We survived the worst drought in a generation

I realised the worst drought of this generation was at last over this morning when two Samburu gentlemen arrived on the farm, asking to buy rams. My nomadic neighbours sense very well when it’s time to put a tup in with the flock. In just this month a full moon and the alignment of Lokir Ai and Lakira Dorop – Jupiter and Venus – had brought six inches of downpours, equal to almost all of last year’s rain and half of the precipitation in 2021. As Mr Lemartile crouched behind my Dorper rams, happily dandling their testicles for size and girth, we caught up on gossip and everybody was in such a good mood there was no need to bargain over prices. Flinging his red toga over his shoulder, Lemartile spat in the dust, punched numbers into his smart phone and paid his bill with M-Pesa digital money.

On the roads in recent days, I’ve passed Samburu warriors wearing a new fashion of headdress with all their beads and dingley-danglies, which is a mohawk of spikes that reminds me of the Statue of Liberty’s seven-spiked crown.