Every August 19th, the world collectively pauses to celebrate the maestros who have mastered the art of freezing time. On this day, what matters the most is not the HD photo they forgot to send but appreciating the journey that has made them who they are; those who have been stubborn enough to chase an angle for the umpteenth time and those who patiently waited for the perfect natural light.
Image courtesy of Boniface Mwangi
In Nakuru, photography has found its definition in the most basic forms of existence: random street stories, Prince Loo-Rugby Seven’s game, Maandamano (Moments of civic action, public expression and calls against inhumane acts), fundis hammering away at their workshops, birds in their natural habitats and general cultural documentation. “So, how did it all start?” we curiously ask as we engage eleven photographers from Nakuru. “Was it like a blinding-lights moment?”
“It all started on a rainy afternoon in Nakuru. I was sitting in a café, enjoying a cup of coffee, when I noticed a beautiful scene outside the window. I instinctively took a photo and later posted it on my social media.”
Benstake recalls what would become the doorway into his first major gig, covering Nakuru’s Youth Week and the beginning of an archive that now spans a decade of telling Nakuru’s story.
From a basic Tecno phone to a Redmi, to now using a Canon 90D DSLR, Joyce Andeso’s journey in photography also began simply because she loves taking pictures. She started by learning how to work with light and frame her shots. Today, she’s exploring different styles but is mostly drawn to capturing fun, simple, real moments and the emotions within a scene.
Photo courtesy of James Wakibia
There is no absolute on how photography begins or journeys. Like any art form, there is no true destination, you just keep discovering new angles, new methods, and new ways to tell your story. Take Pierra for instance. For her, photography began as an extension to her writing. With her Canon 200D, she documents food systems and the people who sustain them. For Wakibia, what would become a photojournalistic career started as a childhood hobby. At around 12, he picked up a Yashica analogue camera and fell in love with the craft.
Though the photographers’ journeys are idiosyncratic, their personal growth in visual storytelling circles back to a shared consensus, consistency. As Andy and Joyce describe it, it is about showing up, refining the light, perfecting the framing and nailing the timing. This growth helps them understand their dynamics better: the needs which mostly influence their choice of equipment. Generally, they work with a wide spectrum of gear-ranging from entry-level DSLRs with kit lenses to high-end mirrorless systems equipped with prime and telephoto lenses. While some began their careers borrowing cameras from friends or using second-hand equipment, others started with newer models. Over time, many have upgraded or switched brands as their needs evolved—Canon to Sony, Nikon to Fuji—often driven by a desire for better low-light performance, faster autofocus, or lighter gear for travel work. Wangui and Grace both rely on Nikon gear as it is able to achieve the clarity and standard that they demand.
Two comparative photos taken by Mwaura Gathua, the former three years ago and the latter recently.
Across their journeys, each photographer’s lens reveals both personal passions and a sense of responsibility to the world around them. For James Wakibia, the camera is a tool of activism — exposing the realities of plastic pollution and its toll on health and communities. Wangui Gichuru gravitates toward unscripted family moments photographs meant to be passed down “for posterity.” Gregory Onyango moves with the rhythm of daily life, capturing its commerce, celebrations, and the spaces in between. Grace Njeri brings clarity and precision to portraits and events, often working in spaces where women photographers must push harder to be seen. Here photography becomes more than just an image-making craft, it is a way of engaging with the world.
Photo courtesy of “Gregory Onyango”
Photo courtesy of Boniface Mwangi
The flip side to such engagements is the weight they carry. Many speak openly about the mental strain their work can bring: being in the heat of political unrest, environmental losses and perhaps even harder, having to sift through thousands of images, reliving inhumane acts over and over during the editing process. For women in the field, the constant need to navigate barriers in a male-dominated industry has taken a heavy toll. Emerging photographers also describe the sting of subtle dismissals — the bombastic side-eyes and unspoken actions that might as well be stamped in uppercase, “YOU’RE NOT ENOUGH.”
Given the kind of weight that comes with being a photographer, there is a shared understanding of the need for support networks (such as #Twenderaundi), creative collaborations, and time outdoors. Boniface speaks on the need for counseling in a profession that often confronts the darkest sides of human experience. Akol Noon finds grounding in the company of fellow creatives, while Anderson Mwambonnu restores his energy through rest and connection with people and places that refill his creative well. Creative energy is intricately linked with mental and emotional well-being. From structured support networks to personal coping strategies, each photographer is learning in their own way that sustaining the craft means caring for the self.
On this day, as we remind ourselves to clean our lenses before taking a shot, we also shift our focus to Nakuru’s photographers, remembering that behind every image is a human being who chose to pause, see, and share the world with the rest of us, regardless of how hefty the process was. We learn how photography is much about human connection as it is about light and composition.
Photo courtesy of Anderson Mwambonnu