After days immersed in Nairobi’s vibrant chaos, I craved the quiet of nature. Karura Forest, a green oasis just beyond the city’s pulse, beckoned. Taking an Uber to reach it felt strange—back home, nature is a five-minute walk, not a ride through honking traffic. Yet Nairobi’s commitment to its parks, with their sprawling trees and open spaces, never ceases to amaze. Locals call it the “Green Heart of East Africa,” a title I hope it holds forever.
At the entrance, we paid a small fee—a foreign concept to me, but necessary, I suppose, to protect this sanctuary amid the city’s challenges, including its staggering homeless population. A strict “no single-use plastics” rule, common across Kenya’s reserves, meant leaving our picnic berries and water bottles behind. Instead, we bought an aluminum bottle etched with a vibrant motif, a small price for carrying water into the forest.
Bike rentals greeted us at the gate, affordable and practical, though my phone holder didn’t fit the handlebars, dashing hopes of filming the ride. The forest air was crisp, a welcome balm after the city’s early heat, filling my lungs with the freshness I’d missed. Kaely, less accustomed to cycling, pedaled cautiously behind. I slowed my pace, letting her laughter and the rustle of leaves guide our rhythm. Good company, I realized, trumps the thrill of speed.
A sign pointing to a waterfall and caves sparked our curiosity. Bikes weren’t allowed on the narrow path, so we parked them and walked. The terrain sloped gently, the trail tightening as we ventured deeper, the forest’s whispers pulling us forward.
The waterfall, a modest 2-3 meters, cascaded over mossy rocks—a simple beauty, its soft rush blending with the hum of distant cicadas.
Kaely hesitated as the path to the caves grew narrower, the dense foliage feeling too wild for her. I ventured a few steps alone but soon turned back. Exploring without her felt hollow, and her relieved smile when I returned was worth more than any cave.
We retrieved our bikes and paused for a fruit break, the fruit do taste even better after some physical activity. Riding on, the forest grew livelier with other visitors, and the hilly path offered a gift: a breezy downhill glide, the reward for our earlier climb. Back at the entrance, we returned the bikes and reclaimed our berries and water, the aluminum bottle now a keepsake of the day.
I felt relaxed, alive, the forest’s vibrant colors and unfamiliar flora and fauna weaving a sense of pure happiness. Kaely’s presence—her laughter, her willingness to try cycling at my pace, her quiet gratitude when I stayed by her side—amplified it all. That evening, back in the city, she introduced me to matoke, a staple from her Kisii homeland. Steamed and mashed, its starchy warmth was unlike anything I knew, yet comforting, paired with a rich groundnut sauce. As we ate, Nairobi’s skyline glowed outside, and I realized this day—forest, bikes, matoke, and Kaely—had become a perfect thread in the city’s endless tapestry.
