A first-timer's journey to Samburu

As with any first-time traveller, a tremor of anxiety will creep in like a thief in the night. This is even more so when you are to travel with strangers to a place like Samburu, for the first time.

The best and worst thing about venturing into the unknown is precisely that: the unknown. You feel an exhilarating hum of anticipation, while a tiny, insistent voice, your sixth sense perhaps, whispers, “stranger danger! And maybe a lion!” This delightful cocktail of excitement and trepidation is exactly how I felt when I visited Samburu for the first time.

As a child, maps were an indignity; a test to be endured and then forgotten. But as an adult, you develop a different kind of appreciation for them. There’s nothing quite as fulfilling as breathing life into a dusty geography lesson and truly appreciating how beautiful our country is.

For someone whose world largely ended at the Thika Superhighway in Kiambu County, traversing through several counties like Nairobi, Kiambu, Murang’a, Nyeri, Laikipia, Meru and Isiolo before finally reaching Samburu County was an education in itself.

Central Kenya is a verdant masterpiece. Every view reveals an almost unbelievable fertility and lushness that speaks of healthy soil and abundant life. Beyond the visual feast, there’s a profound sense of peace: the cool air and hushed silence make it a perfectly curated space for introspection.

Speaking of which, what is it about rural areas that makes them so endearingly similar? The corrugated iron shacks and identical rental shop designs with faded Airtel promotions are familiar sights. 

Being an early bird, I had grand visions of witnessing a spectacular sunrise over Mount Kenya. However, travelling with ‘African timers’ meant that particular aspiration remained just that: a wishful dream.

Growing up, my understanding of greenhouses was vague and almost mythical. But there they were, sprawling before me in Timau.

One thing about getting to Isiolo town, a vibrant hub and a gateway to Kenya’s largely arid north, is that you won’t need a guide to announce your arrival.

The heat immediately barges in, making your clothes feel like an extra layer of skin you desperately want to shed. The irony, of course, is that our Isiolo cousins remain fully cloaked like ninja warriors. How they manage it, I will never understand.

Speaking of Isiolo, it is undoubtedly a hidden gem, though perhaps one reserved for the truly affluent. Imagine owning over 40 camels, each fetching over Sh100,000?

After Isiolo’s ferocious heat, another omnipresent companion makes its grand entrance: Samburu dust. Once we entered the Samburu National Reserve, located within Samburu County, the dust was everywhere: in the air, on my skin, even gritting in my teeth. Thank goodness for sunglasses, sunscreen and my humble baseball cap.

Armed with my inhaler in one hand and a handkerchief in the other, I felt like a reluctant warrior, humming Chris Brown’s “No Air” as I braced myself for battle. 

As the dust receded and the air cleared, allowing me to breathe normally again, a true beauty emerged: Samburu Sopa Lodge, nestled within the heart of Samburu National Reserve.

A game drive, as I quickly learned, is a masterclass in patience and an exercise in humility. Here, expectation is a dangerous folly; everything is left to the fickle hand of chance and luck. The romanticised image of immediate wildlife encounters is often humbled by the reality on the ground.

Samburu National Reserve is celebrated as the sanctuary of the “Samburu Special Five,” a unique collection of species adapted to this arid environment.

These include the elegant Reticulated Giraffe, with its distinctive polygonal patterns; the striking Grevy’s Zebra, larger than its common cousin and boasting narrower, more numerous stripes; the majestic Beisa Oryx, with its long, straight horns; the graceful Gerenuk, also known as the “giraffe gazelle” for its elongated neck; and finally, the vibrant Somali Ostrich, distinct from other ostrich sub-species by its bluish neck and legs.

Thanks to my near-perfect eyesight, I became the designated spotter. Yet, after six hours of relentless driving and two days of unwavering hope, the elusive big cats remained just that: elusive.

Our only feline sightings were the opportunistic genets, sleek creatures, scavenging for leftovers at the lodge. I suppose a win is a win, even if it’s a tiny, furry one.

Sprawling over 165 square kilometres, Samburu National Reserve holds the promise of a full wildlife experience. What starts with infectious excitement and boundless promise can quickly turn into a journey of hushed silence, simmering frustration and sheer exhaustion. Not to mention a pervasive layer of dust on your skin and clothes, serving as a constant, gritty reminder of a failed morning that began before dawn.

Yet, for some inexplicable reason, this profound disappointment doesn’t extinguish the flicker of hope. Much like gambling, going on safari is an addictive pursuit. No matter how many times you ‘lose’, it’s the thrill of the ‘win’ that draws you back.

You find yourself drawn to every park, driven by a desire for experience, comparison, a holiday, whatever it may be, but most of all for that elusive win.

One of the best parts of my game drive was discovering the clandestine world of animal code names. Being privy to this wild, secret society, even for a few fleeting hours, felt wonderfully exclusive. I’d love to divulge a few names, but that would be an act of treason against the illustrious ‘Wildlife Nation.’

And when my two-day trip had come to an end, Samburu, with its raw beauty, had etched itself onto my soul. On the road back to the big city, I felt a delicious mix of relaxation and renewed readiness for the urban grind and I can’t wait for my next dance with nature.