Illusion of healthy village life in Kenya

When I was 13, my mother moved us from our extended family homestead to a piece of land bordering a seasonal river where we farmed.

She was an aggressive farmer, and from then until I left for university, I spent weekends and school holidays working on the Kyandani farm—which, like many in my village, relied on a rainfed water source for sustenance.

I dreamed of the city, of making a name for myself in Nairobi, an escape from the work that bound our family to the land. Whenever I visit the village and take a tour, I always reflect on the past and see the struggles of rural life through a clearer lens.

For many, the idea of village life conjures romanticised images of fresh air, organic food, and a slower, healthier pace of living. It is a notion deeply embedded in our collective psyche—that rural life is the antidote to the chaos of urban existence.

But this illusion crumbles in the face of relentless hardship for millions of smallholder farmers in Kenya’s villages. Rural life in most parts of the country is a daily battle against climate change, market exploitation, and systemic neglect. It is not for the fainthearted.

Life is anything but idyllic in places like Kitui, Baringo, Tharaka and other semi-arid areas, where rain-fed agriculture is the backbone of livelihoods.

Climate change has thrown predictability out the window—rains no longer arrive on time, and when they do, they either flood fields or barely moisten the soil.

One missed rainy season, or a pest infestation can wipe out an entire year’s income, leaving families trapped in cycles of debt and hunger. They battle these challenges daily with minimal infrastructure and little external support, often surviving on sheer resilience.

The poverty cycle in Kenyan villages is a cruel paradox. These are the very places where food is grown, yet the farmers tilling the land often live on less than a dollar a day.

When they manage a harvest, they sell their produce at rock-bottom prices, desperate for immediate cash, only to repurchase the same food months later at exorbitant rates.

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It is an endless loop of hardship, a system designed to keep them at the mercy of middlemen, fluctuating market prices, and unpredictable weather patterns.

The illusion of village health is equally deceptive. Farming is gruelling work—long hours under the scorching sun, with families relying on their labour, including that of children.

Malnutrition is rampant, not because food is unavailable, but because dietary diversity is often sacrificed for survival. Many farmers consume only the cheapest staples—maize, beans, and ugali—lacking the essential nutrients for proper health.

And when drought strikes, as it frequently does, the situation turns dire. Relief food, meant to be an emergency measure, has become a semi-permanent fixture in many arid and semi-arid counties. Even those who occasionally enjoy good harvests find themselves lining up for food aid months later.

We risk overlooking these struggles if our mental image of a “village” is shaped by an illusionary prosperity. For many across the developing world, village life means unrelenting labour and persistent poverty—not the romantic, carefree idyll we sometimes imagine.

Until we address the systemic issues of rural poverty, climate resilience, and market exploitation, the so-called “good life” in the village will remain just that—an illusion.

The writer is a climate action enthusiast and a communications specialist at Windward Communications Consultancy.