Meeting my Linnet

We met at the airport. The moment I saw her walking toward me, everything else dissolved into background noise. We kissed right there, in the middle of the road and moving crowd, not caring about people passing by. For a brief moment, there was only us. After months of distance and voices carried through screens, I was finally standing with my Linnet.

I was mesmerized by her smile, by the warmth of her presence. I loved the way our hands found each other without thought and stayed that way from the very first moment. Her dark skin against mine felt like a quiet affirmation that distance had truly ended. I had crossed continents to be there, and now I was.

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The days that followed were filled with closeness and calm joy. Warm kisses, shared laughter, the simple comfort of waking and falling asleep near each other. We had planned our journey to meet her parents after a week in Nairobi, giving ourselves time to settle and adjust before heading deeper into the country.

Nairobi felt strangely familiar to me. I adapted quickly to its rhythm. Paying with M-Pesa, bargaining over prices, learning how the city moves and breathes under the ever-present sun. It was a sharp contrast to the snow and cold I had left behind in Norway, yet it did not feel foreign. 

Most importantly, I was not experiencing it alone...

Beneath the Surface

Our time in Nairobi was not limited to the city itself. After settling in, sharing meals, cooking together, racing go karts, visiting the legendary Maasai market and wandering through neighborhoods, we began to look beyond the familiar paths. It was during this time that I discovered a place few people seem to talk about, even among locals. It was called Paradise Lost.

At first, it felt like an unexpected pocket of leisure. A zip line stretching above a lake, rafting on calm water, simple food shared in the shade. But the place held something much older beneath its surface. Hidden within the landscape were natural caves known as the Mau Mau caves, once used during the Stone Age. Entering them felt like stepping into a long, unbroken line of human presence.

The caves extended deeper than I expected. Narrow passages opened into wider corridors, eventually leading to a large chamber where the air felt heavier. Standing there, I could not escape the awareness that people had stood in that same space countless generations before us. Not as visitors, but as inhabitants. The sense of continuity was powerful and unsettling.

Nearby, a natural waterfall carved its way through the rock. We walked behind it, close to the cliff face, water falling beside us. The sound muted everything else, leaving only movement and breath. It was a place where time felt less precise.

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What surprised me most was how calmly Linnet moved through it all. She was curious, steady, present. There was no fear in her steps, only interest and openness. Watching her explore those spaces with such ease filled me with a quiet admiration. In that moment, I realized how deeply I trusted her, and how proud I was to walk beside her through places shaped by both nature and history.

Toward Kongit

After a few more full days in Nairobi, filled with shared meals and small ceremonies of everyday life, the time came to leave the city behind. We ate beneath the trees of the Nairobi Arboretum, attended the graduation of Jacob, Linnet’s cousin (congratulations once more for this great milestone), and I met her uncle Jomba for the first time. Each moment felt like another thread quietly tying me into a family I was still learning to understand. Then one morning, it was time to go to Kongit.

We chose to fly to Eldoret. Linnet had never been on a plane before. For me, it was also new in its own way. The aircraft was not a jet, but a smaller plane that felt closer to the air itself. The flight was brief, a little rough, and undeniably interesting. Through it all, Linnet remained calm, even curious, looking out the window and smiling. Once again, she surprised me. There is a steadiness in her that reveals itself most clearly in unfamiliar situations.

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When we landed in Eldoret, something shifted. From that moment on, the journey belonged to the land. I had been waiting to see rural Kenya... so much. As we drove deeper through counties and smaller towns, the landscape opened up. Fields stretched wider, buildings thinned, and the rhythm of life changed. When we crossed into Bungoma County near Mount Elgon, children began calling out to me as mzungu more frequently. With each mile, the word echoed more often, and instead of discomfort, I felt a growing sense of joy and excitement. This was different from the city. It was direct, alive, unfiltered.

In Kimilili, we were met by Linnet’s sister Carol’s husband Isack, who kindly came to pick us up despite the long road still ahead. From there, the paved road slowly disappeared, replaced by red earth worn smooth by time and weather. We passed through Kapsokwony, already remote in feeling, but we did not stop. We continued upward, further into the highlands, toward the edge of the great forest of Mount Elgon.

