Wild life | 5 April 2018

Laikipia, Kenya

Erupe is a Kenyan farmer. He owns a smallholding of a few acres not far from my own place. When we meet our talk is usually about the vagaries that preoccupy farmers: crops, rain, livestock diseases and market prices. On his little patch he built a dwelling from mud and wattle with a corrugated iron roof. Inside, a picture of Jesus on the wall stared down on the poor but growing family, their only possessions a couple of beds, a chair, a radio and some faded photographs of relatives. Outside the hut my friend grew an avocado tree, bananas, a guava and a small patch of blue gums for shade and firewood. Beyond that he and his wife had tilled the soil with jembe

mattocks. They planted maize and beans. He had worked all his life for that little farm, toiling as a labourer to save money to buy the land and pay the bride price for his wife, to invest in tools and seeds and saplings. At last he had what he wanted. I believe my friend was as content as Candide cultivating his garden. In late 2016 I came upon him standing in the sunshine. He was shaking like a leaf. I asked what was wrong and he replied that armed men had driven their cattle into his farm and destroyed his crops. They murdered his neighbours, stole the little community’s few cattle and goats. He and his family fled the attack and for weeks they had been refugees in the nearest town, homeless and begging for food from cousins. Together with others I contributed some cash so that he could construct a makeshift shelter to live in. His wife sold goods in the market and he went back to labouring. He must have had some kind of nervous breakdown.