The capital rinses itself at four o’clock and the jacarandas take the light.
Nairobi is the hinge of this atlas: airport, editors, a national park you can hear from certain balconies. After rain the city smells of diesel and wet earth, which is to say it smells like itself.
Karura at first light
I walked the forest before traffic. Monkeys considered me and moved on. Somewhere beyond the trees, a runway was already busy. This is the luxury of a working city that still keeps a wild edge.
Supper in Kilimani, a notebook full of logistics for the Mara, and the knowledge that the next coordinate was already circled.