The torture and agony of living in a banana republic

By PETER WANYONYI

The first thing visitors notice when they land in a Banana Republic is the stench. It is pervasive and overpowering, and the cause soon becomes clear — mountain upon mountain of putrid, rotting garbage, mostly strewn by the roadside. Scrawny cows belonging to one or other pastoralist, nomadic tribe — unwilling or unable to make the break into the 20th century, let alone the 21st  — graze forlornly on the garbage. They eat everything from plastic bags to moulding scraps of discarded human food. The cows are not alone. Feral goats and mangy dogs are everywhere, and scavenging crows strut about on the garbage as if it is their own territory.