How the sun transformed the fortunes of villagers

Meto village in Kajiado County is a sprawling savannah that rolls into the horizon. To reach Meto, you take a right turn off Namanga Road, just after Bissil, a drab tin township. You travel the twisted and rutted terrain, flanked by thorns and shrubs and through dry riverbeds. Here, Joseph Masankai’s loyalty to tradition is impeccable: He straddles this expansive land looking after his cattle, living in a manyatta and still tucking his sword in his belt. It is a lifestyle that has been passed down generations.

Little appears to have changed here - until the sun sets and another one rises almost immediately. Until recently, Masankai and fellow villagers lit a tin lamp, or koroboi, to light up the night.

“Darkness is no longer a problem,” he says and yells, “Komu!” and his cattle turn left toward the manyatta. On this breezy June evening, the tinkling of the cattle bells and the bleating of the goats coincide with sunset, which is a breathtaking, if not hypnotic experience. Soon, it is pitch dark. But not for long.

“Nowadays I use solar energy for lighting,” Masankai says. He presses a button and a bulb comes to life. The light blinds us for a second. A cheeky smile plays on his lips. Children cheer. A moth flaps to the shimmering light. Meto is the most unlikely of places to encounter an electric bulb in its gleaming splendour. It is Kenya’s last bastion of traditional lifestyles. Bu now, thanks to the emerging solar phenomenon sweeping across the country, the bulb is shining brightly here.

“We’ve used tin lamps for ages,” he continues. “But that’s now in the past. One day, a smartly dressed woman came here and introduced me to this solar technology. I bought it and immediately dumped the tin lamp. Today, I can light two bulbs for about four hours. It’s very bright, like daytime. I no longer need to buy kerosene.”

His neighbour, Lillian Melil, has also retired her tin lamp. She bought a bigger solar unit with the capacity to light four bulbs and a smaller lamp for the kitchen. This cost her about Sh10,000. She sold three goats to raise the money. And her life changed. Now her children happily study under a bright clean light and she can see clearly as she cooks dinner. With solar power, there has also been a communication revolution residents can now charge their mobile phones.

In fact, one of the solar models comes complete with a multi-charger for ten handsets. Initially, villagers trekked about 50km to Bissil to charge their phones. It also cost them about Sh100 to charge.

“Now I charge my phone any time I want. I’m never out of reach,” Lillian says shyly. “I can also ask about the prices of cattle at the market. I think this solar technology is really good for people of the manyatta.” Lillian and Joseph have discovered a little secret; light scares predators from feasting on their valued cattle.

So, every evening, they pull the cables and place the bulb on a pole facing the boma. Ever since, no animal has been lost to a bloodthirsty wild creature. To a huge extent, this has reduced human-wildlife conflict, a regular occurrence in the past. “I was also thrilled that I could easily read my Bible at night,” Masankai, who is a pastor, says cheerfully.

“My children can also study under this clean light. They are very happy.” Indeed, the sun is rising at night. Supermarkets, petrol stations, village kiosks and even car boots stock the products cut out for the sundrenched tropics. And the Kenyan market, so tired of the dim light of kerosene and its haemorrhage on the pocket, is responding to the light.

But perhaps the most influential stimulant in the market is a programme run by the International Fi-nance Corporation together with international NGOS such as SNV Netherlands Development Organisation and GIZ. Jechonia Kitala is the renewable energy adviser at SNV. He is part of the new corps who are re-engineering the way rural Kenya is lit.

“Solar energy is the best for offgrid solutions,” Kitala says. “That way, we are likely to displace kerosene, which is a major pollutant and cause of many respiratory diseases.” Besides, installation of this solar technology is very simple. Anyone can learn to do it in less than five minutes. Some units do not even require cabling. “The biggest challenge we have now is lack of stockists in the counties. Small-scale entrepreneurs are forced to travel to Nairobi to buy the units. Counties should encourage investment in this area," Kitala says.

We learnt that some stockists have devised an ingenuous way of distributing the solar units - through saccos, co-operative societies and informal banking units such as women's groups.

You need to visit plantations to appreciate the brave resolve by ordinary citizens to plug into th sun for light. From the flower farms of Naivasha to the tea estates of Nandi Hills, workers are acquiring these units in droves.

When this writer visited Mosoriot, Uasin Gishu County, the truth of households jumping to the sun was beyond expectation.

Almost everyone in this area has a solar unit," John Maritim, an accountant at Lelchego Dairy, proudly says. "People got tired of kerosene and its smoke. They went the sun's way."

Here, Lelchego distributes the units to farmers on credit and deductions are made monthly from milk proceeds. Apparently, now the farmers can wake up early to milk their cows and deliver the milk in good time. Glorious Kamene is one of the entrepreneurs who have benefited from the solar revolution.

"There may be challenges, but the uptake is impressive and my sales oscillate between 25 to 30 units a month. This is a pretty addition to my initial earnings," says Kamene who merchandises in Machakos and Makueni counties. However, she would be happy if the State reduced tax on the units to stimulate uptake.

Back in Kajiado, Masankai is bubbling with epic tales of his people. His children listen attentively. Outside, the stars wtinke as if cheering a gorgeous full moon even though these terrestrial bodies are no match for the sun captured in his solar units.

"One day, I will buy a big solar unit to power a TV set. I want my wife and children to watch the news. That is my dream," Masankai says.