6 October 2025
I am a Dutch graduate who recently completed a master’s in International Development Studies at the University of Amsterdam, with a curiosity for people, a commitment to global challenges, and a passion for storytelling. Over the course of two months, I conducted ethnographic research in Kenya on the effects of climate change on pastoralists and farmers, and the extent to which local government policy addresses these challenges. To capture the personal stories of these communities, I not only conducted interviews and focus groups but also used photography to visually document their experiences. I spoke with more than 200 people - ranging from pastoralists and farmers in rural Baringo to local governmental officials - and collaborated with the Kenya Red Cross. My work highlights the burdens that climate change imposes on pastoralists and farmers in Kenya, while simultaneously illuminating their resilience, evident in their daily efforts to sustain their livelihoods and preserve their cultural identity.
Almost half of the earth’s habitable land is used for farming - fields and pastures that feed us, support biodiversity, and sustain centuries-old traditions. But these systems are facing unprecedented pressure. Extreme droughts, floods, heatwaves, and diseases are threatening agriculture worldwide, especially in already dry places like Baringo County.
The 2022 drought - one of the worst episodes in the last 70 years - exposed this vulnerability with brutal clarity. Water sources ran dry, herds starved, and families were left with nothing. Yet climate change does not affect everyone in the same way: while one village drowns in floods, another just a few kilometers away is ravaged by endless drought.
For the Ilchamus people, life by Lake Baringo used to mean fishing and herding. Today, displacement has become a recurring reality. When the water rises, families flee to higher ground. When it recedes, they return to farm and rebuild.
But each homecoming is temporary - another flood always waits. In the camps where they seek refuge, desperation echoes. As recounted by an Ilchamus woman residing in the camp: “We are thirsty, but we are forced to drink from the lake. The chloride in the water stains our teeth brown and weakens our bones.”
Meanwhile, in Tiaty, the Pokot community faces the opposite extreme: relentless drought. Each dry season, pastoralists lead their cattle to an extinct crater. When the first rains come, they trek back to the savannah plains. This migration is nothing new - it’s been part of Pokot life for generations. But today the distances are longer and harsher. A journey that once spanned 30 kilometers now stretches 50 or more, across dangerous terrain from which not everyone returns home. Water scarcity has also sharpened tensions. Conflicts break out with neighboring groups like the Turkana and Ilchamus, who depend on the same dwindling sources. Their nomadic identity is increasingly at risk. As one Pokot pastoralist put it: “If the cows die of hunger, we have nothing.”
For other pastoralist and farming communities in Baringo County, such as the Turkana, Turken, and Ndrois, climate change has forced permanent relocation to higher ground or even national parks. Here, they live without land rights, papers, or official recognition. On the margins, schools and hospitals remain out of reach, while diseases like malaria spread further. In the national parks where these communities are forced to seek refuge, they struggle to survive in areas where hyenas and crocodiles roam - predators children sometimes encounter on their way to school, with fatal consequences. For those who can, migration to cities offers escape. For many, though, that option doesn’t exist. Stuck in place, people turn to charcoal production or small-scale farming. Forced by necessity, they are shifting from a pastoralist culture to a more sedentary way of life, reshaping identities that once revolved around cattle and open land.
Whether through drought, floods, or forced displacement, the pastoralist communities of Baringo County bear the brunt of the climate crisis, which undermines their traditions and way of life. What once provided security - land, water, and cattle - is now more fragile than ever. For these communities, climate change is not an abstract concept but a daily reality. And yet, resilience persists. In traditional dances, colorful clothing, and daily struggle, pastoralists keep their culture alive. But as long as rainfall remains unpredictable and water scarce, the question lingers: for how much longer can they endure?