“Dust is constant” is a Kenyan slang expression that is frequently used to describe the tragedy that befalls someone; it has nothing to do with statistics or any other variable. When we don’t want to be salty about anything, Kenyans tend daily to sugarcoat it. Dust is the variable that I deal with on a daily basis in my situation; the windy Kitui air constantly leaves trails of earthy particles on my face. On the opposite side of the nation, where water is more important than gold itself, perhaps this is how they greet visitors. The golden hour, when the sun’s brilliant beams fade into the horizons and bring in the new day, is the only gold I have seen here. And, like a miner, even a minor like myself must sweat through the night to see it again before sundown.

As I am working on this job, I have learned that in this eastern region of Kenya, dust represents fertility, the hope for rain, and brighter times to come. Every time the wind blows, the dry husks from the previous harvest are visible. Conversely, there is evidence of watered-down dreams, abandoned fields that are inhabited, and thickets and forested areas that have taken over. There are usually squirrels in these kinds of situations, waving their long tails and dancing to your footsteps, just ready to greet you before running off to the balanite trees nearby. They will be watching you as you pass them, maybe too shy to say goodbye. In contrast to the widely held belief that strolling through this area is akin to strolling through the Garden of Eden, where fruit trees abound, snakes are an uncommon occurrence in my situation. I haven’t seen a single mango tree as of yet.

The residents speak so highly of this place, that I am yet to believe it’s the safest place in Kenya. Even the rains are more regular than theft and insecurity cases. People leave their valuables in the open unattended without the worry of losing them. The only thing that could be stolen here is your heart, did I tell you they are trying to find me a wife? Wish they knew all I need is WIFI, the network connectivity here is so terrible, so terrible to convince one to revert to our Acheulean ways, smoke signals. At this point, you must be thirsty for more of my stories, the rock reservoir of Ndegea avails water in plenty. River Tana that traverses the village is also baptizing the villages with new life. In worst cases, you only have to dig sand wells to access this precious commodity.

On the surface, you may think that the locals are going hungry, but their granaries are stocked with grains, including pulses, despite the drought. I have tasted pure honey, as opposed to the tainted variety we get in urban shops. The milk used to thicken your tea every morning comes from goats who graze on the steep terrain that is abundant with natural plants. Here, flocks graze themselves and find their way home, which is very strange. There are some cows, but they are unusually large and robust, making you wonder what they live on. I have only come into contact with one green item, my CorpsAfrica t-shirt, which is already fading from the sun. Canaan Chronicles, I am enjoying my time here and am happy that I arrived before you all.