Kericho in a Rich Man’s World

I’ve never been a fan of change. Comfort and convenience are my allies; if it feels safe, I hold on tight. But sometimes, even the most steadfast can be lured into the unknown. Such was the mental tug-of-war I found myself in at my temporary apartment in Kuala Lumpur. The picturesque landscapes of Tanah Rata in the Cameron Highlands called to me like a siren’s song, yet my heart felt anchored to the city’s vibrant pulse. I knew I had to break free; my mission was to explore a world that seems intent on sticking around. And thus, the idea of backpacking took root.

I summoned a Grab ride, and my cheerful Indian driver turned out to be a storyteller extraordinaire. Our conversation flowed like a winding river, weaving through topics from cars that run on cooking oil to the tranquil charm of the Cameron Highlands on quiet weekdays. “Avoid the weekends,” he advised, a note of urgency in his voice. “It gets packed. Everyone flees the humidity to find coolness in the hills.” For a guy with a playlist that could ignite a party, he didn’t seem to be one for the crowds!

It was at TBS bus station where the real magic began. Sitting there, I marveled at the fact that this bustling hub had amenities outshining those of many airports I’d encountered. Just as I settled into the energy of the place, my sanity faced an unexpected test.

“Hello boy, you from Kenya?” A peculiar woman with wild, white hair had been staring at me for what felt like an eternity. At first, I shrugged it off—after all, I’m not hard on the eyes. But then, I glanced at my bare wrists and realized I wasn’t adorned with the iconic Kenyan bracelet. How could she possibly know? Nothing about me screamed “Kenya.”

Then it got even weirder. She claimed to have “read” me, accurately guessing my age and saying, “I’m religious. You know Jesus from where you come from… I’m like Jesus here.” Cue the eerie music! Even a self-proclaimed gangster like me felt a shiver run down my spine. I’m usually unfazed by the strange, but when a complete stranger seems to know my life story, it’s enough to make anyone uneasy. Thankfully, her journey led her to a different bus, and I silently thanked the universe for my escape.

As the bus wound its way toward Cameron Highlands, I felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me—reminding me of those winding roads in Kabarnet-Iten and Nandi Hills, rich with memories and stories waiting to be told. The higher we climbed, the more the air felt electric, hinting at secrets of the beauty that lay ahead.

Arriving at the Traveller Bunker Hostel was like stepping into a haven. The kind-hearted Chinese lady working there wrapped me in warmth, instantly making it feel like home. Her soothing presence prompted a playful remark from me about marriage—if it weren’t for that whole apple incident in the Garden of Eden, of course. The hostel owner, though a bit standoffish, wielded words like a master craftsman, lending an air of sophistication to the vibrant atmosphere. Here was a delightful gathering place for wanderers and dreamers, each with their own tales of adventure.

Among them was Ben, the enigmatic German adventurer, perpetually cloaked in a cloud of smoke from his endless cigarettes. His mysterious aura drew me in, piquing my curiosity about the stories he held. Sayid, a Moroccan intern, added a splash of cultural color to our diverse mix, while the wide-eyed young Asian boy lit up at the sight of a handsome black man for the first time—his innocence a beautiful reminder of the magic found in cultural exchanges.

The next day, I hiked the legendary trails through the tea plantations of the Cameron Highlands. Nature enveloped me in a chord of rustling leaves and distant bird calls, a serenade for my soul. Despite the occasional bark from neighborhood dogs, my determination to explore remained steadfast, and I relished every moment among the lush, rolling hills.

It was in that lush greenery that fate introduced me to Taylor, an American-Italian with a passion for life that radiated from her very being. Our conversation quickly deepened, connecting over our mutual distaste for capitalism, materialism, and the trappings of modern life. Her love for farming and nature resonated with the wanderer in me, making it feel like destiny had orchestrated our meeting.

Taylor’s adventurous spirit ignited a spark in me, urging us into action. Together, we concocted a daring plan to sneak onto a tourist bus using fake wristbands—a thrilling escapade waiting to unfold! Let me tell you, blending in wasn’t easy with my tall frame and unique hairstyle in a place where black faces are as rare as a free lunch. But Taylor, ever the optimist, reminded me that black is too beautiful to be hidden. A smile crept onto my face as I embraced my uniqueness, feeling a surge of confidence.

As we navigated through someone’s private property to dodge a small fee, anxiety bubbled beneath the surface. When confronted by security and their barking dogs, Taylor stood her ground, her fierce determination paving our way. As for me, I was happy to let her do the talking—no need to stir the pot. And yes, I tipped the security guy; better to keep things smooth, right? My quietness in the face of confrontation wasn’t cowardice; it was simply the weight I carried with my skin, a reminder of the world we navigate.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, we strolled back to the hostel, our friendship growing with every shared laugh and exchanged story. Silent thoughts, jokes, and contact numbers flew between us, filling our hearts with the warmth of newfound camaraderie. Taylor reminded me that where there’s a will, there’s always a way.