Kagwiria Murungi | Dust. Grit. Destiny. | Media.com

Limited

Kagwiria Murungi | Dust. Grit. Destiny.

Public

Basic

User

Verified

'Stories from the Kenyan Counties'
Baringo County (A Ride that tested everything)

In this series of Stories from the Kenyan Counties, I begin with Baringo, a ride that kicked off with Nairobi’s notorious holiday traffic and took a wild turn into a midnight escape through rain, mud, and Aberdare Forest.
I had wanted to ride to Baringo County for a long time, why? because of a woman named Ms. Ann Keter. I had seen her online, captured teaching tourists at the Mogotio Equator stop. Her grasp of geography, her eloquence, her confidence, she had me hooked. There was something magnetic about the way she explained the Coriolis effect. I remember thinking, ‘‘That’s the kind of woman who inspires nations.’’
I pinned Baringo on the map and told myself: my metal missy and me: we ride
Fast forward to December 2024, I set the date of travel, 20th December. In hindsight, that was a terrible idea. The entire country heads upcountry, especially along the Nairobi-Nakuru highway, which, of course, was my route. But I was excited and a little bit stubborn… maybe a lot more stubborn.
On the 19th, I packed up the Kawasaki KLR 650, she is a warhorse - yes, she is a she. A tent, camping seat, cooking wear, drinking water, extra fuel cans, meds, first aid kit, toolbox. All are adventure riders’ essentials. Underwear? change of clothes? we adventure riders pack like survivalists. If you don’t have brake fluid, it’s the end of the road. And thank God for disposable underwear.
I oiled the chain, double-checked the brakes, lights, tyre pressure, and prayed over the bike. God and I? I don’t move without Him. I went to bed, every rider knows the feeling, the night before a big ride, sleep is elusive. At one point, I slipped out of bed, walked out to the bike, ran my hands through her metallic curves, and whispered:
‘‘Girl, we ride at dawn.’’ She knows. She always knows.
Sometimes I wonder if it is loneliness or freedom.
Dawn came, I slapped on the Kenyan flag on the rear - my signature appearance, and because there are no better colors I would ride for, other than those of my country. I put on my riding gear and warmed the engine, and out I went. I barely made it five (5) kilometres - gridlock. This traffic jam was the kind that deflates a soul; not even lane filtering was possible. The bike began to overheat, as is characteristic of big bikes, especially riding at the pace I was riding at: low revs, low gear. I did the only sane thing to do: I turned around and headed home.
Later on, I saw it all over social media that people had slept on the same road the previous night, some were even playing football to pass the time. Trust Kenyans to make traffic jam festive.
I kept wondering where all those people were going to the bathroom! I digress.
Anyway, I made a new plan. I would leave at midnight on the 21st in order to beat the traffic. Midnight came, I geared up and left. The minute I got out of the gate, rain. Torrential, midnight, test-your-spirit kind of rain. As if that was not enough, I ran into more traffic, AGAIN. I was soaked, no rain gear (don’t ask). Then out of the blue, a kind policeman walked over (you know the traffic is bad if there is a traffic policeman on a Kenyan road at midnight) and said, ‘‘Madam, hii jam inaenda mpaka flyover.’’ Translated to say ‘‘Madam, this jam stretches all the way to Flyover.’’ A spot eighty (80) kilometres ahead.
Back home? Again? No way.
At 2 am, I sat at Total Energies, Sigona, sipping tea to warm up and rethink my life. I made a bold call (you will call it insane, but I will call it bold, lol): to take the longer route through Thika town, Kamwangi, and the Aberdare Forest. Over 200 Kms longer, it was still raining, and I was solo. But if you know me .. once I decide, only wild horses can drag it out of me.
So off I went. Through the puddles, through the fog, through the fog ( I regretted not carrying my hot water bottle inside my gear like I normally do). At Kamwangi, I stopped to stretch and thank God I did.
What followed next was straight out of the movies. 47.2 kilometres of muddy off-road, pitch dark, and it’s still raining.

Aberdare forest at 3 am.
Let’s pick this up in Part 2. You do not want to miss what happened next.

With grit,
Kagwiria Murungi
Female Adventure Rider, African Storyteller, Woman Becoming.
If you’d like to follow this story across platforms and support this mission to elevate African voices from the roadside to the world stage, follow me on;
<a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/kagwiria-murungi-145635377" class="editor_link__TEldu" dir="ltr">www.linkedin.com/in/kagwiria-murungi-145635377</a>
<a href="https://www.kagwiriamurungirides.africa" class="editor_link__TEldu" dir="ltr">www.kagwiriamurungirides.africa</a>
<a href="https://youtube.com/@kagwiriamurungi?feature=shared" class="editor_link__TEldu" dir="ltr">https://youtube.com/@kagwiriamurungi?feature=shared</a>

Post

The Woman the Road Is Rebuilding
''Before I return to the world, the road must lead me back to myself''

(Originally published on Substack at <a href="https://substack.com/@kagwiriamurungi" class="editor_link__TEldu" dir="ltr">https://substack.com/@kagwiriamurungi</a> )

There are some rebuildings that don’t make a sound. No ribbon-cuttings. No applause.Just a woman… and a road… and a silence that stretches longer than the pain.

That’s where I am now.

I used to ride like the road was my stage. My motorcycle roared across counties, through cheering towns and dusty winds. People waved. I told stories that made people sit up and listen.

And then it all fell apart.

