Smoke over Karura Forest: will we heed the call before the fire?

Before telephones, Africans used smoke signals to communicate. Where there was smoke, there was urgency, a call to gather and act before it was too late.

Today, smoke is rising again over Karura Forest. If we ignore it, we risk losing not just trees, but a vital part of our history, our environment, and our future.

On August 29, 2025, the Kenya Forest Service (KFS) shifted all Karura entry and parking fees to the government’s eCitizen platform, effectively cutting out the Friends of Karura Forest (FKF-CFA) from gate collections that have long funded rangers, security, trails, education, and restoration. FKF argues this violates the 2021–2041 Joint Management Agreement with KFS, which channels Karura revenue back into the forest through a jointly managed account. They’ve petitioned Environment CS Deborah Barasa to reverse the directive and uphold the co-management model that transformed Karura into a sanctuary with nearly 75,000 visitors every month.

KFS counters that the change is about “payment mode,” not management, and has dismissed FKF’s petition. But visitors are already reporting higher effective entry fees due to VAT and platform charges, fueling fears that centralising revenue will weaken local accountability and forest protection. FKF has moved to the courts, just weeks after a judge blocked a plan to excise 51 acres of Karura for the expansion of Kiambu Road, another reminder that vigilance, not complacency, keeps this forest alive.

This is the same smoke that Wangari Maathai saw decades ago. She once warned:

If we are going to shed blood because of our land, we will, we’re used to that, our forefathers shed blood for our land, we will do so… this is my blood…

It was not just defiance then — it is a challenge to us now!

One would expect that three decades later, activism around Karura would have only tightened. Instead, we are seeing the same old patterns: intimidation, excessive force, and attempts at hostile takeovers of public land.

The government’s justification? Alleged “mismanagement.” If mismanagement was the real concern, the state could follow due process in court. Instead, we see intimidation, force, and rushed takeovers. Courts have already stopped such attempts, from the Kiambu Road expansion to illegal logging. Why repeat the same cycle of confrontation?

And even before that, Karura bled from another wound: so-called harvesting of mature trees. If you’ve ever planted a seedling in Nairobi – maybe in Karura, Uhuru Park, or any other green space – do you expect someone to cut it down 30 years later under the excuse that “the tree is mature”?

Mature trees are the lungs of a city. They regulate climate, filter air, recharge groundwater, and provide shade and silence in the concrete chaos of Nairobi. Cutting them in the name of replacing them with seedlings is a false solution. Mature, indigenous trees provide the strongest ecosystem services and ecological balance.

So now, when the same government that oversees such destruction says it wants to “manage” Karura better, should we trust them?

Wangari Maathai once said:

It is a very sad saga, that we have a government in this country that is actually overseeing the destruction of forests and grabbing of public land.

Her words still ring true.

Why Karura Must Be Defended

Karura is not just a forest, it is Nairobi’s lungs, classroom, playground, and sanctuary. Families picnic there, children learn their first lessons about nature, and joggers, cyclists, and walkers find therapy under its canopy. 

During the COVID-19 lockdowns, Karura became a refuge of sanity. Teachers say that school trips there change how children see the environment. Parents call it “a sanctuary inside the city.” These encounters prove that protecting Karura is not abstract, it is about defending the everyday joys that make urban life bearable.

Every tree that stands tall today also carries memory. Karura is a living archive of the struggles of ordinary Kenyans, and of the blood, sweat, and courage of those who fought against its destruction. To weaken it now would dishonor their sacrifice and betray future generations who deserve to inherit its shade, beauty, and peace.

Karura also defines Nairobi’s identity. New York has Central Park, Cape Town has Table Mountain, Kigali has its wetlands. For Nairobi, Karura is that defining pulse, a rare green refuge in a rapidly urbanising city, internationally recognised as a success story of urban forest restoration. To weaken it would be to strip Nairobi of its character and global standing.

Wangari Maathai often told the story of the hummingbird – the tiny bird who, faced with a raging forest fire, carried one drop of water at a time. Mocked by other animals, it replied: “I am doing the best I can.”

That is what is required of us now. To do the best we can.

A call to action

The smoke is rising again from Karura. Will we watch from afar until the flames consume it, or will we each carry our drops of water to protect what is ours?

Karura belongs not to the state, not to corporations, but to the people of Kenya, and especially the generations to come.

The question is: Will you be the hummingbird?

Being the hummingbird means action, however small:

Silence is complicity. But collective action, drop by drop, has always been Karura’s shield. Together we can ensure that this forest remains a sanctuary for generations to come.

Kiptoo Chemoiwo,
Environmental Scientist