You know those promises your parents make that you hold onto for years? My dad made one when my son was barely out of diapers, promising that when my son was old enough to appreciate it, he’d take us both to Kenya. He wanted to show him its unique wildlife, believing it to be the highest form of learning. Ten years later, that promise became a plane ticket. From Seoul and Geneva, we converged in Nairobi, three generations stepping into a world my dad knew intimately.

Seeing my dad emerge from the arrivals gate was surreal, a long-held family promise fulfilled.

We crammed into a car, and Nairobi hit us instantly: honking cars, people weaving through traffic, overflowing buses, and thick, dusty air you could almost taste. From our hotel window, I spotted a roadside corn vendor. “I’ve got to try that,” I told my dad. My son and I dodged cars like a real-life Crossy Road, and that first bite? The best corn of my life.

Vendor in Nairobi (All rights reserved.)

The next morning, we boarded a tiny plane to the Masai Mara. It felt like a flying bus, making stops at little airstrips. Every bit of turbulence rattled me, but the view on landing was worth it.

Plane after landing in Masai Mara (All rights reserved.)

Our Maasai guide, draped in his shúkà, greeted us warmly. As we drove, he spoke of his people, their deep connection to the land, the significance of cattle, and the rites of passage. With a proud grin, he shared that in his tribe, men must jump high. The higher the jump, the stronger the man. “I’m the highest jumper in my tribe,” he said, his smile widening.

The landscape was endless: golden plains, acacia trees, and zebras and wildebeest moving like shadows. It felt like a dream.

Before sunrise, we set out on safari. Our open jeep took us off-road, guided by our Maasai guide’s network. Leopards and lions were the prized sightings, but sometimes we arrived too late, finding only remnants of a wildebeest kill. Watching elephants move with quiet grace and herds of Zebras and Gazelles synchronising their steps left us speechless. The dignity of these animals humbled me.

Lioness in Masai Mara (All rights reserved.)

Lioness in Masai Mara (All rights reserved.)

We spent more days on safari, visiting a Maasai village where children greeted us with the same curiosity I remembered from my childhood visits to Korea’s countryside.

Maasai man (All rights reserved.)

A Maasai village with market stalls (All rights reserved.)

But not everything was untouched wilderness. Outside the National Reserve, I saw a factory spewing white clouds, a stark reminder that even the wildest places aren’t immune to change. Chinese investment had been reshaping the landscape for years. The sight left me uneasy.

From Masai Mara, we headed to Amboseli National Park, different, more contained, but just as beautiful. Our hotel was overrun with monkeys, some even sneaking into our rooms. And then, there was Kilimanjaro. Even partially covered under clouds, it was magnificent. My dad sketched it, capturing its grandeur on paper. As we admired the view, a high school bus, loaded with students, passed by our jeep. Heads popped out of every window, and they cheered us with enthusiastic waves. It was a moment of unexpected connection.

A view of the Kilimanjaro (All rights reserved.)

One regret: we never saw a rhino. Poaching had decimated their numbers. It was as heartbreaking as seeing those factories at the reserve’s edge.

The drive back to Nairobi was pure chaos. Traffic gridlocked, our driver took matters into his own hands, off-roading, climbing embankments, defying gravity. I was convinced we’d flip, but apparently, I underestimated physics. Then, as if to mark the contrast, we passed one of world’s largest slums—Kibera, a stark, sobering reminder of life’s extremes.

Between the raw beauty of nature, the energy of the cities, the resilience of the Maasai, and the harsh realities of urban life, Kenya was humbling. Unforgettable.

As we left, I carried Kenya with me, the wild, the warm, the wonderful. And the joy of a promise kept. Jambo! With my son, Kenya remains a constant topic of conversation. At ten years old, the experience might have been too vast to fully articulate, but I know, deep down, it shaped him in ways he’ll carry forever.

Sunset in Masai Mara (All rights reserved.)