Night Roads and Safari Kits: A Kenyan Captain’s Warning

By Nawaz Khan, Contributing Writer, Motoring Press Agency

There’s a peculiar African phenomenon I’ve observed over the years—we Africans seem perpetually bewitched. Beyond our tolerance for deplorable roads despite religiously paying our road taxes, I’ve learned something far more troubling: many of us simply don’t value our lives, nor those of our children.

The Emali Rescue

Many years ago, I traveled to Emali scouting farmland for cattle. My host was a Kenya Army Captain named Kasironde (I sincerely hope he’s achieved General rank by now). We made the journey in my borrowed Datsun 1,600cc pickup—yes, borrowed. That’s what the poor do: we borrow vehicles from family and friends to chase our dreams and ambitions.

On our return trip, as dusk settled over the landscape, we passed a group of Indians and their clandes broken down on the roadside, about 40 kilometers before Small World Country Club. They were huddled around a Pajero. One of the men—taller, with a grizzled beard—caught my eye. Then his name flashed in my memory: Deepak! Bloody hell. He’d already spotted me ignoring his desperate wave for assistance.

Conscience gnawing, I reversed and drove back. “What’s the problem?” I asked.

“Engine’s seized,” came the reply. “Hit a bump, damaged the sump, oil leaked everywhere.” These weren’t ordinary travelers—one of the clandes was Russian, the first I’d ever encountered.

I made my terms clear: “Yes, I’ll tow you back to Nairobi. But I need five people in the pickup bed for traction, one driver in the Pajero. If you get cold, I apologize, but safety trumps comfort. Grab some sweaters.”

Captain Kasironde and I settled into the cab. Then he said something that’s haunted me ever since:

“You know you’ve just saved their lives? I’m a Captain. I travel armed with my service pistol. When I break down, I take my family at least a mile into the bush. My people turn into hyenas after dark. I’d rather face wild animals than my own countrymen at night.”

Let that sink in. A Kenya Army Captain. Armed. This was his reality.

The Journey Home

The towing operation proved uneventful. We stopped at Small World Country Club for tea and a toilet break, then continued our slow convoy toward Nairobi. When we ran low on fuel, I had to sheepishly request money from them—I was completely broke. Ah, the sweet innocence of poverty days, so charming in retrospect.

Mr. Grizzled Indian lived in a massive house in Lower Kabete. As we approached Nairobi, I wondered about the Russian and the clandes—where exactly were they headed?

The navigation began: flashed headlights, hand signals. “Turn left at Baricho Road Roundabout toward NIC, then left again.” One of the Indians hopped into my cab to direct us past NIC.

Gentlemen, let me tell you—there exists a VAST NETWORK of immaculate “clande apartments” beyond NIC. Turn right… incredible! From the airport, head to the “Seal Honey” roundabout, go left uphill, take the first left keeping NIC on your right. Follow that road and turn right—welcome to Clande Central! The area comes alive around 1 PM as residents wake up and book hair salon appointments for their “evening duties with the boss,” who’s perpetually “working late at the Industrial Area office” due to terrible traffic to Lavington-Runda-Muthaiga. Oh, the traffic is sooo bad!

We arrived at their apartment, untied the Pajero, declined payment (fuel then cost about 30 shillings), and departed.

The moral? Even an armed Kenya Army Captain fears for his life after dark on Kenyan roads.

The Essential Safari Kit

When I travel—convoy if possible, but if not, I come prepared:

Core Equipment

Towrope, torch, toolkit, foot pump, bicycle repair kit (in those days, all Land Rovers and pickups used tube tires), and jumper cables.

Two functioning spare tires, a 10-tonne jack, and a TRIED AND TESTED wheel spanner. Not some flimsy thing that rounds off at first resistance.

Then something peculiar: a hardwood block—12x12x2 inches, mahogany or mvuli. Strong wood that won’t splinter under a jack.

The First Aid Kit Reality

Here’s where most people fail catastrophically. That 500-shilling Nakumatt “special” with two band-aids and a condom? Utterly useless.

Have you ever witnessed a proper road traffic accident? There’s BLOOD. Copious amounts.

You need:

• Clean white towel
• One liter of water (mineral works fine)
• 150cc Dettol
• Substantial bandages and at least 12 band-aids
• Antibiotic powder and iodine
• Generous quantities of cotton wool
• That brutally sticky medical tape (removal is torture—that’s the one)
• Scissors

What they peddle at Grogon, Highway stores, Nakumatt, Motor Boutique—inadequate, all of it.

Jumper Cables: The Truth

Those cables advertised as “400 Amps” might start a tuk-tuk if the engine’s already warm.

Proper jumper cables require 30mm² minimum—welding cable standard. The clamps matter less than the cable gauge.

My Land Rover “Mothership” carried 75mm² welding cables with four 400-amp welding clamps (900 shillings each in 1998). Orange cables, 10 meters each. Red tape marked positive terminals; black tape wound around the entire 10-meter length marked negative terminals.

Towing Equipment

What they market as “towstraps” might pull a boda-boda if the rider isn’t overweight.

I managed to acquire ex-French Army towstraps rated at 9 tonnes. Magnificent equipment.

Soft nylon-polyester rope with elasticity makes excellent towrope—no jarring takeoff. Minimum 20mm diameter.

Sisal rope needs 25mm minimum thickness. That string you’d use to tether goats? It’ll snap at every jerk. Rope requires elasticity to absorb those vicious jolts that cable or chain create—jolts that can shatter body panels and shear mounting bolts.

I’ve experimented with kinetic energy recovery rope—mediocre for towing but excellent for mud extraction, assuming your NATO hook mountings are solid.

The Lake Nakuru Land Rover Train

Speaking of NATO hooks and rope—during a family holiday at Lake Nakuru National Park to observe “long-legged birds” (no, gentlemen, the pink inedible birds called flamingos), my Land Rover 110 earned its legend.

Mothership sported a genuine UK NATO hook mounted at the rear. During a game drive, the heavens opened with biblical fury. The road flooded to roughly 18 inches deep. We encountered a stranded Toyota saloon. I stopped, attached a strap, and towed them out.

A mile down: another stranded vehicle. We stopped. He had rope, so we connected his car to the one behind me.

Another mile: a third car! He also carried rope. By now, I was genuinely intrigued. We attached him to our growing convoy.

As a precaution, I engaged low-ratio gearing and differential lock. We proceeded to the main gate—about 10 feet higher elevation on relatively dry tarmac. I disconnected each vehicle individually, accepted their profuse thanks, and resisted offers of payment in wives (my own was present in the vehicle).

And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is how the legendary “Land Rover Car Train That Floats on Water” was formed at Lake Nakuru.

The Bottom Line

When traveling Kenya’s roads, be prepared. The Captain’s words echo in my memory: he’d rather face wild animals than fellow Kenyans after dark. That’s not paranoia—that’s experience speaking.

Pack properly. Drive safely. Travel in convoy when possible. And remember: that cheap safari kit from the petrol station won’t save you when things go wrong.

Stay safe out there.

Nawaz Khan is an experienced automotive engineer and regular contributor to Motoring Press Agency, specializing in vehicle preparation and road safety across East Africa.