By Oyunga Pala
The most stressful time for any farmer is the planting season. Watching rain pouring relentlessly on a prepared field that has not been sown is a depressing feeling. It gets more pronounced when organised farmers who planted in time look at you in pity.
Around the village shopping centre are many braggarts reminding anyone who cares to listen that they were done and planted two weeks ago. The cynical grannies weigh in, predicting hunger. On a really bad day, a relative from city will be found delivering a free lecture on why villagers should get off maize dependency and look to export crops.
When long rains start, the surge for seed and fertiliser always outstrips the supply. It gets desperate as the weeks fly by, enough to raise Government attention. The ministry offers a reassurance that the Government is aware of the distress farmers are going through during these trying times, and to stay calm as cheaper fertiliser is on the way.
When the Government talks of farmers, it usually means people with large acreages that are capable of supplying maize to the cereals board. The regular subsistence farmer, recycling crop on a depleted one-acre plot has to be a little more resourceful if they hope to have food at the end of the season.
Certified seed and farm inputs have become major cause for concern lately in my part of the woods. In the old days, farmers produced and stored their own seed. In fact in those days, farming was not a profession — it was a way of life.
My grandmother retained good strains of seed stock through the years, and always saved for the new planting season. They did not need manufactured fertiliser as they perpetually produced farmyard manure. They cultivated by shifting land and the grounds always had time to replenish.
New generation subsistence farmers of my variety have little patience for natural processes. We only have one mantra, high yield. Therefore, we abandoned traditional genetic stock for high yielding new varieties that come with a whole range of accompanying inputs.
With proper seeds and a green house, I should have been on my way to tidy profits. But typically of any quick-riches scheme, many fail to read the fine print. The seed manufacturers and their sales men always promise high yields as long as you use the recommended fertilisers, pesticides, herbicides that are available at premier prices.
When the same process is applied to the sole piece of family land over many years, the soils get depleted and the returns diminish.
The following season, they are roused with more fertiliser and a new improved variety that guarantees high yields. The costs of farm inputs to achieve these aims eventually prove prohibitive for the small-scale farmer.
I belong to a grain farmers’ cooperative that insists that farm inputs must be sold with certified seed. The combined cost is out of reach for most of the membership. The options are to hang around for a Government subsidy or return to the open to buy the quantities you can afford.
Our indigenous seed supply is disappearing at an alarming rate and many farmers are slowly finding themselves ensnared by tough restrictions of multinational agricultural corporations controlling the seed supply. At this rate, only those who can afford the inputs will be allowed to grow food.
So help our voters, God
It was a brief Facebook update to friends and the simple message was self-congratulatory following the appointment to a prestigious Government position, ending with the words, “I am ready to serve my country”.
I always turn skeptical when people say they want to serve the country as opposed to do a good job. Those who truly serve this country get a prompt kick in the teeth for their efforts. Just talk to any long serving policeman out of Baragoi.
I get even more unsettled when someone introduces themselves as a leader. For example, if I said, “I am not just a columnist, I am also a thought leader,” what that says about me in Kenyanese is that I am patriotic, selfless and as result deserve to be paid more for my importance in society.
This is the season of homecoming parties and fresh leaders with fresh mandates ready to serve the people. They will be crawling out of the woodwork. Most will have visions for prosperity off the back of others, they will make promises they cannot keep and swear to do things different.
One year later, we are left wondering what happened to that bright light that held so much promise.
Too much fuss about reputations is boring
Teachers, like pastors, are generally considered upright and noble until they do something scandalous. In the teaching ranks, male teachers are known for their fair share of shenanigans.
Many have been accused of impregnating students under their watch, while a good number spend way too much time getting soaked in bars. Female teachers, however, are revered. You rarely hear of a female teacher behaving inappropriately.
Even the single women maintain a sort of decorum that is worth emulating. This is the impression I carried when I bumped into an attractive teacher at an afternoon shindig by the lake.
She was the only woman in a dress and she even had a matching handbag. Her dress fell below the knee line, her shoes were flat soled and she did not partake of alcohol. She appeared so grown up, I just had to talk to her.
When we were introduced and I found out she was an English Literature teacher, I was suitably impressed. We spent the afternoon talking books, school politics and life stories. As darkness descended, it was agreed that a little tour of the town’s nightspots would be a decent proposal. The teacher was not averse to going out but only for a few hours, as she had to get out early to attend church the next day.
When we arrived at the club, however, a different side came to light. Even before my first beer, I had been introduced to almost half of the regulars in the club, women of the night were on very friendly terms and she did not object to a real drink.
I liked her, as she was not too concerned about reputation. Many people do not realise what a burden they are, and continue to let their reputations get in the way of staying real.
