Growing up in Western Kenya I only heard of droughts from the radio and saw it on TV but to be honest, I had never experienced it. Back then people and livestock dying because of hunger and famine was something that happened somewhere else. In my part of the country, a drought that goes for months leaving nothing green and healthy behind it except scrawny livestock and carcasses lying on very dry, bare, cracked ground was unheard of. So to me what the Kenyan pastoralist communities were going through annually was inconsequential.
But then I came to Kajiado and had an opportunity to experience drought. Personally I’ve not been affected but daily I interact with affected families. I’ve chatted with some elderly maasai locals who have admitted that this year’s drought is one of the worst they’ve experienced in their lifetimes. It’s so severe that the only green I can see around is from the farms with water, the rest of Kajiado is whirlwinds playing around with dust.
The ground is so dry that in some parts it has cracked into wide scary trenches. There’s no sign of grass except a few stumps that had survived being uprooted by starving goats, sheep, donkeys and cattle.
I know a couple of families that have lost all their livestock; their livelihood and only source of income. I know a certain Kikuyu lady married to a maasai man who wouldn’t listen to her advise of selling some of their 231 sheep and for a couple of weeks now they’ve been throwing away a minimum of 3 carcasses of sheep daily and they’re barely left with anything. In another home they collectively had 150 cattle plus over a hundred goats and sheep but for the last two months the main job in that home each morning has been to “kuinua ng’ombe”. The cattle are so week that once they lie down for the night they can’t get up on their own without help.
But on this particular home I tried giving my free advice on the onset of the drought but it was ignored. It was the boma I used to go for milk when I had just arrived in Kajiado. They sold me 50/litre and I would take some of the milk to my sister back in Nairobi who really appreciate it. I was fascinated by this particular home because I would stand their and watch those industrious ladies about five of them milking over sixty cows by themselves. I made a couple of friends there including the lady who I would pay via Mpesa and another young man about my own age called Jack.
Jack’s dad had passed on earlier and now it seemed he was the man of the house, responsible for the family and livestock’s wellbeing. We started talking about the rains that had not fallen in April like it was the norm. I shared with him about climate change and how it has affected rain patterns. He was worried that if it didn’t rain soon then they were staring at a bleak future. That was back in May.
“Isiponyesha ivi karibuni, kufika mwezi wa saba kutakuwa na kiangazi.” Jack had said.
Looking at him, and considering the fact that he was in Kitengela Constituency, a stone throw away from Nairobi, he appeared a smart guy and I was positive he had been to school. But I wondered why he couldn’t dispose of some of the cattle already if he had indeed foreseen drought in the coming months.
“Si basi peleka soko at least nusu ya hizo ng’ombe bro,” I offered my advice. “Ndo in case kiangazi itokee hautaenda hashara.”
The guy laughed off saying they were hopeful it would rain. I went away shaking my head. Later I tried sharing the same with Jack’s step mom who sold me milk but she was of the same school of thought. She listened to me talk and I had the impression she was wondering what the hell this stranger knew about cattle. At long last she agreed with what I was saying but the reason she gave for why they wouldn’t sell the livestock is that they might sell and then rain comes and it wouldn’t be easy recovering the stock they had. I gave up.
Later on I asked around at the current market price of a cow and you can imagine finding out it was between 70-80k. Doing a rough calculation on if Jack and his family had decided to sell half their stock I found they could be sitting on more than five million and they would have enough hay to last them the drought and enough to restock when the rains returned.
It’s heartbreaking seeing them each night on donkey-pulled cart going to dump a carcass or two somewhere for the mongrels, wild dogs and hyenas to feast. The same over 70k cow is now going for not more than 1k. Take or leave it!
The county government’s of the drought prone regions, farmer education ought to be part of their drought mitigation measures. If only the government educated these pastoralists on how to treat it as a business then there wouldn’t be need for aid as they would be having enough money to buy their own food and avoid starvation.
Climate change is happening and its the new reality, and we have to teach our people to accept that. We have to know that sometimes we will do without rain or it may come either late or early, and sometimes too little or too much. These are the facts. Each of us has to act quickly if we’re to survive. Our dear pastoralists have to know times have changed. If you insist on keeping many heads of cattle, then at least be smart enough to know when it’s time to let go of some and investing the money wisely on something that cannot be affected by drought. When you get the intuition or hear from weather forecast reports that there would be drought, think like a business person and sell some of the stock. Don’t wait until it’s too late.
Kindly leave your feedback. Share with me your thoughts on what you think pastoralists in this country need to do to prevent losses when drought hit. Leave a comment or reach me on Twitter: Money in Agribusiness @lazarus_marson.