A few years ago, we published a story about a school tucked in a remote village at the border between Turkana and Baringo counties.
The
story arose from my visit to Kapedo village in Turkana East district. I
was on leave then so I decided to see a friend who had told me he got a
job as a teacher at the remote school.
The village at
the time had just about 2,000 people, it had two schools; primary and
secondary, both sponsored through the Constituency Development Fund
(CDF).
The journey to Kapedo was a horrifying one,
although deceptive. You take a bus from Nairobi to Nakuru, then from
Nakuru to Marigat in Baringo County.
From there, the
paved road morphed into a rocky track. Few buses went beyond this point.
Locals in Kapedo often timed early morning trucks from Nginyang,
another town centre in Baringo to travel to Marigat. They could then
wait for these trucks to come back before returning to Kapedo.
It
often took days or even weeks for one to make a return trip. So when I
arrived at Marigat, a contact who had promised to help me reach Kapedo
was fast with instructions.
“We have to bank on the
police lorry going there. I am told the AP (Administration Police) have
gone to Nakuru to pick supplies. We have to be alert when the lorry
comes back,” Mr Reuben Chesut said as we sought for a place to spend the
night.
Marigat town was supposed to be the
headquarters of Baringo County. But political elbowing between local
leaders meant Kabarnet would take that title.
Still, the town is a major connection point between “Kenya” and the other parts of “Kenya in the north”, according to locals.
Often, herders assemble here every Thursday to sell their livestock; some are rustled, and some are genuine property.
Police
in these areas often try to prevent the animals from reaching the
market once they are stolen. This is because a sold animal could easily
be converted into meat or transported further, never to be seen again.
Yet
this is not always an easy task. Raiders are often armed with bows and
arrows, guns and are very accurate shooters. Police pursuing these
rustlers often gamble with their lives; you either win or you lose your
life.
When we arrived at Marigat, it happened to be a
market day so every lodge had been booked. Mr Chesut, a teacher, managed
to find some wooden shanties where we spent the night.
It
was a long night. Temperatures here may reach 35 degrees, the bed bugs
were having their dinner of our blood and the blankets smelled of
ammonia. But it was better than outside where mosquitoes the size of
flies roam the air.
COCKED THEIR GUNS
The
following day, the expected police truck came over and we all jumped
in. It was a 100 kilometre ride but we were loaded together with sacks
of potatoes, beans, tomatoes, maize flour and clung onto the barriers
among a group of armed police.
The road ran flat for
about 50 kilometres before we started eating hills and valleys. The
lorry could rise dangerously and fell over the hills like a chopper on
thermals. We hung on.
At one point, someone shouted
“Pokot!” and every policeman (there were no women officers) cocked their
guns. The Pokot live in Baringo East, neighbouring the Turkana at
Kapedo. The shouter implied bandits from the Pokot community often raid
the Turkana and vice versa.
It happens the “Pokot” in
question were just a group of villagers looking for a lift. They jumped
in and we continued. We passed more villages. The sun at the time could
boil water. The police truck raised a huge cloud of dust which came back
to settle on us. Soon, we would arrive at Kapedo village.
Kapedo
from far looked like a safe haven. It had a warm river from a local hot
spring; houses had electricity from from a small turbine erected on a
waterfall by a missionary, there was a church, an AP police post, a bar
and restaurant.
It also had a clinic where locals
could check in for painkillers and cough syrup (there were often no
drugs for malaria or typhoid or wounds from gun violence even though
these are common here).
Still, fireside stories in this
village were often of their most revered son; Dr Ekuru Aukot, the
onetime Chief Executive of the Committee of Experts that drew up the
Kenyan Constitution.
But here is where the good things
about Kapedo end. To get a telephone signal, you had to walk by the
banks overlooking the Pokot village across the Suguta River. There was a
rock there with “magical powers” to attract the signal, according to
locals.
On an afternoon, teachers and locals including
students could crowd at the river bank searching for network. They
could make a call home or send a text, perhaps to assure family members
that they were safe, and then wait till the next day to repeat the
ritual.
Yet this was often a risk. A walk by the
riverbank indicated past gun battles: spent bullet shells and dry blood
could be seen. Locals claim the Pokot often stand on the other side of
the river and target those looking for a mobile phone signal. Then a gun
battle could ensue.
In Kapedo, guns are never far
from the villagers, moments after the first shot is fired, the villagers
draw their and engage the “enemies”.
Often, these gun
holders were police reservists, people with illegal weapons or even the
police from a nearby post. The battle could end with people injured or
dead. Sometimes just the trees, dogs and walls would get shot.
Yet
this is a cycle these people live in. In Kapedo, such battles are
common and often result in “peace talks” which would lead to the Pokot
and Turkanas burying the hatchet. It never lasts long.
Although
the two sides intermarry as a way of creating long-lasting peace, the
village is a magnet to local herders because it has good grass for
livestock. The local salty river is a good source of natural minerals
for animals and it also has fish.
The hills beyond the village are said to have diamonds and there is potential for geothermal power.
This
has made the village an important political battleground. Separated
from Baringo by the river, local politicians have often pushed and
pulled to have the boundaries re-drawn. Baringo wants Kapedo on their
side. Turkana insists it is their village.
In the middle of all of this though, the police and villagers will continue to pay the highest price of all: death.
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