Travel Journal - Kajiado, Kenya

5:30 am. I awake with a start as a man’s shrill cry comes over a loud speaker calling devotees to prayer at a nearby mosque. In Arabic he repeats several phrases, singing that none are to be worshipped but Allah, and my personal favorite, prayer is better than sleep. Now fully awake, and musing about the muezzin, I climb out of bed and quietly step outside to watch the sunrise. Its morning in Kajiado and in the growing light another market day is beginning. The air is cold, but the winds have calmed. And this small, dusty outpost about 75 Kilometers directly south of Nairobi feels like a scene straight out of the pioneer American west. Small, stunted trees grow crookedly in defiance of the bleak, windswept atmosphere. And the local population seems to do much of the same, as their lanky outlines sweep past in the grayish light of morning.

This is Kajiado, and it’s booming at present. Housing is being furiously erected and laborers are constantly seen ferrying large bags of Portland cement, lumber, and jerry cans of water on flat bed rickshaws. These two-wheeled contraptions appear to be the rear axle of a car, which has been converted, complete with a front handlebar, for the purposes of human propelled cargo movement. As in many parts of the country, enterprising young men with strong backs and a fearless disposition, can be hired to move anything along the frenetic road system, dodging matatus and cattle on their journey through the scorched expanse.

The town itself is a U-shaped affair with a tarmac loop passing several gas stations, an open-air market, and a multitude of storefronts on its way diverting from, and then reconnecting to the A104 as it continues south towards Namanga and the Tanzanian border. The loop is easily traversed in 25 minutes, though a brisk walk may cause you to miss the diversity and color that is the town’s most redeeming quality. Kajiado district in general is a place inhabited by the Maasai. But in Kajiado town, a decided Somali-Muslim influence predominates. That’s not to say that the Maasai aren’t present, just that they are intermixed with robed Muslim men and women, and more than a few west Asian traders. Ironically, there is even a Maasai store, which happens to be an all-purpose trading post, run by an Indian family. But this makes the small town vibrant and interesting.

We like to stay at a guest house run by the local Anglican Church, smack in the middle of town. The rooms are very clean, the showers are hot, and they throw in breakfast for 700 shillings per person, or about eleven U.S. Dollars. The rooms are part of a 1 story row of buildings perched on the edge of a hill, allowing the cool evening breezes to come straight in from the south. And unlike many of the establishments in town, it is on a large compound, giving you the sense of space, in the growing congestion.

The soko, or open-air market, is one place you must experience. Most days, purveyors are set up in a cement walled and tin roofed area. But on Wednesdays and Saturdays the chaos is increased and moved to an adjacent, fully open air venue, where tree limb and burlap enclosures have been erected on a dusty plain. Here, you can get everything from freshly ground spices and milled grains to hand picked fruits and vegetables. The atmosphere is raucous, with plenty of yelling, and young men lugging massive bags of goods around. They will knock you over if you don’t heed their calling “wewe!” I have, more than once narrowly escaped impalement on stalks of sugar cane, or smothering by huge bundles of flying kales. There is also the usual assortment of used clothing and random goods vendors if you are in the market for kitchen utensils, drapery or tire sandals. Just make sure that you haggle for goods. I find walking away twice before settling on a price is a sure strategy. The food prices are generally fixed and low, but it’s a free for all when it comes to anything else.