There is a certain kind of strength you only learn when you have to trek home in the rain with empty pockets and a full heart, and Sharon Lianguluti knows that strength intimately. She is a daughter of Ematsuli Village, tucked deep into the stoic, lush greenery of North East Bunyore Ward in Emuhaya Subcounty, Vihiga County. But her journey back to this soil was not a straight line. It was a winding, muddy, hopeful road that began long before her university days, in the quiet seed of childhood mentorship. She still remembers how her father added her to a group that supported girls with self-awareness sessions and sanitary towels. That small act planted something deep inside her. By the time she reached Form Four, the organization needed more mentors, and Sharon qualified. Even then, barely a teenager, she was learning that community development is not a career you choose late in life—it is a call you answer early, often before you fully understand its weight. After secondary school, she...
So LET'S FACE IT! There is a quiet unease that has been spreading across Kenya’s farms and community lands, and it has everything to do with a piece of legislation that most people have not yet read but are already learning to fear. The Forest Conservation and Management (Amendment) Bill 2025, sponsored by Hon. Kimani Ichung’wah, arrives with a noble mission: to strengthen forest governance, promote commercial forestry, and align Kenya with global carbon markets. On paper, these are worthy goals. But on the ground, where farmers wake up before dawn to tend shambas they may or may not legally own, and where communities have watched well-intentioned policies curdle into bureaucratic nightmares, this Bill raises a very simple question: why must something as common-sense as growing a tree become so complicated? Tree growing is not a technical mystery. It is not a privilege reserved for those who can afford lawyers or navigate government portals. It is one of the most universally unders...