Seven years ago, a small aircraft went down in the belly of Lake Nakuru. Five people were onboard and only three bodies were recovered. Among the two never found were Sam Gitau and John Mapozi names that flickered briefly in news headlines before fading into memory. The nation mourned, investigators moved on and the lake grew still. Below that deceptive calm, something strange began to happen. This isn’t just a story about a tragic crash. It’s about what rose to the surface afterward a quiet, creeping disaster that now haunts Nakuru in the form of poisoned waters, toxic fish, and vanishing men.
Lake Nakuru, long admired for its flamingos and postcard beauty, wasn’t meant for fish. The water’s high alkalinity made it a harsh, almost alien environment. A “soda lake” lifeless for anything with gills. However, after that 2017 crash, divers searching for wreckage made an eerie discovery. The lake wasn’t empty. It was alive in a way it shouldn’t have been. Fat, slow moving fish drifted through the water like ghosts. Fish you could scoop out by hand. Fish that shouldn’t have been there but, they were and not long after, they were on people’s plates.
The fish weren’t a miracle they were a warning. Experts say the answer lies in Nakuru’s overwhelmed infrastructure. For years, untreated human waste, chemical runoff and heavy metals have poured into the lake, turning it into a breeding ground for invasive species. Fish that could tolerate and even thrive in the filth. What they absorbed along the way made them dangerous. These fish weren’t just surviving the pollution; they were soaking it in, their flesh laced with poisons invisible to the eye but lethal to the body. They still ended up in markets. No labels. No oversight. Just fish for sale because when food is scarce, who’s asking questions?
The illnesses then began. Hospitals across Nakuru started recording strange patterns: children with bloated stomachs, patients with persistent diarrhea, skin rashes that wouldn’t heal and stomach infections spreading like wildfire. Doctors noticed something else; many of the patients had one thing in common. They had eaten fish.
A 2024 government report quietly buried and confirmed it. Fish from Lake Nakuru contained arsenic and mercury levels more than 400% above safe consumption limits. The toxins were being served up daily and nobody was warning the people eating them. With no traceability in local fish markets, toxic tilapia from Nakuru mixed freely with legal catch from safer lakes. People didn’t know they were poisoning themselves. Not once, but again and again.
For many in Nakuru’s fishing communities, the lake is more than a body of water. It’s a lifeline but lately, it’s felt more like a trap. With no steady jobs, no social safety nets and mouths to feed, a good number of fishermen have turned to Lake Nakuru even knowing the risks. They go out under cover of night, slipping into restricted zones with no permits and no protection. The water is dark, but it’s familiar. It offers just enough hope to keep them coming back.
That’s how Brian Odhiambo made his living until January 18, 2025, when he was last seen walking near the lake with six Kenya Wildlife Service officers. He never came home. No arrest was filed. No report made. Only silence. Weeks later, the body of Justus Ekimomor surfaced. An autopsy revealed he hadn’t drowned. He had head trauma and signs of a struggle. In 2021, Derick Otieno Odhiambo, just 23, died in KWS custody under suspicious circumstances. His injuries told a clear story of internal bleeding from blunt force trauma. Locals call it “jungle justice.” A message, whispered with fear. If you fish where you shouldn’t, you might not come back.
You’d think a crisis of this scale would trigger real action and on paper, it has. In 2020, the German government gave Kenya KSh 1.5 billion to detoxify water flowing into Lake Nakuru. Four years later, another KSh 5.6 billion was pledged to overhaul Nakuru County’s sewer system and prevent further contamination. Ask anyone living near the lake today and they’ll tell you the truth. The sewage is still flowing. The fish are still being sold. The lake is still bleeding. What’s changed? Not much, aside from a few new warning signs nailed to trees and more fishermen who don’t return.
Lake Nakuru was once a jewel of Kenya’s tourism crown. Now, it’s a mirror, one that reflects everything we don’t want to see. Why were these fish allowed into our food system without testing? Why are fishermen disappearing without investigations? Why is public health warnings still buried in bureaucracy? This isn’t just about an ecosystem. It’s about accountability and human lives.
Lake Nakuru isn’t just polluted, it’s pulsing with neglect. It holds secrets beneath its waves: wreckage, poisoned fish and unanswered cries. Until real action is taken, not just big cheques and photo ops the lake will continue to feed families with poison and bury truths with silence. This is more than an environmental story. It’s a human one and it deserves more than whispers.