I walked into my house three years ago, very tired from another long day of work. I kicked off my shoes, sent my socks flying into the corner and slumped into my lone armchair. I then slid into a “brief” 2-hour nap with my outfit on before jolting awake in the creeping darkness. I decided that watching something interesting would help me cheer up.
I was, and still am, a combat fan. When my YouTube flickered on, the first video was a Friday bulletin from the Kenya Defence Forces STRATCOM. I immediately wanted to know what the soldiers had been up to that week. The footage of towed artillery in long convoys pulled the snooze cobwebs off me and I sat right up. According to the report, the contingents had deployment orders from the President to help quell banditry in disturbed areas in northern Kenya. These bandits were said to be hiding in very deep, remote gorges and wilderness in the mountainous counties of West Pokot, Baringo, and Elgeyo Marakwet. I heard about very strange locations, including Korkoron (the rest are too alien for my memory).
What is it like to be in Kainuk? What does it take to live and thrive in the so-called disturbed north? I wondered. Fast forward to this year, a chance finally came to visit these areas in person. This would fill the gaps obscured by cinematographic cuts of YouTubers and adventurers who had combed the area. Watching their videos didn’t stop me from feeling that there must be more to see up there. A call came on a random evening from an associate who was about to travel to Lodwar, just under 300 kilometres from Kenya’s northwestern border with South Sudan.
I did not mind the short notice and was at the rendezvous the following afternoon, ready to go. We took a few minutes to map the 1350-kilometre trip (to and fro), including the stops for accommodation and refreshments. We then threw a few bottles of water into the trunk, along with several packets of groundnuts on the console and pulled away towards the Southern bypass. That day was February 26 2026. My associate had also not been into the area, and so we wheeled towards that direction, not knowing what to expect.
It had started drizzling by the time we made our first stop at a petrol station in Kikuyu Junction to fill our tank. The weather was chilly, with dark clouds hanging dangerously low in the sky and horrendous visibility. The ground through Rironi and Mau Summit was absolutely soaked in rain, and road works for the anticipated dual carriageway had ground to a halt. The roadside vendors at the well-known Kimende and Soko Mjinga near Kijabe had also been banished from the road by a heavy downpour. By the time we got to the infamous Kinungi blackspot, visibility was gone. It was difficult to make out oncoming traffic, and the road centre line vanished into the darkness and fog. Drivers relied on headlights, night-driving, and low-visibility driving skills to get through the stretch. At Gilgil, crystals crashed on the windshield and bonnet, sounding just like loose chippings striking wheel wells. Our plans to get to and spend the night in Eldoret were now in serious jeopardy. The heavy rain had gone down a gear or two by the time Lanet and Nakuru city beckoned.
After taking a quick supper in Nakuru’s Kiamunyi area, we shelved our workaround plan to retire at Nakuru and decided to push on. We were smoothly cruising along the deserted Nakuru-Kabarak road when suddenly a vehicle ahead of us at Mercy Njeri town applied the emergency brakes. We knew the road had crime incidents at night, and we overtook the stationary vehicle. And sure enough, the motorcycle rider and pillion passenger in front of the vehicle were on a robbery operation. The expansive compound belonging to Kenya’s second president, Daniel Arap Moi, came into view, with the iconic towering trees lining the highway just as we eased past Kabarak towards Eldama Ravine. The rain had significantly subsided, and visibility was better.
However, just a few minutes past Eldama Ravine town, the torrential rains resumed and battered us as we had never seen before. The windshield wipers were on overdrive as the vehicle negotiated the treacherous ascents and descents as we snaked our way towards Eldoret. At Kerio Valley Viewpoint near Nyaru, the pitch-black darkness swallowed us whole, with no motorists in sight. Our companions on the road were lone individuals, male, with no reflective clothing, staggering on the slim margins of the highway. The drunk guys were casually walking in the heavy rain without missing a step. We finally made it to Eldoret just a few minutes shy of midnight. We were all looking forward (the car too) to ending the first leg of the journey. By the time we eased our vehicle into a hotel parking lot, it had been battered by the long road and the most appalling weather Kenya can offer. Aside from the automatic wash by the rain, the car had “thrown up”, and its coolant was dripping from the reservoir and onto the floor. We checked it out and decided it needed a few hours’ rest, as we moved upstairs to our accommodation.
The following morning’s drive towards Kitale was chilly but friendly. The road was serene, lined with tall trees and spotless from the previous downpour. From the Kenya Defence Forces recruits training facility to Soy up to Kitale, it was uneventful. Heavy trucks kept pushing us off-road, which we did not mind. The situation got very concerning in the mountainous stretch between Kapenguria, Chepareria, and Ortum. The road became narrow, snaking its way through deep valleys with 22-wheelers darting precariously between the lanes. It was quite a feat avoiding oncoming traffic, with a lot of last-minute steering to avoid danger. Getting to Kapenguria was a welcome milestone as we stopped for breakfast. The trip had saved the best for the next stretch of the distance.
