Travel often teaches you that while landscapes may change, people, cultures, and everyday joys remain strikingly similar across borders.
Over my week in Kenya, I found myself constantly reminded of home—through food, traditions, and small, ordinary moments.
🥭 Mangoes on the way to Samburu
My first brush with this familiarity came on the drive from Nairobi to Samburu. As we sped along the highway, my eyes caught the lush green spread of mango orchards.
To find our very own mango—something we hold so dear in India—thriving on African soil felt both surprising and comforting. Denis, my guide, told me the trees are laden with fruit in February, and people flock to buy them. In that moment, it didn’t matter which continent I was on—the king of fruits had found a home here too.
🍲 Ugali and Saag – Across Continents
Then came Ugali—a staple in Kenyan homes. It’s a porridge made with maize flour (or as we now call it, corn), cooked by stirring the flour into boiling water until it thickens into a dough-like ball. In tourist lodges, it’s often shaped into elegant servings, but in homes, it’s eaten simply—often with spinach.
That spinach, to my surprise, looked just like the saag I grew up eating in Bengal.
And then it hit me—we have makke ki roti with sarson da saag; here they have Ugali with spinach. Different grains, same comfort.
I tasted Ugali. It had no distinct flavour of its own, much like plain rice or roti—it’s the stews and sauces that bring it alive. When I told Denis I’d tried it, he asked with a chuckle, “Did you eat it with a fork?” Then he explained that it’s traditionally eaten with the hand, scooped up with vegetables or meat—something that reminded me of my first visit to Chennai, watching locals mix idli with sambar and eat it by hand.
🌽 Bhutta by the Roadside
On the road from Naivasha to Maasai Mara, I passed vendors at regular intervals selling roasted corn. The sight and smell instantly transported me home—rains and roasted bhutta are a thing in India too. The crackle of husks over the fire, the warm kernels dusted with salt—it’s the same roadside snack, halfway across the world.
💃 Dance and the Echo of Home
The welcome dance at the Maasai Village was another moment of déjà vu. Performed by both men and women, each group had its own distinct style.
The women moved slowly and rhythmically, their steps reminding me of Shad Suk Mynsiem, the graceful spring dance of Khasi women in Meghalaya.
But it was the men’s movements that truly surprised me. One by one, each stepped forward, jumped in place three or four times, and then rejoined the group. I couldn’t help but think of Bhangra performances in Punjab, where dancers break from formation for short, spirited solos before returning to the rhythm.
🎺 The Horn that Spoke Across Lands
Finally, there was the wind instrument used by the Maasai—crafted from the spiralled horn of a kudu deer. It’s played to signal danger or mark special occasions.
As soon as I saw it, my mind flew to Pepa, the buffalo-horn pipe of Assam, an essential part of Bihu celebrations. Different animals, different lands, yet the same instinct to turn nature’s gifts into music.
🌍 Far from Home, Yet Close to It
It’s often said that the farther you travel from home, the closer you get to it.
In Kenya’s markets, on its roadsides, in its kitchens, and in the beats of its dances, I saw fragments of my own culture reflected back at me.
And I was reminded that beyond borders, beyond language, the human story is one of shared rhythms—of work, of celebration, of food, of finding joy in the small things.
Jajabor 