'I miss the theatre': A Nakuru journalist's sincere confession

It’s been almost a year since Nakuru Players Theatre was closed, and it’s no lie, we miss theatre. Okay, let me be honest, I miss the theatre.

In 2024, my weekends were always busy. If it wasn’t a poetry show, it was a play or a film screening.

Now I’ve had to look for alternative things to do to fill in the free time on weekends, and it’s just not the same.

When the theatre was open, I used to receive invites from artists staging shows as early as Thursday.

I would anticipate each one because I knew that in a month, I’d get the chance to be at the theatre at least twice, not just as an audience member, but also for work. 

Even if I didn’t have a date idea, I knew I could easily plan one around a play at the theatre.

It was a place that naturally blended art, journalism, and community, where stories unfolded both on and off the stage.

Almost a year later, that rhythm is gone. I still find myself glancing toward the theatre building whenever I pass by, half-expecting to see the familiar faces of performers.

That spirited space was more than just a venue; it was Nakuru’s creative heartbeat, a gathering ground for poets, actors, directors, and dreamers who believed in the power of live storytelling.

As a journalist, I had the privilege of covering many of those evenings. I still remember how it felt to sit in the dimly lit hall, notebook in hand, waiting for the lights to dim before a performance began. 

There was always a sense that something raw, honest, and beautiful about to unfold. Whether it was a comedy play, a poetry night, or a music performance, Nakuru Players Theatre had a way of bringing people together.

When the news first spread that the theatre was closing due to management wrangles, I thought it would only be a short break. But as weeks turned into months, and months into nearly a year, no lie the absence is weighing on me. 

The energy didn’t vanish it scattered.

Plays that once filled the theatre found themselves in halls like Old Town Hall and Lohana. But none of these places has managed to recreate that same intimacy and sense of belonging.

For me, covering art events since then has felt different. I still chase stories about creativity, but there’s a quiet nostalgia that lingers.

I miss the spontaneity of theatre nights, the way you could walk in and leave with a new perspective, or at least a story idea worth chasing. 

I miss the post-show debates, the laughter in the foyer, the sense that something meaningful was always in the making.

The silence of Nakuru Players Theatre has taught us how fragile art spaces can be. They are not just physical structures but living ecosystems that thrive on community and care.

As Nakuru continues to grow as a creative city, I can only hope that the theatre’s revival isn’t too far away, not just for nostalgia’s sake, but because young storytellers deserve a home stage where their voices can echo again. 

Until then, those of us who lived, worked, and dreamed in that space will keep carrying its light through our stories.