As schools reopen, I find myself, like many members of this community, reflecting not only on timetables and attendance, but on something more immediate: the safety of our people, especially our pupils.
For a teacher, the beginning of a term should signal routine and stability. Yet in recent times, that sense of normalcy has been difficult to separate from the realities of insecurity around us.
It may sound cliché to explain cattle rustling and the disruption that comes with it, but it is a conversation that must be had nonetheless.
Too often, attention settles on what is visible: the missing livestock, questions of ownership, or the security responses that follow. These are important, but they are not the full story.
What often goes unspoken is the quieter cost. When conflict escalates, attention is drawn to the actors at the centre, yet it is those on the margins who bear the brunt of it.
As the Swahili saying goes, fahali wawili wakipigana, nyasi huumia, loosely translated to “when two bulls fight, grass suffers most”. In this case, that grass is made up of families, women, and most notably children, many of whom are learners whose routines are disrupted, movement restricted, and learning interrupted.
I recall, as recently as last December, a long procession of cattle being driven from the Ndumuru area towards Maua following a series of raids.
It was a striking sight, almost beautiful in its scale and movement, if only it did not carry an undercurrent of unease and a reminder of ongoing instability.
Growing up, we heard stories of Samburu warriors and pastoral communities whose way of life is deeply tied to cattle, land, and movement across vast terrains.
These narratives, whether historical or shaped by perception, reflect a lived reality in which livestock is not only an economic asset but also a marker of cultural identity and survival.
Community stability
It is also within this context that cattle rustling cannot be reduced to simple acts of theft, but must also be understood as part of a deeper socio-cultural landscape, which is why it makes this already complex issue even more complicated.
Even as these realities continue, there are also deliberate and ongoing efforts to respond, efforts that deserve recognition within the same conversation. It would be remiss, for instance, not to acknowledge the bravery displayed by National Police Reservists (NPR), the Anti-Stock Theft Unit (ASTU), local leadership, and the Laing’o, all working in different capacities to restore much-needed order and safeguard communities.
Recent remarks by Igembe Central MP Dan Kiili on insecurity in Igembe have equally renewed attention on this issue that continues to be a thorn in the flesh across the region.
The legislator’s emphasis on urgency reflects growing recognition that this is not merely about livestock loss, but about the safety, livelihoods, and stability of entire communities.
As these efforts continue, it remains important that conversations around cattle rustling move beyond immediate responses and consider long-term stability, particularly in relation to education, youth, and community resilience.
Ensuring safety is not an isolated goal, but rather foundational to the ability of communities to function, and for children to learn and thrive.
