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How driving an electric car in Nairobi changed more than just my commute

How driving an electric car in Nairobi changed more than just my commute
White electric vehicle car charging. Image used for representational purposes only. PHOTO/Pexels

When I slid into the driver’s seat of a Nissan Leaf, I wasn’t expecting it to mess with my instincts. No ignition roar. No trembling gearstick. Just silence, and a glowing dash that looked more spaceship than saloon. If a car could whisper, this one did. 

Pulling onto Waiyaki Way, I braced for the usual chaos. But the Leaf moved with an odd calm. Smooth. Immediate. Like it knew something I didn’t.

Within minutes, I had boda boda riders peeping into my window and a curious petrol station attendant waving me down—not to sell me fuel, but to ask where the exhaust pipe had gone. This is the reality of driving an electric car in Nairobi in 2025: people don’t just notice it, they interrogate it. 

I parked later that evening outside my apartment block, uncoiled a charger like a garden hose, and plugged it straight into a wall socket. No fancy home rig. Just electricity. A few curious neighbours passed by, eyes squinting. One asked if it could get electrocuted in the rain. Fair question, really. We’re not there yet. 

Gliding through traffic 

The next day, the battery was 80 per cent full. That gave me a bit over 100 kilometres to play with. No petrol. No fumes. No engine warming up like it had arthritis. I pulled onto Mombasa Road during rush hour and watched the car glide through traffic like it was meditating.

The instant acceleration was addictive—no gear change, no delay. Just press and go. And unlike my old car, which sounded like a lawnmower after 30 minutes in a jam, the Leaf just…waited. Quietly. Like it had nothing to prove. 

But Nairobi punishes confidence. I decided to take a trip out to Ngong, a casual drive that turned quickly into a lesson in humility. With the AC running and two friends chatting in the backseat, my range started dropping. By the time I hit the slopes outside Karen, I had a sinking feeling—range anxiety is not a myth. It’s real. And terrifying. 

I turned off the AC, then the music. I then asked everyone to stop talking, as if silence might help save power. I switched to Eco mode and coasted back downhill, every bump feeling like a prayer.

I made it home with nine per cent battery. It felt like crawling back from war with my dignity just barely intact. Lesson learnt: an electric car in Nairobi is only as smart as the person driving it. This is not a city you wing it in.  

That night, I tried a faster charging option at a public charging station in Kilimani. It took about 50 minutes to juice the battery back up—enough for another 120 km. The bill? Ksh480. Compare that to the Ksh2,000 I would have spent fuelling up my old 1.5L sedan, and suddenly, the numbers began making sense. Charging at home during off-peak hours? Even cheaper—think from Ksh250 to Ksh300. 

Driving awareness 

Electric cars aren’t just about saving money. They change the vibe. People stare. They whisper. Pedestrians cross without hearing you. At one point on Ngong Road, a street kid almost stepped into the car’s path, mistaking the silence for absence. I started driving with more care, more awareness.

The car didn’t shout. So, I had to listen harder to the world around me. 

And the maintenance? Almost laughable. No oil changes. No radiator leaks. No clogged fuel injectors. Just tyres, brakes, and software updates. You begin to realise how much of your life has been spent babysitting combustion engines that age like drama queens. 

Still, it’s not all a dream. Try finding a charging station in Gikambura at night. Or convincing a jua kali fundi to diagnose a battery warning light. This city—and this country—is still catching up. But it’s catching up fast. Roam is rolling out more hubs. Apartments are adding sockets. Car dealers are importing Leafs and BYDs like they’ve seen the future. 

And yes, there’s still an attitude. On the bypass, a matatu driver blocked me, rolled down his window and asked if I was driving a toy. A few seconds later, I silently surged past him while he struggled with his second gear. He didn’t wave again. 

Peace over horsepower 

By the end of the week, I didn’t want to give the Leaf back. Not because it was flashy—it’s not. But because it reminded me that peace of mind behind the wheel is worth more than horsepower. It made driving through Nairobi, even with its madness, feel like an experience, not just a chore. It turned chaos into calmness. 

Electric cars won’t solve all our problems. They won’t fix potholes or teach matatus to indicate, but they will change how we interact with our city—and our wallets. The Nissan Leaf showed me that. It asked me to plan, to drive thoughtfully, and to embrace something quieter. 

So, what happened when I drove an electric car in Nairobi for a week? Everything changed. Not the city. Me! 

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