Not a day passes without another warning about how severe the coming rainy season will be. Classified as El Niño, it is expected to bring the heaviest rains between October and December, with some forecasts suggesting they could continue into January 2027. The prospect of some of the worst flooding in recent memory, lasting longer than expected, should already have us working urgently to unclog drains and create channels for floodwater.
Planning may be under way in some places, but we need to move faster. At the very least, we must stop undermining our own ability to withstand what lies ahead.
We need every buffer nature can provide. That means we cannot continue densifying our cities while steadily eroding the green spaces that protect us. Every wetland, forest, urban woodland and stretch of unpaved ground should be viewed as infrastructure. These are the places where excess water is absorbed into the soil, rivers and natural ecosystems instead of flowing into our homes and streets. When I think about nature’s protection, I think of mangroves.
In 2004, when the tsunami devastated the coastlines of Thailand, Sri Lanka and beyond, communities shielded by intact mangrove forests suffered far less damage. Their intricate root systems absorb and disperse the force of water in ways no seawall can replicate. Mangroves are infrastructure engineered by nature over millennia to absorb shock, slow water and give it somewhere to go.
Powerful climate solutions
Days after the world marked the International Day for the Conservation of the Mangrove Ecosystem, that lesson feels more urgent than ever. If a forest of roots can mean the difference between devastation and survival along a coastline, then the wetlands, rivers and green corridors running through our cities are not luxuries we can keep sacrificing. I was inspired by a BBC feature that told, in part, the story of Zulfa Hassan, a woman in Lamu County known as Mama Mikoko, or Mama Mangrove. It was uplifting to watch her and other women planting mangroves while speaking passionately about protecting them. The same day, Kenya set a Guinness World Record when 4,124 people planted mangrove seedlings in under 30 seconds in Mombasa County.
Watching the feature, I was reminded that some of the most powerful climate solutions emerge organically. It also brought to mind my mother, Wangari Maathai, and the founding of the Green Belt Movement. Long before climate change dominated international summits, she understood that lasting environmental action begins with ordinary people. She worked with grassroots communities, encouraging women to plant trees not only to restore degraded landscapes but also to secure water, food, fuel and dignity for their families. Looking at Mama Mikoko and the record setters, I saw the same spirit at work.
In both cases, climate solutions were not conceived in conference halls or announced through ambitious policy declarations. Unlike terrestrial forests, mangrove ecosystems rarely receive the recognition they deserve. Growing where land meets the sea, they can appear impenetrable, their tangled roots rising from thick mud and tidal waters. Yet beneath that unassuming appearance lies one of nature’s most effective defence systems. Mangroves shield coastlines from storm surges and erosion, provide nurseries for fish and other marine life, filter pollutants and sustain livelihoods for millions of people. The choice before us is not between development and green space. It is between protection and exposure.
Nairobi’s wider catchment
Every wetland we drain, every mangrove we clear and every stretch of unpaved ground we pave over is not progress. It is a bet against ourselves, placed just as the odds are turning against us. That brings us to the built environment. Nairobi City County deserves credit for gazetting the Development Control Policy 2026 and curbing the chaotic, unplanned construction that has characterised much of the city’s growth. Clear zoning, defined height limits and infrastructure-linked approvals are exactly the discipline Nairobi has needed.
But even well-designed density controls solve only half the problem. The deeper question is not how tall we build within Nairobi’s boundaries, but why so many people feel they have no choice but to live there.
The truth is that Kenyans do not need to live in Nairobi. They need to live within easy reach of it. Yet poor connectivity makes those two things virtually the same.
When commuting from Naivasha, Machakos, Kitengela, Ruiru or Kikuyu means spending hours in traffic, density ceases to be a choice and becomes a necessity. The missing piece is investment in roads and reliable public transport that opens up Nairobi’s wider catchment. Give people a dependable 30-minute to one-hour commute and you ease congestion, unlock housing opportunities, protect green space and give families room to breathe. Reining in chaotic development is necessary. But it treats the symptom. Connectivity is the cure.
Ms Mathai is the MD for Africa & Global Partnerships at the World Resources Institute and Chair of Wangari Maathai Foundation
