Border drama en route to Kenya

The Busia border point is one place where travellers have been asked to produce a Yellow Fever vaccine certificate recently

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MAIDEN. “It was my first time to go beyond the Kenyan border.” Brenda Kenyonyoozi narrates her journey

If anyone asked me to talk about my hobbies prior to last month, travel would make the list. My road trips to Jinja and Mbarara have always been a delight. However, when I made my debut journey across the border of Uganda to neighbouring Kenya, travel was scrapped off the list of my hobbies indefinitely. Sitting on a bus for over 10 hours I came to learn, was not as delightful as I had envisioned.

Leaving Kampala at 8am aboard modern coast bus, my journey to Nairobi was going to be an eventful one, or so I thought. Traversing through eastern Uganda brought many childhood memories to the fore. See, hailing from Namayingo District, this was one route I took every third term holiday to visit my father’s kin.

After close to a decade without going there, the journey through the route made me nostalgic. A lot had changed: the towns of Iganga and Bugiri for example, were not as vibrant back in the early 2000s, save for a few old buildings. It was a pleasant surprise to see them bustling with life, a hive of activity, so to speak. However, it is at the border at Busia that my journey almost came to a disappointing halt.

At the border post

Kisumu town clock looks irresistible.


“Border border border!” the bus staff shouted, beckoning us to alight and go clear with the immigrations officials of both countries. Having no passport, my Ugandan national ID came in handy and before long, I was issued a temporary pass from the Ugandan side. However, it was at the Kenyan side that things almost went downhill. While standing in the line awaiting my turn to be cleared, I noticed something: all the other passengers had a certain yellow card that I was lacking. On asking what it was, I was duly informed that it was a yellow fever card, a mandatory requirement for any Ugandan keen on crossing to the Kenyan side. Enter panic mode.

Calling the shots
“If you don’t have one, you can go pay Ksh 2,000 and get the shot,” my neighbour, a kind Kikuyu man offered. When I punched that figure on my phone calculator, I realised it was almost Shs70,000! Not the kind of money I wanted to spend on a shot I was not prepared for. Also, I fear anything involving needles, and was not looking forward to it, at least not on such short notice. Afraid that the bus would leave me, I went to inform one of the bus staff about my quagmire. This, turns out, was the best decision I had made thus far.

“Give me Shs 15,000,” he said, looking around like he was afraid of being spotted by the officials. He then walked past me, swiftly shook the hand of the official who was checking for yellow fever certificates, and walked on without even a glimpse in my direction.
The immigration official, promptly looked my way and signalled to me to join the line. On reaching him, he looked at my pass for a minute and cleared me to pass. At the time, my heart was pounding loudly in my chest and after being shown the green light, I walked as fast as my legs could carry me to the bus. That, was to mark the first, of many times, that I would have to pay a bribe on my journey.

Out of Uganda
Driving from the border towards the Kenyan hinterland saw me sigh. A couple of kilometres away from the border, the difference between these two countries starts becoming visible. Unlike the Ugandan vegetation which is made of lush green tree cover, the Kenyan side is characterised by grasslands stretching across a vast plain.

Kisumu, the Luo stronghold in western Kenya, was not as I had envisioned: it was lukewarm, a big city with empty streets plied by tuk-tuks. The buildings too, are the old colonial type, think Jinja, just that Kisumu is slightly bigger. But it is the towns of Eldoret and Nakuru that caught my attention, two beautiful gems nestled on the escarpment of the rift valley.

In fact, if I were to choose a town in Kenya to stay, Nakuru would be it. No wonder Jomo Kenyatta, the country’s founding father majorly stayed at his Nakuru statehouse throughout his presidency. The town is a sight to behold, clean streets with fresh air, a far cry from the overly polluted capital, Nairobi. By the time we reached our destination Roysambu, a suburb on Thika road, I was too tired for chitchat. A shower and a warm meal were all I needed before tucking myself in.

compared to Kampala

I found Nairobi such a fast-paced city with most of the people criss crossing dressed in jeans and women wearing their hair in cornrows unlike Kampala where some of the people could be mistaken to be strutting a runway and women in synthetic hair.