We managed a hearty breakfast before refuelling. Then we pointed the vehicle north, with Lodwar as our next stop. The challenge was to get to Lodwar before dusk because the area is an active security flashpoint. Ahead of us were the dramatic, scenic gorges lining the road from Chepareria, Murpus, Ortum and Marich Pass, and the intimidating plains from Kainuk in Southern Turkana all the way to Lodwar. The majestic Turkwel River flowed ahead of us, with the fascinating Kapenguria – Lodwar highway charting a course along its steep banks. This was also the dreaded bandit territory, and I couldn’t help but wonder whether the notorious gun-wielding Pokot herders could see us cruising down below from their perches up in the mountains. I could, however, see some of them lazily resting on rocks hidden in the thickets, with their eyes fixed on and following our vehicle. As I later found out from our contact at Kainuk, the young fighters were working out whether we were law enforcement, members of the rival Turkana community conducting reconnaissance behind enemy lines in broad daylight, or just curious visitors. The reason why bullets were not sent our way is that they determined the latter.
We successfully made it out of the treacherous West Pokot mountain range and made our last descent into the beckoning plains of Turkana land. The Kainuk River, with its imposing bridge, came into view as we sped into Kainuk town. In this part of the world, driving slowly is a safety threat. A group of busy locals were by the bank of the river, a few meters from the Kainuk shopping centre. Men lifted sacks of sand into towering troughs lined with nets and blankets, with water gushing down the soil. As we drew closer after parking our vehicle, their business became clearer. They were extracting gold from alluvial soil collected from the banks of the river. A group of women sat nearby, turning mortar pans (karais) with their arms. The liquid inside the pans kept spilling out as they focused on the material settling at the base of the pans. This is where the very dense gold settles after separating from the soil and water. A small amount of mercury is then introduced to finally isolate the precious gold. The precious metal was the other lifeline here, apart from the coveted livestock herds. A handful of Somali merchants sat on plastic chairs at a nearby shed, keenly observing the proceedings as we combed the area.
While we were largely left to explore the artisanal mining area, we could not help but feel the lingering hostility. The cagey glances from everyone, hushed conversations, and overt stares coming our way made us retreat from the area and continue with our journey. Getting into Kainuk shopping centre, we could feel even more tension. Groups of what seemed to be Turkana warriors sat outside the shops, engaged in frantic conversations. They scanned their heads towards our vehicle, studying it carefully before turning back. Our local friend, who had approached us at Kainuk Bridge during our short detour, quickly gave us a heads-up on what was going on. He explained that suspected bandits coming from the Pokot mountains had struck the area a few nights prior and made away with some cattle. That morning, the area had witnessed a familiar violent confrontation in which four motorbikes were allegedly forcefully taken away from local riders. What we were seeing at the shopping centre was perhaps an “order of battle” either to mount a defence or launch a counterattack. We were advised to rush and get to Lodwar as soon as we could because the entire region was already on high alert, hours before the daily government-imposed curfew.
We got to another shopping centre, Aro, at 2 PM, with less than four hours to go. We slowed towards the first police checkpoint in Turkana. Two officers were on their feet manning the roadblock while their colleagues sat in a shed a few meters to the right. The officers were extremely friendly and calm despite the obvious tensions in the area. As we were about to drive off, one officer approached from the shed, waving our way, and we stopped. He inquired where we were headed and requested a lift for his colleague, who was also headed to Lodwar. Lucky he was, as we had room for one more person. In the vehicle, the officer explained that he was taking a professional development course and he was due to sit some exams in Lodwar.
The road north was totally deserted, with passenger vehicles few and far between. The sun was scorching, but the bushes on either side of the road stood in defiance. Termite mounds rose like towers competing with power transmission poles in height. Just a few kilometres ahead, past a Kenya Revenue Authority outpost, the bushes had been razed down by fire. We learnt that the security apparatus in the area had resorted to doing away with the dense bushes to remove hideouts and reduce ambushes by suspected bandits. The officer explained that the bandits are very organised and understand a great deal of stealth and guerrilla tactics. Rumours have it that the bandits can spot vehicles from kilometres inside the brush.
The road suddenly became glorious at Lokichar, at the intersection of Ngamia-1, the famous Northern Kenya oil exploration zone. Four lanes of pitch-black tarmac with shining white markings, crisp U-turns and street lights lining the entire stretch. This is by far the best stretch of road in Kenya. We pulled into Lodwar town just a half hour past 4 PM, well inside the safe timeframe.
