A Trip to Nairobi, Kenya Pt. IV
A Walking Tour Through Nairobi's CBD
Belfast Brown—the city’s hue.
Except cobblestone streets give way to uneven sidewalks and red-mud paths. Downtown buzzes with life as boda-bodas speed by while matatus recruit passengers. And nearly all malls, hotels, and office buildings stand behind metal detectors—scabs from the city’s past troubles.
Our walking tour begins in Nairobi’s Central Business District—the CBD.
“Keep your phones close to your chest when taking photos,” our guide—a dark skinned woman in her mid-thirties, rocking blue jeans and a black shirt—instructs. “As part of your tour, I’ll teach you some Swahili words too,” a warm smile spreads across her face. “Do you know ‘Jambo’?”
“Yes,” one of the guys replies. “It means ‘Hello’.”
“Ah, correct. But that’s for tourists. Say that and everyone knows you’re not from here.” We all chortle. “You say ‘Mambo’ instead.”
“Mambo.” We say in unison.
“Yes. Mambo.”
Moments later, during our walk, we come to a halt on a sidewalk across from a park. Our guide points to it. “The park over there, is called Jeevanjee Garden.” We turn our heads towards it. “It’s named after a very prominent Indian man from the eighteen-hundreds.” She ushers us like ducklings into a corner away from traffic. “He also used to have a market—Jeevanjee Market. But it got demolished by the British. They thought he was gaining too much influence. He challenged their white economic dominance.”
She spends the next couple minutes giving us a brief history of Jeevanjee.
In the 1800s when the British wanted to build a railway from Kenya to Uganda, the locals refused to be a part of it, sometimes even sabotaging the effort. So they reached out to Jeevanjee—an Indian Business man who had been living in Kenya for a while—for help. He supplied the British with labour: over thirty thousand workers from India. And after five years of grueling work, the track reached its final destination: Lake Victoria, making Jeevanjee very rich and influential. The majority of his workers returned to India, but some stayed behind. And it’s the few that remain that would form the bedrock of East Africa’s Asian community.
“They officially got recognized as the forty-fourth tribe in Kenya, only recently,” our guide says. “Nice people. But mostly keep to themselves.” She explains they also don’t participate in politics, but business and commerce is their forte. And they’re considered part of the elite class in Kenya.
Our next stop: a meat market.
When we arrive, the stench of raw meat fills the air. And a Marabou Stork—one of the Ugly Five—sitting atop a rooftop catches my attention. Its pinkish-grey, scrotum-like head with scanty hair, and long beak watches the market with focus. No doubt biding its time.
Shifting my attention, I’m now swatting away flies as we try fresh fruits from a local vendor. The orange of the cantaloupe in my platter reminds me of the Metoke, a Kenyan plantain dish I had earlier for breakfast.
When we’re out of the meat market, we run into some flower vendors at the exit. Our guide explains that Kenya is the third largest exporter of cut flowers, especially roses. “And yet, Kenyan women don’t receive enough flowers,” our guide says in a wry smile, the group laughs. I consider getting her some, but then remember I have no cash on me.
The tour continues through the City Market, where souvenirs, paintings and small trinkets are on display. I take my time here. Tempted on several occasions to buy a painting. But I stay strong.
When we leave, our guide takes us through other parts of the CBD. We see the Jamia Mosque, the Nation Center, the McMillan Memorial Library, and more. Eventually we stop at a souvenir shop where the owner, an Indian man, speaks Swahili fluently. It’s really trippy, but just as cool.
Finally, we arrive at our last stop.
A tall building that looks like a rocket with the tip cut off—stem and tip standing apart—tower above us. Unlike the smooth body of a rocket, the stem’s rough, stacked with balconies on each level. And the tip, pointy at the top, looks like a flower that’s yet to bloom.
“This is the KICC building,” our guide says, as we enter the premises. “Does anyone know what it looks like?” I stare at the brown building, stem to the left, tip to the right, nothing comes to mind. The others whisper guesses, none of them are right. “Wow,” our guide titters. “I’m surprised. With younger crowds, they usually get it very quickly.” Then she mutters. “Penis. A donkey’s penis.”
Huh, I’ll be damned. Something to do with symbolising wealth and power, she explains.
The tour ends on the helipad atop the Kenyatta International Convention Centre. I take in the city’s skyline—different shades of brown with splashes of green from the parks below.
It’s Peaceful.
A Matatu passing by
Notes
You can book a walking tour via GetYourGuide.
See you next week for the last post in this series :)[Edit] This was meant to go out on Monday, but someone clicked the wrong button 😅. See you on the 29th for the last post in the series. Enjoy!
Song of the day - Tamu by Zaituni