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Carcasses of livestock in drought hit Liboi sub-county, Garissa. [File, Standard]
The cow lies on its side, ribs rising like a shipwreck from its sunken hide. Around it, the earth is dust. The sky is a relentless, bleaching blue.
The herder, a man named Abdi in Garbatulla, Isiolo County, has no words. He watches, his hand resting on the animal’s heaving flank, as if willing his own breath into it.
“This is the last one,” he mutters, almost to himself.
Across northern Kenyalies on its side, ribs rising like a shipwreck from its sunken hide, scenes like this have become routine. Pastoral communities that once rebuilt herds after a bad season now struggle to keep a single animal alive.
Droughts arrive closer together. Heat lasts longer. Rains fall hard, then vanish.
The climate clock is running faster than pastoral systems can reset.
Early 2026 has brought little relief. The Famine Early Warning Systems Network (FEWS NET) warned that the January–March lean season would be “particularly harsh,” following the failure of the October–December rains and persistent heat. It noted that herders had begun pushing animals over unusually long distances in search of pasture and water.
Milk production has dropped. So have sales. Households cut meals. Clinic visits are being delayed.
In February, Kenya’s Meteorological Department forecast more heat for the north and east, with towns such as Lodwar, Mandera, and Wajir touching 38°C, and only scattered rainfall in arid counties.
Edward Muriuki, the department’s acting director, said average rains would not repair months of deficits. “These areas require far more than average rainfall to recover,” he warned.
Zachary Misiani, a senior climate scientist at Kenya Red Cross, observed that faster evaporation dries water pans before pasture regenerates, deepening livestock losses.
Recovery, even in good years, now takes “two to three rainy seasons, roughly one and a half years.” For many families, the next drought arrives sooner.
“In many areas, households lose more than half their livestock,” he explained. “Even when rains return, some animals die because their bodies cannot cope with sudden temperature changes.”
The biological stress collides with economic reality.
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Misiani explained that when drought tightens its grip, families sell animals early to buy food and water. Markets flood with thin cattle and goats. Prices slide. The strongest breeding stock disappears first.
That erodes the base needed for rebuilding.
FEWS NET reported that herd sizes across pastoral counties remain below normal, limiting sales even when prices elsewhere look strong.
In Wajir and Mandera, deteriorating body conditions have already dragged goat prices 14 to 18 per cent below the five-year average, while maize costs climbed up to 18 per cent above normal in some markets.
In Mandera County, the drought continues to destabilize livelihoods among pastoral communities, with livestock deaths rising sharply and the value of those remaining dwindling daily.
More than 25,000 livestock have died as of January 2026, with Lafey, Banisa and Mandera North sub-counties recording the highest losses. The situation is worsening food insecurity and threatening livelihoods.
At livestock markets, desperation shows in every pen.
The animals on sale are visibly emaciated, making it harder to get favourable prices. They cite the example of goats once sold for up to Sh15,000, now fetching as little as Sh1,000.
Abdulah Mohammed, a trader in Mandera, said: “We have a big problem here. We don’t have animals. Many have died. Everyone is bringing animals to the market. We are selling at a throw away price, making no profit.”
Charcoal burning rises. Firewood bundles appear along highways. Young men migrate for short-term labour. Remittances replace milk.
“These are not choices,” said Fred Longenyek, a community elder in Nkaroni village, Samburu County. “They are what is left.”
He pointed to a kraal ringed with empty posts.
“We used to rest herds in drought. Now we sell everything. When rain comes, we start from zero.”
“When the animals die, everything else follows,” Longenyek said. His voice was a dry rasp, matching the land. “Before, a drought would take some, but the rains would return, and we could rebuild. Now the droughts are back-to-back. The land has no memory of grass. The animals have no strength left to give.”
Food insecurity is no longer confined to the far north.
FEWS NET expects crisis-level conditions to expand into marginal farming counties such as Kitui, Makueni and Lamu after a third poor season, warning that households are cutting meal frequency and dietary diversity, surviving mainly on grains and pulses.
The Kenya Red Cross says more than two million people face drought stress, with nutrition deteriorating fastest among children and pregnant women. Safia Verjee, the organisation’s deputy secretary general, said in some countries, 65 per cent of water sources have dried up, forcing treks of up to 10 kilometres for drinking water and 14 kilometres for livestock.
“We are seeing rapid pasture depletion, falling milk yields, and rising tensions over water,” she said, urging authorities to convert early warnings into action.
In Mandera, emergency teams have scaled up life-saving operations as malnutrition spreads.
Mustafa Adan, a Kenya Red Cross official, said agencies had expanded water trucking, therapeutic feeding and livestock support across the worst-hit settlements.
“We are running very critically ininterventions,” he said. “Water trucking. Food supplements. About 24 centres have been supported since December. We are also giving nutritional supplements and fortified forage.”
Those measures keep families afloat, for now. They do not replace breeding herds.
Wildlife is not spared. In January, buffaloes were filmed stranded in a dry water pan in Qarmadha village, Garissa an image that underlined how completely surface water had vanished.
Seasonal forecasts still offer cautious hope.
Meteorologists expect the March–May long rains to be near average, which could allow grass to sprout and boreholes to recharge. But models show no strong signal either way, leaving planners uneasy.
Even good rains may not undo the damage. “The previous seasons did not perform well,” Muriuki said. “These areas require much more than average rainfall.”
Cabinet Secretary Deborah Barasa called for a “multifront” response combining forecasts, preparedness and advisory services to help communities make decisions under volatile conditions.
Misiani argues that timing now matters as much as totals. Short, intense storms run off hardened ground instead of soaking into soil. Heat lingers between seasons. The pause that once allowed animals to fatten and conceive has shrunk.
“Pastoral systems depend on recovery windows,” he said. “Those windows are closing.”
Government cash transfers through the Hunger Safety Net Programme now reach more than 130,000 vulnerable households in eight northern counties, paying 5,400 shillings every two months. FEWS NET cautions that delays could blunt their impact as the dry spell deepens.
Aid agencies are pre-positioning fodder and trucking water. Counties circulate advisories on where pasture may briefly regenerate. Wildlife rangers patrol flashpoints where livestock and elephants converge.
Misiani believes early moves can still reduce conflict. “If we provide water and pasture support early,” he said, “we can lower human-human and human-wildlife clashes.”
But he does not sugar-coat the scale of the shift underway. Each drought strips assets faster. Each recovery rebuilds less.
In Garba Tula, Abdi finally rises. The cow does not follow. He gestures toward the horizon, where heat haze blurs thorn trees into shadows.
“When this one goes,” he says, “I don’t know how we start again.”
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