Friends of River Ezava-Forezava

Yesterday, I rode a bicycle for over 25 kilometers . Not on some fancy cycling trail or in a city marathon, but through the rugged countryside, under a sky that seemed determined to drown me. The heavens opened wide, the rain poured, and within minutes, I was soaked to the bone. Mud splashed with every turn of the wheel, my legs burned, and every car that passed left me looking more like a stray dog than a man with purpose. Why endure all this? Because I was headed to meet a group of talented young people —people I have worked with for months, helping them shape ideas around technology and the lot into real enterprises. It was their meeting. They set it up. They picked the time. They picked the place. I showed up, dripping wet, hungry, exhausted… and alone (mostly). No calls. No messages. No apologies. Just silence. And yet, when the dust—or rather mud—settles, these are the same young people who will look at society and claim, “There are no opportunities for us.” The Myth of Limit...

Kenyans have a way of dreaming in acronyms. The latest dream is NYOTA – National Youth Opportunities Towards Advancement. With such a name, you would expect a shining beacon of hope for our millions of jobless young people. And, to be fair, the idea itself is brilliant. NYOTA promises Ksh 50,000 in startup capital to over 100,000 youth, plus mentorship, technical training, and a chance to build a savings culture through NSSF. For once, the numbers look meaningful. With that amount, one can stock a kiosk, buy tools for a trade, or even start a small farm. For many young people, this looks like the first real step toward empowerment, not just handouts. But the execution? That’s another story. From Hustler to Hustled To understand the problem, you must go back to the Hustler Fund , launched in 2022 with a massive Ksh 50 billion allocation. It was pitched as a revolutionary loan scheme, giving ordinary Kenyans instant microloans through a USSD code. In practice, most young people bo...

They get it? Right! Wrong. Recently, I came across an exciting conversation from the County Government of Vihiga about a new irrigation initiative: the Buhani Irrigation Scheme in Mungoma Ward . On paper, this is the kind of bold, climate-smart agriculture approach we need to secure food systems in the county. I want to commend this move—because irrigation is a proven way to boost agricultural productivity, enhance resilience to climate change, and support livelihoods. Photo Credits: County Government of Vihiga But looking deeper, I cannot ignore the lessons from past initiatives. One striking example is the massive irrigation project in Emuhaya Constituency , a venture that cost hundreds of millions. The infrastructural design was impressive: water flowing through gravity-powered systems, reaching farm after farm for several kilometers. For once, it looked like we had cracked the code of sustainable irrigation. Yet the question lingers—where are the follow-up efforts? Are these sys...

The hypocrisy around conservation these days is becoming hard to ignore. Everywhere you turn, people are talking about planting trees, yet very few have even the most basic understanding of seeds, tree types, or how certain species survive in specific environments. It feels hollow to claim the title of conservationist when you don’t care enough to learn about the actual plants you’re dealing with. Conservation should be about knowledge, curiosity, and connection—not just the buzzwords of carbon credits, fundraising, or political optics. I was reminded of this recently when an officer proudly declared that he had overseen the planting of 10,000 trees at Maragoli Hills in the presence of the national Cabinet Secretary for Environment. On the surface, this sounds like a big win. But the reality is more complicated. Vihiga County has a unique ecological identity with many indigenous species that have evolved here for generations. Unfortunately, little effort has been made to document or p...

I grew up with an uncle who was a practical man. The kind of man who never waited for “experts” to come explain what could or couldn’t work. If it looked possible, he tried it. From fixing bicycles to wiring little gadgets, to experimenting with solar panels long before they became fashionable, he was always tinkering. Many of the boda boda riders in my village might know him for his endless energy and curiosity. But I knew him quite differently. One day, he left me in charge of his little kingdom of experiments—a broken solar panel, a car battery, and most importantly, the TV it powered. I was barely in Standard 3 or 4, but the excitement was too much. With an old IGCSE science textbook as my guide, I started fiddling with the battery, connecting and disconnecting wires, trying to “improve” the voltage. I had no idea what I was doing. I just knew it was thrilling. The TV flickered, sometimes went off, and of course, the outcome of my “experiments” was a proper whacking later. But ...

Sometimes (which is most of the time), I spend so much energy bashing government policies and pointing out every place stakeholders have failed the youth. But allow me—for once—to step aside from the usual fire and brimstone. Today’s story isn’t about government neglect. It’s about what can actually work when passion, grit, and commitment are given a chance. Because let’s face it—what the Kenyan National Team just pulled off in the CHAN competitions is nothing short of inspirational. Against all odds, in a group politely nicknamed the “Group of Death” —and for good reason, considering it had two-time winners Morocco , 2019 AFCON champions Zambia , and the ever-imposing DR Congo —our boys clawed their way through with 3 wins and 1 draw . Now, not only are they basking in national pride, but they’ve bagged close to 5 million shillings each plus a free house under the Affordable Housing Project. Let that sink in: from sweat and sacrifice on the pitch… to a key in hand and a bank acc...

The advent of devolution in Kenya strangely coincided with my university education. As a student at Masinde Muliro University in Kakamega County, I watched with wide-eyed curiosity as the new county governments grappled with their newfound power. In Kakamega, even the smallest development—like turning ghetto paths into proper roads or building mama mboga stalls—felt like a hopeful step forward. Meanwhile, back home in Vihiga County, my feelings were the exact opposite. The leadership seemed obsessed with short-term spectacles and quick photo opportunities, not a long-term vision. I sneered at the first county governor’s approach, dismissing it as directionless. Sadly, hindsight has proven me right—and then some. Photo Credits: The Standard Two terms and billions later, the story is depressingly familiar. Vihiga boasts of “stadiums” like Kidundu, Hamisi, and Mumboha—monuments not to sports, but to mediocrity. Millions were sunk into these facilities, only for them to resemble cattle m...