A tale of two farms and the enduring questions of land policy in Kenya

President Ruto greets his deputy Kithure Kindiki at JKIA as he departs for Accra, ahead of President-elect John Dramani Mahama’s inauguration. [PCU]

I am holding on to my New Year resolution to steer clear of politics and politicians—even though I was tempted to analyse the possible causes of Deputy Prezzo Kithure Kindiki’s signature vein that juts at the temple, suggesting he needs longer breaks than he said he was accorded by his boss recently.

But I paid Kindiki no heed, or even probe the ominous vein, as he delivered a crypt warning to his predecessor, Rigathi Gachagua aka Riggy G, whom he accused of galvanising disaffection against the government around the Big Mountain, aka Murima.

Instead, I headed towards the Big Mountain, partly lured by wanderlust and promise of some unique experience. Well, full disclosure: The mission was to see a relation who has been in failing health, before retiring to rustic cottages on the banks of a river in Naromoru.

That didn’t quite happen until very late in the day, or early the following day, as most of the night was spent around a bonfire, perhaps made bearable because we had fire in our bellies. I mean this literally as we tested the potency of what we drank by pouring a bit into the fire. It instantly crystallised into a ball of fire.

Earlier on, our host had shared his gripping tales about his years of rough living, consuming all the fire-producing drinks his belly could handle, and blowing his lungs away using cigarettes without filter.

He filtered nothing about his life, from the debauchery that produced tots that, years later, arrived at his doorstep and said they had emerged from his loins, and the tragedy of his self-medication, using alcohol and other balms, culminating in a jab that he used against the doctor’s advice, nearly incapacitating his kidneys.

The man now slumps in a seat most of his waking hours, after a motor accident, 30 years earlier, ruined his back, and relies on physiotherapy and painkillers to make his few strides every day.

Our host inherited his smallholding from his father and he, in turn, has bequeathed the land to his sons, one of whom has developed the cabins referenced earlier. At the peak of his life, the ailing, old man used the waters of nearby Tigithi River to coax the land to produce bountiful fruits and vegetables and support livestock. Indeed, their ten acres are their lifeline.

Our highlight at the cabins, where we retreated because our teeth had started chattering from the cold was a bucket shower in the morning. It was truly refreshing and we were ready to hit the road.

The extended weekend took us down to Makueni, to a massive farm teeming with Galla goats and Boran cattle, and hives of bees that are encouraged to forage and drink within the premises. The latter element highlighted an innovation: a cistern that had been connected to soundlessly replenish troughs throughout the day.

And even though two dozen workers operate on the farm, we did not encounter many of them, perhaps because they operate in silence not to disturb the bees.

The Makueni farm is over 1,000 acres and it featured a river and hills and dust tracks that led to a smattering of dwellings and sheds, including special sheds set aside for lactating goat mothers and a sick bay for those recuperating from infections.

The Makueni farm owners consider the farm a side hustle, because they are based elsewhere, and have better things to do with their lives than chasing goats. Or watching the sun set against a backdrop of enchanting grasslands.

How much land does a man need, Leo Tolstoy poses in his 1886 short story narrating the travails of an avaricious man obsessed with land. He dies in his last quest for more land although all he ever needed was enough space to put a casket bearing his remains in the ground.