Friends of River Ezava-Forezava

The other day, I found myself listening to a powerful online conversation. It was one of those exchanges that keeps you hooked, not because it entertains, but because it stirs something deep inside you. It left me reflecting on a problem that is both local and global: the rise of the “ do-nothingers ”—those who choose silence, passivity, or complacency in the face of threats that affect all of us. Closer home, the thought took me back to a recent conversation on our own blog. We had written about the poor implementation of climate change projects . What followed was both predictable and shocking. My phone lit up with calls and messages urging us to pull the piece down, to avoid “dirty politics.” Some voices were threatening, others dismissive. Yet, in the same storm came a wave of encouragement from youth who insisted: mistakes were made, someone must be accountable. Their determination didn’t stop at words—they immediately set up a petition to recall the area MCA for Izava/Lyaduywa...

 The Maragoli Hills Half Marathon has quickly become one of those calendar events that pull an entire community together. Now in its second edition, the run isn’t just about athleticism—it’s about awareness, an attempt to rally us all around the urgent need to protect, restore, and rehabilitate the degraded Maragoli Forest Ecosystem . The effort is commendable. The vision, bold. And the organizers? Backed by some powerful names, they’ve brought both energy and attention to a cause that desperately needs it. But, like any good story, the marathon has two sides. I still remember last year’s edition. One of the most striking spectacles was the launch of drone seed sowers . What a futuristic touch! For a moment, it felt like we were glimpsing into a new era of ecological restoration where machines would complement our hands and shovels. The dignitaries clapped, the cameras clicked, and hope lifted. But then came the silence. After the speeches and the show, the drones disappeared. T...

We belong to a transitional generation. One foot in the memory of my grandmother’s kitchen, the other in the fast-food lanes of modern convenience. We still remember those evenings when my grandmother insisted we eat brown sorghum ugali . It was thick, earthy, and filling. At the time, it felt like a punishment. We would sneak glances at my friends’ plates, where white maize ugali gleamed, softer and quicker to cook. Later, my mother’s kitchen leaned into that “modernity” — maize ugali with sukuma, or rice and beef. Sorghum disappeared quietly from our plates, like a forgotten guest who once carried the weight of survival. At the time, we didn’t see the shift as dangerous. It was just the natural flow of things. But looking back now, it was more than just taste or convenience. It was part of a much larger story — one that began long before we were born. The disappearance of sorghum and millet from our farms wasn’t accidental. It was shaped by history. During colonial rule in Kenya ...

 A week ago, after a spirited football match in our village, a group of boys and I were walking home when we stumbled upon a sprawling kikuma tree , its branches heavy with mature seeds. Almost instinctively, we paused our walk, gathered around the tree, and began collecting the seeds. As we filled our hands and pockets, conversations flowed naturally—about the relevance of the kikuma tree, the life within each seed, and the possibility of nurturing them into strong, towering trees. Photo Credits: Dall E (AI) Concept For these boys, mostly between the ages of 12 and 17, the experience was more than a spontaneous activity. It became a practical lesson in seed-to-tree conservation —an approach that emphasizes starting with seeds, understanding their biology and significance, and nurturing them into seedlings that can be planted and cared for until maturity. Unlike tokenistic gestures of tree planting, seed collection and propagation build a stronger sense of ownership and responsib...

This week has been a whirlwind in Vihiga County. The Governor has been on the move, launching project after project—each meant to signal progress, resilience, and commitment to improving the lives of residents. On the surface, it feels like the county is on a steady path toward climate resilience and development. Bridges, irrigation schemes, and water projects are being unveiled with great promise. Take the Mutave–Jepses bridge in Hamisi, for instance. For years, residents have endured untold suffering trying to cross this dangerous spot that links Tambua Ward to Kisumu and Nandi Counties. Many lives have been lost there. Redeveloping it is a commendable step forward, yet questions linger. The cost—12 million shillings—has sparked debate, especially given that the structure resembles more of a box-culvert than a durable bridge with strong guard rails. Was it truly value for money, or another example of cutting corners where safety should be paramount? Credits: County Government of Vih...