The road to Kunamkunyi village in Turkana North winds through rugged terrain. Clouds of dust billow behind our vehicle as we drive through the bone-dry land.
Barren plains of sand and stone spread out in all directions as far as the eye can see.
Occasionally, a lone woman and her children brave the scorching sun in search of food and water. We learn that they sometimes walk for 15 kilometres before finding the precious liquid.
This village, located a few kilometres from the Kenya-Ethiopia border, is facing its worst drought in decades.
We arrive at Mr Namonio Echoto’s homestead at 11 in the morning. We find him sitting on his traditional stool, ekicholong, pensively watching his family as they eat acacia seed pods from a bowl.
“It is all we have,” Mr Echoto says, lifting his tearful gaze from his children, whose sunken eyes tell their own story.
In his 50 years, Mr Echoto has lived through lean times, but this is his lowest moment. In the past, the hard times were always followed by rains, which allowed villagers to replenish their herds of goats and cattle.
Like all pastoralists, Mr Echoto relies on his animals to make a living. The arid conditions do not allow farming. He owned more than 100 goats, which he would sell and slaughter to support his family of eight.
“They could not make it back from the grazing fields; they just collapsed and died one by one as we watched. It was painful,” he recalls. Faced with the prospect of starving to death, Mr Echoto decided to travel over 30 kilometres to the shores of Lake Turkana. He acquired a fishing net, intending to use it to support his family.
Trying your hand at fishing when you’ve been a pastoralist all your life is not easy. But Mr Echoto was determined. With his family depending on him, he could not afford to fail. But luck was not with him. During his first week as a fisherman, disaster struck.
He and other fishermen were attacked by bandits who stole all their fishing gear and injured some of them.
Mr Echoto retreated back to his homestead. Now he relies on charcoal burning, assisted by his wife, Angelina Namonio. He knows that it is harmful to the environment, but he has no choice.
On a hot Tuesday afternoon, Angelina prepares to start burning charcoal. “It is cumbersome,” she says. She has to wake up early in the morning to walk over 10 kilometres to cut the trees and carry them back. A sack of charcoal can fetch up to Sh200. She can buy maize for her family with that.
Turkana North is one of the areas suffering the adverse effects of climate change. According to the National Disaster Management Authority (NDMA), 4.35 million people in the country are in dire need of humanitarian assistance. More than 500,000 of these live in Turkana, with Turkana North being the worst-hit sub-county.
James Lobeck, the chairperson of SAPCONE, a local community organisation, paints a bleak picture of the future of this community. He says this is the worst drought in the past 16 years, when his organisation began its relief work in Turkana. “Although we provide assistance such as the cash transfer programme, more needs to be done,” he said.
Approximately two kilometres further along the road are the homesteads of the fisher folk. A cool breeze from the lake welcomes you to this village, as well as the sound of children dancing to music. There is grass growing on the shores of the lake and a flock of sheep is grazing.
A group of young men is laying out fish to dry under the hot sun. A shirtless man is the first one to notice our presence and rushes to implore us to hire his boat. “Let us go. Get in quickly. It is getting late,” he says, pointing at a rickety vessel on the shore.
Fishing is the main economic activity for those living here. John Nyasike, 38, was born and raised here. When he thinks back to his childhood, he says the lake used to be far in the horizon.
He points where his village used to be – about five kilometres in the lake. They have moved three times in the past three years as the water level keeps rising.
“Where we are living is where the road used to be. We are always moving up and we might soon be forced to move out of this place,” Mr Nyasike says.
Recent research carried out by the government indicates that Lake Turkana named the largest desert lake in the world, has increased in area by 779km². The water levels recorded in 2020 were the highest, marking an approximate increase of 10.4 per cent.
The number of fish in the lake has decreased. So, fishermen have to venture deeper; each fishing expedition lasts five days. They also have to be on the lookout for bandits who are ready to attack and steal their fish and equipment.
“It is getting riskier every day, but you would rather die looking for food than do nothing,” Mr Nyasike says.
Shortage of drinking water is also a common problem for the villagers. Freshwater wells are located almost 20 kilometres away. The community relies on the saline waters of the lake, which contain high levels of fluoride. As a result, most of them have discoloured teeth and often suffer from weak bones.
Rainfall has become erratic over the years. Kenya usually experiences two rainfall seasons, but NDMA data points to changing rainfall patterns and decreased vegetation cover in Turkana.
More than 500 kilometres away in Nairobi, the new administration led by President William Ruto is facing its first crisis of severe drought.
It has been flagging off tonnes of relief food on a weekly basis, targeting the drought-stricken regions, and has ordered the Kenya Meat Commission to begin a livestock off-take programme for pastoralist communities.
Most of the residents the Nation team spoke to during its week-long tour of Turkana North indicated they have not yet received any relief food, but were hopeful that the supplies will reach them soon.
The homesteads that we visited had nothing to eat, most of them facing starvation and relying on the roots of papyrus reeds and acacia pods.
As the evening sun casts long shadows on the bare ground, the residents retreat to their traditional round huts, hoping to survive the long night and have the strength to begin another day, looking for something to eat.
