Growing up in the 90s in Kapsabet, national days were a marvel because of the celebrations at the stadium, and of course that one-shilling coloured water in a slim plastic bag we called ice cream.
One of the attractions, besides the entertainment, was the spectacular moments when the rain maker, donning traditional attire, would appear with the long horns, a flywhisk in hand, and, in that moment of silence, utter words that seemed headed straight to God's ears. We never really lacked rain at the time; but its arrival time was certain, and farmers could plan. Today, I do not know if rain makers exist, but I know rain ditched us, officially, and now Kenya is experiencing the worst drought in the last 40 years. The magnitude, where it rains and its arrival time, has become unpredictable.