Today, my trip starts here. Nakuru. As pay my ticket, the attendant is surprised at the dressing code compared to the my "destination 1". With all the irony he can use on a character like me, he says,
" I hope you jacket is in the luggage. And you gumboots?"
I am surprised at the question. Nakuru is Sunny and after all Timboroa is said to be "just here." Garnering all the hard-hardheadedness I can, the ticket goes to my pocket and in a flash am seated next to a window, mind you, the last time I headed west and back was all in the cover of darkness. Off we go. Taking time to study every passenger, it is clear a majority are returning home from an early market day. Money is made before breakfast... am impressed. Seems am the only one doing a wild goose chase across this county and from the attendant about 5km back, am looking for trouble about 95km ahead.
It is sunny all along and at this point I ask about the truth of the matter and the the response, "you wait." I'm in for the worst weather I suppose. Tales of what they endured that morning take root. How conductor carries gumboots with him from home. How they had to clean their shoes before taking the trip back and then a re-assurance that by the time we get there it will all be dry. The beautiful landscape- steals my thoughts of what lays ahead. Attention is also drawn from the economic activities on the road sides. the smooth ride combined with cleverly crafted turns, climbs and stretches give you a priceless view. beautiful country.
Indeed, it was dry. Crossed a 3 track railway line (goes all the way to Uganda), a show of what a region this once was by the size of the rail station there to a once significant railroad town overlooking the station now inactive with rusty bogies laying idle and unused for years. Perhaps the railroad companies are the ones that have continually failed painting a picture of no-longer productive farmlands. Seems like only the means of transport and way of doing business changed. Alongside the roads, of heavy trailer traffic, farmers align themselves with their bumper harvest of potato crops. Tubers I can bet you have not seen anywhere Else other than Timboroa.
On that side, am told, is North Rift. Best identified by tagging a politicians name, "Kwa-Ruto." This is Mossop and that other side is Turgen and again "Kwa-Moi." A good place it is. Unlike where I hail from, the town is rid of any public pub, a people with a lifestyle to envy but they are there. Somewhere. Deep and away from the tarmac and into the ranges. you got to love the air here. I love this place. Sugeton. Amidst our engagements comes a cry from my hosts, all in mud-boots,... Rain!! It is in black and white. "If this gets you here, you are not going anywhere!" Having no plans to spend the night away from my humble abode, I hope onto the popular bodaboda and the vroooom! gears towards the main road. I now get it why a jacket and mud-boots are a requirement in this region. The torrential rains. A drop of water feeling like a glass of water. All bodaboda operators are all racing towards town at least where asphalt road doesn't pose any challenge.
The rain misses me by seconds. Feeling myself an achiever, It is time for a freezing trip back. This is an amazing region. Partly mechanized agriculture and down the road, vegetables are plenty. Ahead, timber product related companies own large tracks of land covered by trees. Neighbours own saw-mills or at least everyone's first employment was and is in a saw-mill. Politics are also a major in the life of many and a shaper of what happens and when it happens.
We the East African community are indeed a region of infinite opportunities.
