MARSABIT, END OF THE EARTH

1988

Ed- Until Chinese contractors evaded armed militias long enough to finish the Isiolo-Moyale road in 2014, there were no paved roads through Marsabit, leading to jokes that upon entering the frontier district, you were no longer in the Republic.

Marsabit is the largest district in Kenya, covering 44,000 square miles. It’s centerpiece is an extinct volcano known as Mount Marsabit which rises nearly a kilometer above the desert. Densely forested at the higher elevations, the crater is now a watering hole oasis for elephants and Cape buffalo that don’t back down from humans passing through their territory. The wildlife also attracts next-level tourists willing to travel far off the commercial safari path. Below, the surrounding landscapes are immense and open, with great vistas spreading in all directions, bathed in cradle-of-mankind sunsets. Low scrub brush, thorn trees and rare patches of grass are found between the outcroppings of volcanic rock and lava flows, which wreak havoc on even the sturdiest of vehicles. 

The people of Marsabit have from time immemorial lived in relative harmony with this landscape. Belonging to several distinct tribes, they’re almost exclusively pastoralists, basing their economic systems and social structures on their camel, cattle, sheep and goats. Each have their own language, customs and styles of dress. In spite of the inroads of modern civilization, thousands maintain traditional lifestyles, living in bomas and manyattas with their livestock.

In a land where walking great distances has always been the standard mode of travelling, a lift in a car is a welcome convenience. There are places in Marsabit town where if you stop in a pick-up, you'll be swarmed upon by a rainbow of people. The truck bed is soon filled with an assortment of cultural styles-- the red and whites of the Samburus, the heavy clay necklaces of the Rendille women, the silky dresses and colorful headscarves of the Borans and Somali traders, all mixed in with downcountry Kenyans who happen to be posted in some government position in town. Packed like sardines, the whole lot might suddenly burst into laughter as a thorny branch happens to catch hold of a Samburu morani's cloth, rendering him temporarily naked. Not everyone takes well to the motion of a speeding vehicle. While traversing rocky roads through the Huri Hills on the way south to the Chalbi Desert, we picked up a couple of elderly Gabbra men. One kept his white cotton wrap over his face the entire time, spear jutting out next to his covered head. He told his laughing friend that "the trees were moving past too quickly!" An hour or so later he had departed, glad to get his land legs back. The other man, maybe in his forties and as scruffy and weathered as you'd imagine a lifelong nomad in the Chalbi Desert to be, informed us that he would show us where could let him out of the vehicle. We continued along, entering the cracked, sun-baked floor of the Chalbi, watching the shimmering mirages and caravans of camels far in the distance. There was literally nothing around, at least not the type of landmark one normally keeps an eye out for. Abruptly he asked us to stop, and waving vaguely toward some tiny clump of hills or brush far to the east, happily bounded out of the car, and headed home. It was a vivid reminder of the isolation and asceticism of nomadic life. A few minutes later, the hood of our cursed vehicle (facetiously nicknamed The Anti-Christ because of its relentlessly inopportune breakdowns), literally flew off its hinges, smashing our windshield. That particular trip ended with people running out of shops at the edge of Nairobi to see what the noise was when we finally limped back into the city.

WATER DEVELOPMENT
Devastated by drought in 1983-84, some areas of Marsabit lost up to 80% of all livestock. This brought an influx of NGO's, and throughout the district one finds examples of both successful and unsuccessful water development projects. (An example of an unsuccesful water development project would be started in Korr which created watering sites for animals that resulted in severe overgrazing of the area, an environmental disaster exacerbated by human miscalculation). When visiting a Rendille manyatta, or a group of Samburu men watering their cattle from a traditional well, it's not hard to see what the immediate priorities are. The need for plentiful, clean water supplies is directly related to the health of the people. During the dry seasons, stagnant bodies of water are shared with the animals, often only reachable after long treks. These pools or wells become contaminated, and outbreaks of cholera and ameobic dysentary can result. As much as anything else, the purpose of water development is to help the people prepare for future droughts by building up reserves of water. Our water engineers were implementing projects in virtually every corner of the district, from a solar-powered pump in Sololo on the Ethiopian border, to gravity flow pipelines high atop Mt. Kulal Ngurunit, and protected wells in the scrubby bushlands of Korr, Illaut and Laisamis.

Barazas with local elders search for sustainable development solutions. Collaboration is essential when discussing progress and modernity in relation to pastoral people who for centuries have existed as nomadic or semi-nomadic livestock herders. They don’t embrace the concept of "settlement," sight unseen, reluctant about the urban alternatives they have known to lead to dead-ends. There’s less to education. Schools can now be found in all but the most underpopulated or inaccesible areas, and most families have come to accept the reality that some children are destined for more than shepherdhood.

A MISSIONARY POSITION
It takes a certain breed of character, and I'm referring to expatriates, to survive and even thrive in adverse conditions like those in Marsabit. One remarkable man is a fourth-generation missionary named John Howard Andersen, a stereotype-defying preacher. Though his accent, mannerisms and family life are as American as his nationality, Andersen was born in Kenya, and like his parents before him and his brother now in the Chalbi, he has dedicated his life to missionary work in Marsabit district. Since 1967 Andersen has stayed at the African Inland Church's mission at Gatab, atop Mt. Kulal, the beautiful, serene oasis which he describes as "the end of the earth."

What impressed me most about Andersen, not counting his engineering feat of building a heart-stoppingly narrow road up the side of the mountain overlooking Lake Turkana, or his ancient battle-worn LandRover with the Mercedes engine, was his approach to missionary work. Eminently likeable, not just for the homemade bread his wife baked, nor the veritable Garden of Eden his family had cultivated at their home, he understandood that apart from helping in his own small way, through solid, well-integrated development offered with a wholesome spiritual sincerity, it would be folly to try to tamper with the natural scheme of life in a place so wonderfully, perfectly different, and rooted in tradition as Marsabit.

Andersen decries outdated notions of saving the wretched/primitive souls of the Samburu people who had years before migrated north to live atop Kulal. His Sunday sermons are preached in Kiswahili and translated into Samburu. Insisting that "church and development go hand in hand," those who wish to work with him and the mission on the numerous engineering and water development projects must partake in a simple prayer at the start of the day, and there is no work for those who decline. When asked about the sincerity of those who prayed as a precondition for work, Andersen concedes that there will always be those who turn to Christian ways when it suits them, but when they feel the need to turn back to their traditions, they'll do so.

Editor’s note: In a cruel twist of fate, both of Howard’s parents, lifelong missionaries themselves, were killed in an automobile accident during a visit to Nairobi in 1985. Howard Andersen passed away back in the United States in 2011.