Opinion Piece by Linda Makau,
What does security mean in a world where nothing feels certain anymore? Is it a stable income, a degree, a job title or is it something far more fundamental: land, food, and the ability to sustain oneself?
We are living through an era shaped by shifting geopolitics, conflicts, and wars whose consequences stretch far beyond borders. Fuel prices continue to rise, quietly tightening the cost of everything from transport to food. Shortages are no longer distant headlines; they are creeping into everyday life. If small-scale traders are already feeling the strain, what does this mean for those operating at a larger scale?
And what of employment? How do we make sense of a reality where individuals with master’s degrees stand as security guards not for lack of intelligence, but for lack of opportunity? When did connections begin to outweigh competence? When did experience lose value to networks? More importantly, what does this mean for the future of young people striving to find their place in an increasingly uncertain economy?We must also confront a difficult truth: insecurity is evolving.
Today’s threats are not always visible. Intelligence is being used to outwit systems, to exploit gaps, to survive. So, I ask how do we prepare ourselves to respond to this new form of intelligence-driven insecurity? Are we equipping our communities, especially our youth, with the knowledge and awareness to navigate it?
Then there is food something so basic, yet increasingly questionable. How nourishing is what we consume today? Have we become so detached from our sources of food that we no longer question its quality? If a simple tray of eggs raises doubt, what does that say about the broader food system we depend on?
We left our rural homes in search of better opportunities and rightly so. Growth, exposure, and ambition matter. But in this pursuit, have we unintentionally abandoned our strongest safety nets? Land lies idle. Farms are neglected. Knowledge of cultivation and livestock keeping is fading.Yet, paradoxically, rural areas are not untouched by insecurity. Stories of livestock theft, of communities forced to adapt in ways once unimaginable, are becoming more common. If even these spaces are changing, should we not rethink how we engage with them?What if investing back home is no longer just an option, but a necessity?
What if true resilience lies in diversifying not just income, but survival itself?
Planting sustainable crops, keeping livestock, and maintaining a connection to the land are no longer “traditional” practices they are strategic decisions. They are insurance against uncertainty. They are a reclaiming of control in a world that often feels uncontrollable.And what of the next generation? Are we preparing them only for urban survival, or are we equipping them with the skills to thrive anywhere? Can they grow food, manage land, understand ecosystems or have we limited their future to offices that may not exist tomorrow?Years from now, what will regret look like? Will it be the opportunities we chased or the foundations we failed to build?
The world is changing, rapidly and unpredictably. Wars dominate headlines. Floods displace communities. Economies fluctuate. But amidst all this, one question remains constant: When everything else shifts, what will you stand on?Perhaps the answer has been with us all along …back home.