The air felt cooler, heavier with green. As we climbed higher, I felt both awe and a growing nervousness. We were approaching the place where I would meet Linnet’s parents. The thought settled into me slowly. This was not a casual introduction. It was intimate, cultural, and deeply human. In the middle of remote rural Kenya, on roads that felt far removed from anything familiar, we were about to arrive.

I watched the landscape pass by and realized that this journey was not only about reaching a destination. It was about crossing a threshold. And with every turn of the road, we were getting closer.

Kongit and Bungoma county

After settling into the rhythms of family life and tradition, our days began to take shape in simpler ways. We reconnected with Jacob, met Viola, Linnet’s cousin, and soon formed a small group together with Emmanuel, Linnet’s brother. Our mornings started early. We woke in our distant accommodation and walked through the fields back to the family home, where chapati and strong, sweet tea awaited us every morning.

From there, we decided each day as it came. Our first journey together led us to one of the highest points in the area. We walked through tea farms and villages, expecting a short hike. It turned into a full-day journey. We carried music, blankets, drinks, and a shared sense of excitement. Along the way, people greeted us, and children joined, following us for stretches of the path. It felt like a moving community, full of curiosity and joy. That walk is something I will never forget.

On other days, we took a scooter to Kapsokwony to buy food for dinner or to visit Carol at her husband’s tailoring shop. The evenings grew better with each passing day, filled with conversation and shared laughter. Nearby, the forest stretched toward the Ugandan border. One afternoon, we decided to explore it, but rain caught us on the way. We took shelter in the nearest humble house, where a man was eating potatoes. Without hesitation, he welcomed us in while we waited for the rain to pass. The moment was quiet, slightly surreal, and unexpectedly kind.

These journeys, small and large, formed the heart of my time in Kongit. Moving through the land, sharing days with our small kvintet group, and being welcomed wherever we went created a feeling of belonging I had not anticipated. It was a time of simplicity, connection, and quiet joy, one that stays with me long after leaving.

Beneath Mount Elgon

One of the journeys I hoped we would take was to Mount Elgon National Park, to see the Kitum Caves. I suggested it almost casually, half-expecting hesitation. Instead, the idea was accepted without question. I was grateful for that openness. Some plans reveal themselves only when others are willing to follow them.

On the map, the caves looked close. In reality, the journey took nearly three hours by motorbike. We hired two bikes so our small group could travel together, setting off early in the morning. The ride was long, dusty, and occasionally rough, but I enjoyed every minute of it. The shared excitement carried us forward. Even after hours on the road, the thrill did not fade.

After several stops, we reached the entrance to the national park. Our guide was knowledgeable and patient, explaining the land, the animals, and the history of the place as we walked. Our first stop was the Elkony Waterfall, hidden deep within the forest. I liked that place immediately. It felt untouched, beautiful.

From there, we continued toward the Kitum Caves. For a very long time, these caves have been shared by humans and elephants. Even today, elephants still enter them, using their tusks to carve into the stone as they reach for the mineral-rich volcanic ash inside. The walls bear their marks. Deep scratches run along the rock, left by generations of animals moving through darkness with purpose and memory.

Inside the cave, the air was cool and still. Bats rested above us, the silence broken only by footsteps and breath. At one point, we came across elephant remains. Standing there, surrounded by stone shaped by life and loss, the place felt intensely alive. It was unsettling, but not in a frightening way.

There are stories tied to the cave as well. Local legends say that people from the Luhya community in Bungoma believe the cave would collapse on them if they entered. Another story warns that siblings should never enter together, or they may never find their way out. Jacob reminded us of this with a nervous smile before stepping inside anyway. He did make it out, which we took as a good sign.

Places like this stay with me. They carry layers of time, use, belief, and presence that cannot be reduced to facts alone. I am grateful we experienced it together, with curiosity and respect.

On our way back, the landscape opened again. We saw zebras, buffalo, and antelopes grazing near a school. Children played football nearby, glancing at me and calling out mzungu, even as extraordinary wildlife moved quietly behind them. The contrast was striking and beautiful. For them, this was simply home.

As we rode back, dust settling behind us, I felt deeply content.