CAN WE TALK?

Imagine a world without mosquitoes; it might seem less bothersome, but have you ever thought about the absence of their buzzing songs at night? Quite the dull picture, isn't it? LOL

I'm trained as a landscape horticulturist and work professionally as a landscape designer and ecologist with a focus on landscaping for biodiversity and sustainable practices. My first encounter with the term "biodiversity" came relatively late in life, partly during high school and later in my college years. While topics like carbon emissions and related environmental issues dominate the discourse, biodiversity often takes a backseat, despite its paramount importance. In my past, I was oblivious to its significance, but that was a time of ignorance, and as they say, ignorance is the enemy. Do you agree that we must fight back?

As a child, visiting my grandma in Kendubay held more excitement than any journey spanning. For me, it meant playing in the rain, swimming in rivers, bathing in their waters, and witnessing the wonders of nature, like the majestic Lake Victoria and its shores and the enchanting Lake ‘Simbi Nyaima.’

We had abundant "Achia," our local term for springs, as piped water didn’t exist. Most of our drinking and cooking water came from harvested sources and springs. The rainfall brought us not only water but also hailstorms we affectionately called "pee." I vividly recall the day I dug a one-foot trench near my grandma's house, and water gushed forth. That saved me a journey to the river and back. The sheer joy I felt was immeasurable.

Home was not just a structure; it was a part of nature's beauty. One continuous story. The trees bore names and had various uses. Take "Powo," for example, a tree growing near our house. People used it as a "Mswak" for teeth-brushing, and my mum also found it handy for canning, thanks to its robust fibres. The only time a new "Powo" cane was harvested was when someone (like me) mischievously discarded one. The forbidden tree was the Croton tree which we had to steer clear at all costs; it was home to numerous hairy caterpillars.

Our landscape was edible, with leaves like "Sangla" providing tasty snacks, often consumed raw and chewed like they do khat. We didn't just coexist with nature; we played with it, joked about it, and crafted things. I personally crafted a "nya'ngoma" (Stilts) using branches of lucira (Leucaena leucocephala), while its leaves served as cattle fodder. Our compounds were swept clean with brooms made from dried weeds. Sustainability at its best.

The landscape was not just visually appealing; it was audible too. Walking on dried dead branches produced distinct sounds, and our sandy paths echoed as we treaded them. Birds serenaded us when the winds were still. I fondly remember the "Ongowang,"(White Crane bird) likely named for its "Ongowang" sound. Children adored it, believing that it bestowed white, beautiful speckled spots on their nails if they waved at it. I later realized my own spots were due to negligence in washing my hands after eating ugali.

Our landscape was alive in every sense. Tortoises emerged after every rain, affectionately known as "Opuk." Snails, despite their sliminess, had adorable shells with intricate patterns. Beyond the sounds of drums and cries from homes at night, quiet evenings introduced us to the hoots of owls, a rare sight but believed to bring bad luck if spotted in our compound. Our community would chase them away whenever one was seen. I don't recall ever seeing an owl; I only heard their calls. We also shared our environment with bats, friends of Batman, who made us wary of the night. Their sudden appearances and swift retreats into the shadows were unsettling, and you certainly didn't want to experience their touch (slap).

When the moon was tardy, the night sky came alive with "otit mach," the fireflies. There were countless other wonders to behold: snakes, rabbits, antelopes, flamingos, chameleons, "chwe," catfish, and so much more, all of which filled me with excitement at the prospect of visiting Kendubay.

Fast forward over 20 years, and much has changed. When I think of Kendubay now, I can only conjure a few images: my beloved grandma, the lake, and Mama Hassan, whose samosas and Kahawa are impossible to resist. If you ever find yourself in Kendu, do try her samosas; you won't be disappointed. The place has undergone considerable transformation - familiar faces have disappeared, new buildings have emerged, and the once-biodiverse environment lost its "bio."

When we discuss biodiversity loss, we're referring to the diminishing variety of plants and animals within the kingdoms Plantae and Animalia including insects. Such loss leaves us with stories of how nature once thrived in all its beauty. It deprives future generations of the opportunity to experience nature's wonders. Coupled with the effects of climate change, where the new generation witnesses earthquakes and El Niño rains, they might form a skewed impression.

The conversation about biodiversity loss essentially conveys that the ever-increasing human population and our efforts to establish ourselves pose a significant threat to life on Earth if not carefully managed. This conversation reminds us of our responsibility to care for all life by preserving habitats and life. It is about urging everyone to be considerate of the habitats of fish, snails, birds, bees, butterflies, fireflies, ostriches, and countless others as we go on with our lives as higher life forms. Constructing houses is necessary, but we must think hard. We are the only creatures with the ability to do so. It is a wake-up call to be conscious of how our products and practices impact life on Earth, including fellow human beings.

In essence, we're saying that Earth is our home and the home of other flora and fauna, and the more careless we live the more we harm ourselves.

We're emphasizing that each one of us is a leader entrusted with the responsibility to care for our shared home.

When we advocate for biodiversity conservation, we're ultimately benefiting humanity. We are part of an intricate ecosystem that relies on all life forms, from the smallest single-celled amoeba to us, human beings.

Let's continue these conversations.