The rains began with a gentle drizzle, the kind Nairobians have long welcomed to ease the city’s dust-filled air. But what started as a reprieve quickly turned into a relentless downpour, swelling rivers and overwhelming drainage systems. Within hours, entire neighborhoods were submerged, turning bustling streets into canals of murky water.
The floods hit hardest in vulnerable areas — Githurai, Mathare slums, and along Langata Road — where homes stood no chance against the rising tide. In Mathare, Many of the affected resided on the banks of River. Just as close as the river Bank. Some of their structures were built on top of the now Devastating river.
In Githurai, the floodwaters came with a quiet menace, creeping into homes in the dead of night. By dawn, the neighborhood was unrecognizable. Concrete walls stood half-drowned, while belongings floated aimlessly in the brown currents. Women clutched their children, stranded in their now-flooded homes, their faces painted with fear as the water climbed higher. Many had spent the now Ling nights on their rooftops. Everything in their houses was now underwater.
Amid the chaos, a canoe appeared, a makeshift rescue vessel, navigated by local youth. The boat cut through the water, moving door to door. Mothers wrapped their babies in blankets, pressing them close to shield them from the cold. The canoe bobbed as frightened faces peered out from windows, their eyes reflecting both relief and terror. One woman, her voice shaking, whispered, “I didn’t think we would make it.”
The air was heavy with the smell of dampness and despair, but in that small canoe, there was hope; a fragile lifeline against the rising tide.
In the labyrinth of Mathare slums, the floodwaters spared no one. Narrow alleyways became rivers, and homes built on fragile foundations crumbled under the pressure. Children waded through waist-high water, their small hands clutching plastic containers to keep whatever possessions they could salvage dry.
Among them was Aisha, a single mother of three, who watched helplessly as the water swallowed her bed and stove. “Everything is gone,” she murmured. But even in her loss, she found strength. Neighbors formed human chains, passing supplies from hand to hand bread, bottled water, and clothes; whatever they could gather to help one another survive.
Langata Road, one of Nairobi’s busiest arteries, became a dividing line between those who could drive away and those left stranded. Cars floated like paper boats, their horns silenced by the water. Commuters stood huddled under bus shelters, watching the floodwaters rise, unsure whether to wade through or wait it out.
On the bridge near Wilson Airport, a group of boda boda riders turned into unexpected heroes. They carried stranded passengers one by one across the flooded road, charging nothing but gratitude. “We are all in this together,” one rider said, his clothes soaked through. “If we don’t help each other, who will?”
The floods laid bare the fragile infrastructure of Nairobi, exposing the cracks in a city already stretched thin by the effects of climate change. Yet, in the midst of the disaster, the human spirit endured. Strangers became rescuers. Communities became families. And amid the murky waters, stories of quiet heroism emerged; stories that deserve to be told.
As the rains subside and the waters recede, Nairobi will rebuild. But the memories of these days; the fear, the loss, and the small acts of kindness – will linger long after the floodwaters are gone.