~ Ekamais' World ~

I remember one evening when the sky above Turkana burned slowly into dusk, the sun dissolving into a red wound over the horizon. I had climbed the stony ribs of the Lotiruk hills and sat alone at the peak, where the wind moved like an old spirit through the dry grass. From that height, the land stretched endlessly, an ancient geography of silence. The earth lay bare and immense: scattered acacia trees leaning like tired elders, distant Lokwamosing, Lopii, Nakukulas and Lomunyenkirion kraals crouching in the dust, and the faint shimmer of the river Tirkwel winding through the thirsty land. It was a landscape both sacred and wounded, a homeland that carried the memories of our ancestors like a heavy drumbeat beneath the soil. As I sat there, gazing across the ancestral plains, I took a slow mental journey across Turkana: from Nawountos to Kainuk, from the Elemi Triangle to beyond the cracked valleys of Suguta, and in that silent cross-country tour of memory and imagination, a sorr...

A photo of ongoing Peace talks at Kacalang'a on March 29, 2025 (Source: Unknown) In the heart of the scorched, sun-kissed savannahs of Turkana, where the soil tells stories of resilience and the wind whispers tales of survival, a dark cloud of betrayal and blood has hung low for decades. These lands, once undisturbed realms for Turkana pastoralists to herd their animals and nurture their families, have been turned into battlegrounds of deceit by the very neighbors who shake hands in the day and strike with bullets at night. The Pokot herdsmen, cloaked under the guise of peace emissaries, have consistently turned peace talks into strategic charades—temporary masks worn only to remove them when the time is ripe to draw blood and expand borders. Peace, in this context, is no longer a noble aspiration but a twisted tool of conquest. Like a mirage in the desert, it shimmers with hope, only to vanish the moment one draws near. Kachalang'a in Lochakula Sub-location of Turkana East h...

There exists in the northwestern part of Kenya a land where the sun rises and sets upon a people whose lives hang on the fragile thread of fate. Suguta Sub-County, a land rich in untapped potential, has become a cemetery of unaccounted dreams, an arena where human life is traded for brutality, and a wilderness where the echoes of wailing mothers and orphaned children blend with the deafening silence of governmental inaction. Every new day is an unanswered prayer, every sunset a silent requiem for another lost soul, and every dawn an eerie reminder that to be alive is merely an act of divine providence. The valley of Suguta, famed for its raw beauty and untamed wilderness, has become a butcher’s playground, where marauding bandits from West Pokot County descend upon innocent Turkana men, women, and children like a swarm of locusts, devouring lives, obliterating hope, and planting sorrow in every heart that dares to beat. The soil is saturated with blood, the air thick with despair, an...

Turkana County, land rich in history, cultural pride, and untapped natural resources, now finds itself in the throes of an existential crisis. A county that receives the second-largest share of Kenya's devolved funds, second only to Nairobi, should, by all metrics, be a beacon of progress. Yet Turkana stands as a barren testament to the betrayal of trust, a place where dreams of development are trampled under the boots of corruption and neglect. It is a place gasping for air on the development deathbed, a region burdened by leaders who have become the drivers of its destruction rather than the architects of its growth. It is deeply ironic, almost absurd, that the people of Turkana—who entrusted their future to their elected leaders—now suffer because of those very leaders. The electorate, largely unschooled and plagued by grinding poverty, placed their trust in individuals they believed would uplift them from decades of neglect. Yet these politicians have weaponized that trust, t...

Once, deep in a thriving forest, the trees gathered for a grand election to choose their leader. The contest drew candidates from all corners of the forest, each with promises of growth, security, and unity. Among them stood an axe, gleaming and confident. Its wooden handle convinced the trees it was one of them, a product of their own roots and kinship. The trees, captivated by the axe's charm and promises, voted it into leadership unanimously, believing they had entrusted their future to one of their own. But the days that followed were marked by tragedy. The forest’s harmony began to unravel as trees fell one by one, their trunks severed by a sharp, merciless blade. Bewildered and betrayed, the trees realized the cruel irony: the axe, whose wooden handle had convinced them of its allegiance, wielded a blade that worked against them. Their trust had armed their own destruction. This fable mirrors the reality in Turkana County, a region blessed with resilient people but crippl...

In Animal Farm , George Orwell vividly exposes the tragic betrayal that unfolds when leaders who once championed equality become the very tyrants they vowed to overthrow. As the pigs rise to power, they ruthlessly exploit their fellow animals, hoarding resources and distorting truth to solidify their own wealth and privilege. Orwell’s allegory is a powerful indictment of how easily ideals of justice and equality can be manipulated by those in power to serve selfish ends, leaving communities oppressed, impoverished, and stripped of dignity. Through the animals’ plight, Orwell calls for vigilance against leaders who would exploit trust for personal gain. However, in the barren yet resilient lands of Turkana, a region marked by a historical legacy of marginalization and developmental neglect, the struggles of the local people echo across its harsh, sun-scorched plains. For decades, Turkana has been the symbol of poverty, suffering, and hardship—a place on the periphery of national attent...

                                     Quite an illustrative art (Source: Image creator) My daily encounters in major towns in Turkana have always left me perplexed but with one unapologetic fact; that Turkana economy is at the hands of non-locals who identified the gaps years ago and came in to invest in Turkana. However, while moving from the dusty streets of Lodwar to the bustling trading hubs of Kakuma, I am occasionally struck by the thick contrast between the immense potential of the land and the stunted growth of its people. Turkana is vast, rich in resources, and strategically located, yet its people seem disconnected from the wealth that surrounds them. In these towns, economic activity thrives, but the people driving this success are mostly non-locals —individuals who came to Turkana, identified gaps, and built businesses. Meanwhile, the locals, the rightful stewards of this land, rema...