Portraits of Grief:Faces of the Nairobi Rains

By Mary Kamau 

On the evening of March 6, 2026, the rain over Nairobi did not sound unusual at first. It fell steadily on rooftops, drummed against iron sheets, and gathered quietly along the edges of roads the way it always does during the long rains. For many residents, it was just another stormy night in a city that has learned to live with sudden downpours. But as darkness settled, the rain refused to stop. Streams swelled into rivers, drainage systems overflowed, and before midnight, parts of the city were disappearing beneath fast-moving water.

By morning, Nairobi had changed. Streets were flooded, cars stranded in muddy currents, and rescue teams were combing through swollen rivers and submerged neighborhoods. Across Kenya, the death toll from the floods rose to more than 40 people, with Nairobi among the hardest hit. Yet behind each number was a life interrupted in the middle of an ordinary day,someone who left home expecting to return.

Some had been trying to get home before the roads became impassable. Others stepped outside to move cars away from rising water or check on neighbors as the storm worsened. In the chaos of the night, motorcycles were swept off the roads, vehicles stalled in flooded streets, and people were caught in currents that turned familiar roads into rivers. By the time the rain slowed, families across the city had begun making calls that went unanswered.

At Nairobi City Mortuary, the aftermath of the storm unfolded in quiet, painful moments. Relatives arrived slowly, some holding photographs, others clutching jackets or bags that belonged to someone who had not come home. They waited in corridors with a fragile hope that their loved one might still be somewhere safe, stranded perhaps, unable to reach a phone. Outside, the city was already beginning to move again, but inside those walls time seemed to stand still.

The floods did more than swallow roads and homes. They displaced thousands of people and forced many families to abandon what little they had as water filled houses and swept through neighborhoods built too close to the rivers. For some, the loss will be counted in furniture, clothing, or the walls of a house. For others, the loss is something that cannot be rebuilt.

In the days ahead, the water will recede and the mud will dry. Nairobi will reopen its roads, its markets, its endless rhythm of movement and noise. The rain will become another memory of a difficult season. But in quiet homes across the city, the storm will not end so easily. A chair will remain empty at a dinner table. A phone will stay silent where laughter once lived. And for the families still waiting for answers, the rains of March 2026 will always be remembered not for how hard they fell, but for the lives they carried away.