Friends of River Ezava-Forezava

  At first glance, you may not immediately recognize the ambitions carried by Vincent Mwanje. You are more likely to find him dressed in gumboots and overalls than in polished political attire. His days are often spent tending poultry birds with patience, inspecting vegetable seedlings with precision, or working on maize farms where he applies modern climate-smart techniques such as minimum tillage. To many, he appears like an ordinary young farmer committed to the soil. But beneath that calm and practical exterior is a bold, fearless, and deeply purposeful young leader steadily building a name across North East Bunyore. Vincent Mwanje belongs to a growing generation of youth leaders who understand that leadership is not built through noise, but through consistent action. While many speak about transformation, he has chosen to live it daily through enterprise, service, mentorship, and community engagement. Agriculture is not merely an economic activity for him. It is a statement of...

The silence of an electric motorbike is a strange thing to experience on a red murram road deep in the village. There is no growl of an engine, no puff of black smoke scattering chickens, just the low hum of a motor and the crunch of tires on stone. When I first rode one in rural Kenya, the thing that struck me wasn't the technology—it was the economics. The young man who owned it wasn't an environmental activist. He was a boda boda rider who had simply calculated that spending KSh 275 on a full charge was better than spending KSh 400 on fuel that wouldn't even take him half the distance . He wasn't trying to save the planet; he was trying to save his livelihood. This is the conversation we should be having about fossil fuel dependence in Kenya. Not an abstract debate about global climate agreements, but a brutally honest look at our national priorities. Every shilling we spend importing petroleum is a shilling not spent on our own energy infrastructure—and the data pai...

There are stories that arrive with noise, grand launches, public applause, dramatic announcements and then there are stories that rise almost unnoticed, slowly gathering weight until one day you realize something substantial has been built. Gregory Kamadi ’s journey belongs firmly to the second category. It is not the kind of story that begins in boardrooms or city skyscrapers. It begins in Vihiga County, a small village in Mungoma location called Madzuu, far from the perceived centers of opportunity, in the quiet spaces where ambition often has to survive without an audience. Growing up in Vihiga meant growing up with a front-row seat to limitation. Technology was not something casually woven into everyday life, and access to the latest gadgets or digital tools felt more like a distant privilege than an ordinary expectation. Yet what could have easily bred resignation instead produced observation. Gregory developed an unusual habit early on: he noticed what was missing. He noticed how...

Scrolling through Facebook, I landed on a video featuring a lesson-laden young man renditioning to popular singer, Harrie Richie's new song, Bella without abandon. He was shaking hips, shoulders and all other body parts you we don't have to mention.  I laughed. Hard. I assumed I had stumbled upon a talented older citizen who had finally decided to join social media. It took me a full three minutes to realize that the "old woman" was actually a young, bearded man named  James Chiko —or as the internet knows him,  Kukhu Vaida Apembo . That shock? That is the secret sauce of James' genius. When you meet James in person, he is disarmingly charming. A young, handsome creative from Vihiga County with a bright smile and an easy laugh. But watch him for a few minutes, and something magical happens. The posture shifts. The gait slows into a deliberate wobble. The voice cracks into a higher, nagging pitch. In an instant, James disappears, and  Kukhu Vaida —the critical, noi...

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...