Northern Kenya - Beautiful in its bleakness

kenya

The runway in Lokitaung, Northern Kenya

Flying into Northern Kenya,

Sometimes the most bleak and harsh locations become favorite visiting places. For me, travelling to northern Kenya, a place I have been many times, is wonderful for its ruggedness and its equally rugged people who live the life of goat herders and nomads.

The Turkana region is one of the most unforgiving places in East Africa. All that separates Turkana from a desert is the 200 to 300 millimeters of rain it receives yearly. It’s just enough dampness to forgive a few hardy plants for figuring out photosynthesis. And, this produces enough green for the Turkana people to raise their most prized possession—goats, their main staple. But if a few millimeters less rain falls, goats die and people get hungry. This is one of those years.

I flew to one of Turkana’s most northern towns, Lokitaung, located about 800 kilometres north of Nairobi. It’s a couple of days’ drive to get here by 4x4. At some point, the paved road ends and you’re forced to travel on dirt tracks. So flying is the only real option.

One starts the trip to Lokitaung at around 6 a.m. by departing from one of Africa’s busiest airports – Wilson. One could write a book abut the Wilson airport. If you want to know what is going on in this part of the world, hang out here for a few hours early in the morning.

From here, aid workers, business people, tourists and sketchy characters head out to Somalia, South Sudan, Tanzania, Kenya and elsewhere. Planes are emblazoned with lettering of the World Food Programme, ECHO (European Community Humanitarian Aid Office), Flying doctors, or others that are labelled simply “United Nations.” Four-seaters, 10-seaters and 20-seaters congregate on the tarmac in a haphazard jumble, like a traffic jam on Highway 401. Helicopters hover, planes begin pre-flight checks and eventually we cram into an aircraft that would give any claustrophobic person — me! — a heart attack. I am stuck for 2.5 hours trying not to think about what is below. I love Turkana, but being crammed into a small space is not my idea of a pleasant adventure.

The green grass of Nairobi and the peak of Mount Kenya, and the relative easy life of good farming gives way to grey-brown grasslands as we fly north. Eventually to the east, the long tongue-shaped Lake Turkana appears. It is the largest desert lake in the world. It is surprising how such a large body of water does not seem to create greenery much beyond its shores. Less than an hour northeast of Lokitaung you’d hit Ethiopia, and in about the same time heading northwest you’d run into Sudan.

Finally, we approach Lokitaung. Charcoal grey rolling hills appear under us and dry river beds snake their way in every direction. Updrafts of hot air bounce our plane up and down like a rocking horse; thankfully we land on dirt airstrip. I climb off the plane; I am greeted by fine dust and heat. I breathe, and warm air fills my lungs.

Turkana Woman stands at an agricultural project. Teaching pastoralists to grow food rather than wander with goats is helping them cope with drought. 

Many parts of Turkana are covered with variations of sand; the rest is like the moon, just volcanic rock. It’s a three-crayon location geographically—brown, grey and spots of green. How people live here is an ancient miracle. The largest people group is the Turkana—known for their bright bead work. Their diet includes eating goat meat, drinking goat milk, and adding some greens, which provide vitamins. It’s a simple life.

It is the bravery with which these people face each barren day that makes me admire them. Their capacity to live with very little, wandering across the region looking for water and food for their goats. The pastoralists’ life is a struggle, especially when the rains are not generous. Aid organizations are trying to move people in the region to irrigation-style agriculture, and even fishing in Lake Turkana. It has worked for some, but adjusting your heritage takes time. The Turkana, like their cousins the Masai, are the Old Order Mennonites of Kenya — they are resistant to turn their backs on what they have known for many years.

My visits took me to a great agricultural oasis where local villagers are beginning the journey from pastoralist to irrigation farmer. Elsewhere, at a food distribution site, I meet a woman who lost a son due to the drought. It’s a harsh life, and they know it. Even local staff shake their heads. “Life is harsh in Turkana,” they repeat. At one o’clock each day, schoolchildren receive high protein, red bean-coloured porridge. About two cups of this is probably the best meal they will have all day. Most of our health workers and staff are educated Turkana who are one generation beyond the village life. These are their people and, frankly, they have the language and stamina to work in a place like this.

After a long and hot visit, we headed for the airstrip to fly to Lodwar, a larger Turkana town, which suffers the same drought, a few hundred kilometres south. Our pilot asked us all to crowd to the front of the plane—something about wind gusts, balance and well . . . I didn’t ask. Sometimes, you feel better not knowing about safety issues.

Boy reaching for a bowl at feeding centre, while balancing his brother on his back.