Finding Para-Para-Paradise in Hell's Gate

I came out of Hell’s Gate. And if I say I came out alive, I wouldn't be exaggerating even a tiny bit. After completing the most treacherous hike of my life so far, my guide, a young 27-year-old Masai, told me that his community calls Hell's Gate 'Nemenenga', which literally translates to 'the valley of death'. Standing on a cliff and looking down at the valley in the iconic Hell's Gate National Park in Kenya, I could feel in my bones why it is called so. And more than that, I could see why I felt called to this place.

"Are you scared of heights?" he asked as we planned our next hour-long hike into the gorges, right after I had cycled 8 km into the park on my own, passing zebras, giraffes, wild buffaloes, and antelopes roaming the vast, magnificent fields of the park. "Yes, very much. But I'd like to go there," I replied, not even knowing what "there" would look like.

I had also asked him to take me to the gorge with sulphur showers. That quest, to bathe in water born out of volcanic interactions, took us onto a path where no other tourist was present. Nature here looked like hell: ugly, daunting, with no path of escape. Some years ago, flash floods had ravaged these gorges, prompting park authorities to build five emergency exits. But where we were going, there was none. Either we'd come back the same way, or follow the water’s flow until we found a point where a rope could pull us back up.

Getting down cost me my breath, my calm. Yet in those very moments, I found my breath again, and a strange calmness of mind. Once I climbed down a steep rock, nearly four times taller than me, I realised the moment didn't require physical power or skill. What it asked of me was sharp presence of mind, balance, and slow, deliberate movement. I did it, with surprising ease. By then I had lost one of my slippers, but I knew deep inside that I'd find it again, as long as we followed the water.

We walked through some of the deadliest landscapes I've seen. And then came the moment to climb back up. This, like before, demanded more mental strength than physical. With the help of two ropes, I hauled myself out, with a few bruises that will now serve as reminders of the journey. The climb was through a narrow patch, across a mix of rocks that demanded walking, squatting, and jumping, all while keeping my mind steady and balanced.

In those moments, I could see death. But in those very moments, I also felt most alive. My time in Hell's Gate reminded me of a deep purpose in my life: to confront my fears.

A few weeks ago, when I first came across Hell's Gate on the internet, I knew I had to be here. The usual chatter of inner critics, doubts, and confusions showed up, but I made my way to Naivasha, the gateway to this valley of death. And today, I came out alive. I saw a piece of paradise inside Hell’s Gate.

Also, if this Hell's Gate encounter caught your fancy, you might enjoy the full account of my Kenya journey: a longer reflection on living, working, and wandering across East Africa. Read here.