mwalimu Nyerere was campaigning for in Tanzania about ‘Ujamaa Village’ is taking place without any supervision. Each and every house I stepped into, I was welcomed with a hot cup of tea with stories of home, how it’s been a long time they heard and saw me, how I’ve grown big and haven’t shaved my hair.

Sunday services are out of the norm – from town services – as the youth lead and the women sing along. Kids running around and the speaker can be heard about 10km away. That’s how loud it is! No theft here, leave alone that, there isn’t any thought of it. The grownups discipline their neighbors’ kids. Rarely do I take advantage of such opportunities – actually never! All in all it’s a family. One big family.

While I was there I got to have different perspectives of life and my paradigm of how I viewed things shifted completely. A sense of gratitude came over me as people are really struggling. Not only that, the other thing that caught my eye, is that alcohol is atrocious and ruins your life. Once you are hitched to it, you are finished. Good and promising people are losing their way. Ultimately, life is about choices. One’s destiny unfolds according to the choices one makes.

However, I came out refreshed as ever and would go back every weekend if it was possible. It was a beautiful experience.

The comfort, whiff of good food and warmth, the touch of a friendly hand and a talk beside the fire is home time for me.

Some, shrug away the idea of going to the countryside even if it was for the holiday saying, ‘I aint about that life’ and for some, home is the nicest word there is. I won’t comment on that for now but mind you, East or West, Home is Best.

Let every path lead homeward.


8 thoughts on “COUNTRYSIDE

  1. wow I relate to this story 90% having done the same just recently. big ups on the blog btw, you’re doing what I’d wanna do

  2. I just discovered thanks to a friend that kabarnet got it’s name from white settles living there called Barnetts so it was nicknamed by the tribesmen there kabarnet meaning barnets place

    1. It’s funny how most names of places we have in Kenya originated from the natives getting the name wrong or adjusting it to fit their local dialect.

      Now I know of Kabarnet 🙂

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