By ACCC Media,
Across Kenya’s arid and semi-arid lands (ASALs), a quiet crisis has been unfolding one that is often mischaracterized as a simple clash between communities. In reality, what is happening in areas like Kitui County and Mwingi is far more complex. It is a convergence of climate stress, livelihood survival, and systemic governance gaps, manifesting visibly in clashes between pastoralist and farming communities. As some in the region express it in Kamba, “Nthĩ nĩ ya andũ othe, no kũu nzaa na mbũa itekaa, andũ nĩmaw’ũkanaa.” meaning ; “The land belongs to everyone, but when hunger and drought come, people turn against each other.”
Over 80 percent of Kenya’s landmass falls within ASAL regions, including Garissa County. These areas are highly vulnerable to climate variability, and the 2020–2023 drought one of the worst in decades pushed already fragile systems to their limits. With multiple failed rainy seasons, pasture and water sources diminished rapidly. For pastoralist communities, many of whom depend entirely on livestock, mobility is not optional it is survival.
As drought intensified, pastoralist groups, largely from Garissa and surrounding northern counties, began moving southward in search of grazing land and water. Their movement brought them into contact with agro-pastoral zones in Kitui and Mwingi, where farming communities predominantly Kamba depend on crops like maize and beans for their livelihoods. What unfolds in such encounters is a collision of survival systems: livestock grazing versus crop farming, mobility versus land ownership.
These encounters have too often escalated into violence. Reports indicate that since 2022, dozens of people have lost their lives, and many families have been displaced. Farms are destroyed, livestock is lost, and trust between communities erodes. While the immediate actors in these clashes are often described as Somali pastoralists and Kamba farmers, reducing the crisis to an ethnic conflict obscures its root causes.
The truth is that this is not fundamentally about identity it is about pressure. Climate-induced resource scarcity has intensified competition over land, water, and pasture. At the same time, traditional systems that once mediated access to shared resources have weakened. Population growth, land privatization, and administrative boundaries have reduced the flexibility that communities once relied on to coexist.
Perhaps most critically, this crisis reflects a failure of early warning to translate into early action. Kenya has invested significantly in Early Warning Early Response (EWER) systems, particularly after the devastating 2007–2008 Kenyan post-election violence. Institutions such as the National Drought Management Authority (NDMA), the Kenya Meteorological Department (KMD), and regional bodies like ICPAC routinely produce forecasts and drought alerts.
Yet, in this case, those warnings did not trigger sufficient preventive action. The signs were clear: rainfall deficits, declining vegetation indices, and increasing migration pressure. What was missing were coordinated responses pre-negotiated grazing corridors, early mediation between counties, and proactive deployment of security and support systems in anticipated hotspots.
Instead, responses have largely been reactive, coming after violence has already occurred. This not only results in preventable loss of life but also deepens mistrust between communities. When accountability is weak especially in areas with porous borders or limited enforcement impunity can further entrench cycles of violence.
Addressing this crisis requires moving beyond reactive approaches toward anticipatory action. Solutions are neither new nor unattainable. Establishing negotiated grazing corridors can allow pastoralists to access pasture without encroaching on farms. Strengthening community-based early warning systems particularly those that communicate in local languages can ensure that both farmers and herders are prepared for seasonal movements.
Equally important is the role of mediation. Local leaders, elders, and county governments must be empowered to engage early, before tensions escalate. Investments in climate adaptation such as water infrastructure, fodder banks, and drought-resilient agriculture can reduce the pressure that drives conflict in the first place.
Ultimately, what is happening in Kitui and Mwingi is a stark reminder that climate change is not just an environmental issue it is a security issue. When systems fail to manage predictable risks, communities are left to confront each other over shrinking resources.
Every life lost in these clashes whether pastoralist or farmer is a failure of systems that should have protected them. Reframing the crisis not as a tribal conflict but as a climate-driven resource challenge is the first step toward meaningful solutions. Only then can policy, planning, and communication align to prevent future tragedies and build resilience in Kenya’s most vulnerable regions.
