Friends of River Ezava-Forezava

When I first heard the President announce the lifting of the ban on lumbering within the Mau — a forest system that communities and rivers depend on — my stomach dropped. I am a young environmentalist who grew up close enough to a forest to know what the loss of a single mature tree can do to soil, springs and local livelihoods. In Vihiga and the Maragoli Hills we have watched degraded patches that were once living water-tanks turn brittle and thin after waves of extraction. I say this not as a partisan critic but as someone who has seen, up close, how short-term economic wins can become long-term ecological and social losses. A few realities must sit at the centre of any sober debate about reopening forest harvesting. First: Kenya is running a national push to plant 15 billion trees over the next decade — a headline ambition that has mobilised private groups, civil society and communities across the country. That commitment means nothing if it coexists with policies that make it easie...

By Kevin Makova | Forezava Voices – Vihiga Edition It’s funny how we love to complain — about high prices, lack of jobs, bad roads, corruption, and the never-ending drama in politics — yet when it’s time to do the one simple thing that could change it all, we stay home. The Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission (IEBC) recently opened continuous voter registration, but truth be told, turnout has been low. The same youth who dominate every protest, meme, and WhatsApp group debate about leadership are the same ones missing in the voter lists. We keep saying “Kenya needs change!” But how, if we refuse to touch the very tool that gives us power — the ballot? A Conversation That Hit Home During one of my usual morning walks in the village, I stopped to chat with a young neighbor — bright, opinionated, and full of life. But when I asked if she had registered to vote, her answer shocked me. “What for?” she said. “Voting doesn’t help anyone. It just makes politicians richer.”...

MTAJAM BUT MTADO? Every October, a quiet kind of exhaustion seems to settle over people. The year is winding down, the weather is shifting, and suddenly there’s a collective sense of retreat. Targets begin to fade into the background, plans are postponed, and the comforting mantra, “I’ll start afresh in January,” takes over. It’s an almost cultural phenomenon — a seasonal surrender disguised as reflection. In truth, it is one of the most dangerous mindsets to entertain, particularly among young people navigating the demanding transitions of study, work, and personal ambition. The tragedy is not that people are tired; it’s that they mistake fatigue for finality. The Academic Drift Across campuses, many students are in the final stretch — one last paper to defend, one more proposal to refine, or a research project awaiting completion. Yet October arrives, and suddenly, the momentum stalls. A demanding lecturer, the fatigue of continuous deadlines, or the disappointment of earlier setbac...

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...