Not in one grand explosion but in the slow undoing of everything I held together with my bare hands.

I dipped mentally.
Courage thinned out.
My house no longer felt like home.
And the loudest applause I heard… was silence.

There’s a kind of breaking that doesn’t come with blood. Just quiet. And dust. And that ache behind your ribs that whispers, “Not again.”

So, I left.

Not to escape but to breathe. To remember who I was before I became everything for everyone else.
I boarded a bus to where I had been previously accepted, with nothing but fear, fatigue, and a stubborn ember of purpose.

In Turkana, the wind didn’t cheer for me. The heat didn’t hug me. But I found stillness. I found people who looked at me and didn’t ask what broke me.
They asked what I wanted to rebuild.
And I began, with shaking hands and a quiet heart.

I wake up now and listen to goats bleating in the distance.
I sit on rocks and watch the land breathe.
I think about my children.
I write in a book with dust on its pages.
And quietly…Without clapping…Without noise…
The road is rebuilding me.

It is not giving me back what I lost. It is giving me something I never had ;
Peace.
Depth.
And a self not tied to noise.

I no longer crave being seen. I crave being whole.
So, if you’re wondering where I went… I didn’t disappear. I just returned to the soil. And in the silence, I’m finding the woman who doesn’t need the spotlight, only the fire inside.
The woman who doesn’t beg to be heard only rides until the story tells itself.

The woman the road is rebuilding.

One sunrise.One dust path.One breath at a time.
<a href="/search?search=%23KenyanWriters" type="hashtag">#KenyanWriters</a>
<a href="/search?search=%23WomeninAfrica" type="hashtag">#WomeninAfrica</a>
<a href="/search?search=%23PersonalTransformation" type="hashtag">#PersonalTransformation</a>
<a href="/search?search=%23HealingThroughStory" type="hashtag">#HealingThroughStory</a>
<a href="/search?search=%23MotorcycleDiaries" type="hashtag">#MotorcycleDiaries</a>

The Woman Who Rode the Map: A Journey in Dust, Fire, and Faith

Let me tell you a story.

It begins with a woman and a motorcycle, not a flashy bike, not a big machine.
Just two wheels, a dusty heart, and a dream louder than the road.
I am that woman.

My name is Kagwiria Murungi, and I have ridden through 42 counties of Kenya not as a tourist, not as a racer, but as a storyteller on two wheels.
I rode with wind in my face and questions in my soul. I listened to children laugh under thorn trees. I drank tea with grandmothers who had seen generations rise and fall.
I sat on stones where stories were carved long before I was born. I didn’t just ride roads.
I rode through people’s lives. And they changed mine.
There were days I felt like I was flying.
There were days I didn’t know if I would make it to the next town.
But I kept going because somewhere inside, I knew I was riding for something more than myself.
Until I couldn’t anymore.
There came a time - and every African story has that moment - when everything falls.
The journey paused. The winds stopped. Life cracked open.
I lost my footing. I lost almost everything. I disappeared into the silence.
But silence is not the end , in fact, in the silence, the ancestors speak the loudest.
I found myself again in Turkana, among red earth, bare hills, and youth with fire in their eyes.
There, with hands not yet hardened by bitterness, we built something:
DIHATAINO (Diligent Hands Talent Initiative Organisation ) A place where the youth learn to build, fix, weld, and create.Where women and Children find a voice.
A place where hope is not a donation, but a skill passed from hand to hand.

And now, I ride again.
In December 2025, I will take on the Final Five counties:
Mandera, Wajir, Garissa, Tana River, and Lamu.
Not to finish a checklist.
To close a circle.
To finish the map.
To take the voices of the forgotten and place them into history.
To show my children - and yours - that a woman can fall, rise, and keep riding.
So I invite you, not just to read, but to walk with me.
This Medium space is where I will leave my footprints in the dust.
Stories from the road.
Whispers from the wild.
Love letters to the land and the people who raised me.
Because in Africa, stories are not just for entertainment.
They are how we remember.
They are how we heal.
They are how we leave a legacy.
I am Kagwiria Murungi,
The Woman Who Rode the Map.
And this ... this is how the next chapter begins.

Mombasa

self employed

Kenya

Consultant

About me

Previous companies

Qualifications

Skills

Block editing is available only to the profile owner

Edit contact

Add contact

Crop image

Office images

Opening hours

We can’t find this person on Media.com. You can invite someone by email

Required if Media.com profile is not provided

Invite a new user to the Media.com service

Select an account from those who have subscribed to you

You have unsaved changes. Are you sure you want to leave?

Unsaved changes

Suggestions

Add a tile

Are you sure you want to delete the contact {title}? This action cannot be undone

Delete {title}

Maximum is {count} characters

Cover

Title

File

This folder is empty. Check back soon.

Add content to this folder

Are you sure you want to close this window? All unsaved changes will be lost

Close this window?

This profile does not have any content yet

Name

Please provide title for your tile

Select access to manage your account

Your permissions for other profiles are displayed here

Select the features you would like to grant the user access to manage

Add contacts

Add social networks

Describe this image

This information will be available to registered Media.com users only

Enter contact details

Edit contacts

Up to 10 industry classifications that match your organization

Location {number}

Location(s) your organization operates from.  You can add up to 100 locations.  Please contact support if you need more.

Add links to your social network profiles

Edit social networks

Add the links at the podcasts on Spotify, Apple Podcasts or Google Podcasts services