Where drought means death for all

Press, 23 August 1984, Page 20

Where drought means death for all

By

ROBIN PAGE,

of the “Daily Telegraph,” who visited

Kenya to observe the results of a desperate shortage of rain.

Waking each morning to another day of dust and unremitting heat, when rain should be falling, has become an all too familiar experience over much of Africa. I arrived in Kenya recently during the “long rains” to watch wild life. Around Nairobi it was cool and cloudy — but rainless. In the Rift Valley in the south and on to the great plateaux of the north it was hot and parched. Earlier the short rains had failed too, creating the most severe water shortage since records began. Even the atmosphere held dust. “Dust devils,” great pillars of swirling sand and soil, moved steadily over the vast

plains. At Thika, the famous waterfall at Blue Posts, was a wall of almost dry rock, and northwards at Kora, by the Tana river, just half an inch of rain had fallen in two years. As a result, the wildlife reserve has filled up with Somali goats and camels looking for pasture, with their herdsmen providing a constant threat to George Adamson’s lions. At the Masai Mara Game Reserve, the great animal migration was in full swing with thousands of wildebeest streaming in from Tanzania and the plains of the Serengeti. But they were arriving to grassland already grazed

short — dry and almost eaten out; the only animals to get fat would be the lions and hyaenas. One evening a huge storm broke, miles to the south, deep in Tanzania, and there in a melee of dust and confusion, some wildebeest continued to arrive, while others returned, following the scent and the promise of rain. The Talek river had ceased to flow and hippos were also beginning to starve amid the stench of stagnant pools, completely without flow. Some of the Masai had their cattle in the reserve itself, a fact which poses another threat, for Kenya badly needs foreign exchange and tourists will not pay large sums of money to see cattle when they expect to see elephants, zebra and lions.

Elsewhere the situation was equally grim, with herds of cattle grazing in the Nairobi and Tsavo National Parks. The famous water hole at Mudanda Rocks in Tsavo East was empty, a crazvpaving of hard dry mud, with cracks a foot wide and deeper than an arm could reach. White bones told of the victims that had died. At the Aruba dam herds of animals were having to make a daily trek of many miles between food and water, with the approaches to the lake grazed bare. Already a solitary elephant was tottering towards death and a buffalo calf would soon join it. In the Rift Valley the ribs of the Masai cattle could be counted, and the work of goats was ensuring that recovery would take time, even after rain, with the exposed topsoil at considerable risk. Along a dry lugga it was scorching and airless. Tracks of elephant, well outside a wildlife reserve, revealed their search for water. Higher, near the top of Olorgesailie mountain, a temporary Masai manyetta had been constructed, showing the desperation for food; it was miles from water, and the grazing was sparse among thorn scrub. The cattle were wasting away — a condition beginning to hit the children too, with thin limbs, sunken eyes and an uncharacteristic lethargy. To the north, around Nyahururu, known once as Thompson’s Falls, some of Kenya’s most productive arable land was just as dry. The maize and barley of the fields and shambas were shrivelled — unable to provide replacement seed, let alone food. Beyond, European ranches, not overstocked, were already eking out their almost worthless grazing with silage. Most of the adjoining Samburu land had been grazed, the large herds of cattle having been driven further north, in a forlorn attempt to find food. The Ewaso Ngiro river still flowed, with water from the Aberdare mountains, but even the graz-

ing along the banks had virtually gone, causing the hippos to forage for food during daylight The crocodiles were the only creatures doing well, thriving on fish and stolen goats. The river is full of catfish, many over 10 kilograms, but because of tradition the Samburu rarely eat them. It is in the north that starvation is a growing reality, children and the old are already at risk. Those in Kenya’s large towns, close to food stores and centres for foreign aid, are safe, as few African Governments could survive the problems created by urban unrest But the rural African carries litle economic or political weight and his position is made more hazardous by the sheer logistics — distance and dirt road — of supplying him with food. The Kenyan Government is trying hard, but the problems are enormous, and worsened by the fact that Kenya’s birthrate is among the highest in Africa, and after several good years the country is over-run with cattle. Unfortunately cattle are still often seen as a sign of status and wealth — to provide money and wives. Thousands of cattle are being slaughtered and canned in an effort to relieve the pressure and there are schemes to exchange cattle for maize from the West. Hoarding and profiteering - are slowing down aid, but even so help will have to be given, for the need is obvious and can only get greater. If the short rains also fail, later in the year,, then Kenya could be on course for calamity. Returning to England during an English drought, at the beginning of harvest, made an uncomfortable contrast. It is a relief to me to live in a community with too much food, when much of the world goes hungry. I also believe that we have a moral obligation to grow as much food as we can, not only for ourselves, but also for the benefit of those not so fortunate. Africa cannot be blamed for its drought.