Wild life | 21 March 2013

Rift Valley

‘We’re on the frontline,’ I said. ‘And however many guns we had, it wouldn’t be enough against the cattle rustlers.’ ‘Yes,’ replied my friend Jamie, a shareholder in our farm. ‘You’re low-hanging fruit.’ I showed him the bullet holes riddling my Land Cruiser, and told him again about the ambush, the raids, how farm manager Celestina was having a nervous collapse, how the police never came to our rescue. ‘Jamie, we might have to give up the cattle,’ I said. ‘It will break my heart — this is what I had instead of a mistress to get me through middle age.’ ‘Aidan,’ he said, ‘they’re cows.’ On the drive out, I figured if I lose cows it’s no big deal. But what if you lose it all? I wondered how far a man goes before he admits defeat and runs — and what the consequences are. And almost immediately, in the Rift Valley, I learned the story of six brothers and sisters I met while filming a documentary back at the Restart Centre, the orphanage I wrote about before Christmas.