(content by Christopher)
The first time I flew into Nairobi I brought three pairs of jeans. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wore one pair, once, for maybe an hour in the airport before I changed into something looser on the way to camp. The other two stayed folded at the bottom of my duffel for ten days and flew home exactly as they had arrived. Clean. Useless.
That trip taught me more about packing than any article ever did. So here’s the unvarnished version.
Clothes first, because that’s what people get wrong most.
You don’t need a safari outfit. You really don’t. I know the catalogs are full of khaki vests with seventeen pockets and convertible pants that zip off at the knee, and by all means, if that’s your thing, go for it. But in practice, the people who look most comfortable on safari are wearing boring clothes. A couple of neutral-ish t-shirts. One long-sleeve shirt for the sun and the occasional cold morning. A pair of soft trousers or cargo-style pants. That’s most of it.
Dust gets into everything. I mean everything. After three days in the Mara my “clean” clothes were the ones that were only lightly orange. So pack fewer items than you think you need, in colors that hide dirt, and accept that laundry is a thing. Most camps will wash your stuff for a small fee, sometimes free. The exception, and it’s a weirdly specific one, is underwear – a lot of camps won’t launder it for cultural reasons, so bring enough, or plan to rinse it in the sink.
A fleece. Seriously. You will laugh when you pack it because you’re going to Kenya and Kenya is supposed to be hot. Then at 5:45 in the morning, in an open vehicle, driving into the wind at twenty kilometers an hour in the pre-dawn cold, you will stop laughing. Mornings in the highlands and in the Mara can be genuinely chilly. The fleece matters.
Shoes. Two pairs is plenty. A closed-toe pair for game drives and walking, already broken in – this is not the trip to test out new hiking boots – and a pair of sandals for around camp in the evenings. I’ve seen people bring actual hiking boots, which is overkill unless you’re doing something like Mount Kenya. A pair of trainers or light trail shoes handles everything a normal safari throws at you.
Hat. Wide brim if you can manage it. The equatorial sun is sneakier than it feels.
Now the small stuff, which is actually the stuff that matters.
A headlamp. Not a flashlight, a headlamp, with a red light setting if possible. Camps often light pathways with kerosene lanterns and not much else, and the red light preserves your night vision when something moves outside your tent and you want to peek. A regular torch works too. Your phone light works in a pinch but you’ll feel stupid using it.
Binoculars. This is the thing I hesitate on. If you’re going on a decent safari, your guide will have a pair, and in some cases the vehicle will have a shared set. But honestly, having your own changes the experience. You stop waiting your turn. You can watch the lioness flick her tail for a full minute instead of passing the binos to whoever is next. A mid-range pair is fine. Don’t overthink it.
A dry bag, or a couple of large ziplocks. Cameras and dust and sudden rain do not mix, and ziplocks are free real estate in your luggage.
Sunscreen. The equator sun will find you even when you think you’re in shade.
Something for your lips. The air is dry and the wind is constant.
A small medical kit – nothing dramatic, just the boring stuff. Paracetamol, anti-diarrheal (you probably won’t need it, but you’ll be very glad if you do), plasters, any prescriptions you take. Most camps can rustle up basics but it’s nicer not to have to ask.
Malaria tablets, if your doctor recommends them. Not all regions are high-risk, and it depends on the season. Talk to a travel clinic before you go. I’m not a doctor and you shouldn’t trust a blog post on this.
Cash. Small US dollar bills for tipping guides and camp staff. The etiquette around tipping is one of those things nobody explains properly – most camps have guidelines and some have little envelopes in the rooms – but having a stack of fives and tens makes life easier. Cards work in a lot of places, but not all.
Things I’ve seen people regret bringing.
Hair dryers. Most camps run on solar and the power is limited and the generator goes off at nine, and your hair is going to be dusty anyway.
A full camera kit with three lenses. Unless you’re a serious photographer, one body and one flexible zoom lens is enough, and a phone with a decent camera is more than enough for most people. I once watched someone spend half a river crossing swapping lenses and miss the actual thing he was trying to photograph.
Brand new everything. New boots, new daypack, new camera body you haven’t figured out yet. Sort your gear at home, not on the road.
Heavy hard-shell luggage. If you’re doing any internal flights – and you probably are, because driving between parks eats days – there are strict weight limits, often fifteen kilos, and soft duffel bags are required on the small bush planes. A hard suitcase simply won’t fit in the hold of a Cessna Caravan. This catches people out constantly.
One more thing, which isn’t really about packing but sort of is. The kind of safari you book shapes what you actually need. A big group tour on a minibus is a different trip from a small-camp experience with private guided tours where you’re moving on a flexible schedule in your own vehicle and the camps tend to be more remote. On the private side you often fly between locations, which means the luggage restrictions matter more, and the pace is slower, which means you can get away with less stuff because you’re not rotating through six different camps in ten days.
If you want a more thorough list than I can offer – the kind with actual categories and nothing forgotten – the team at Majestic Kenya has put together a proper packing guide for safari that’s worth a look. I’ve cross-referenced it against my own memory a few times and it holds up well.
The actual lesson, if there is one, is that you need less than the internet tells you and different things than you’d guess. A soft duffel, layers, a headlamp, and a willingness to wear the same shirt twice. The rest sorts itself out once you’re there.
