June 2026 – Down the Rabbit Hole

In the far reaches of northern Kenya, where the land opens into vast skies and rugged, unforgiving terrain, live the Turkana and Samburu people. They are semi-nomadic pastoral communities whose lives revolve around their livestock and a constant movement in search of water and pasture. In an environment where farming is largely impossible, cattle, goats, and camels are not only a source of food and income, but the foundation of survival, culture, and identity. Homes are built from what the land provides. Made from timber frames, woven branches, and layers of mud, dung, hides, or thatch, these structures are designed to be temporary, carried and rebuilt as families move with the seasons. A typical day is shaped by the herd: early mornings spent moving animals to graze, long hours navigating dry landscapes, and evenings gathered around fires, sharing food, stories, and the responsibilities of protecting both livestock and family.

Yet even in this traditional way of life, change is steadily unfolding. Many communities are increasingly recognizing the importance of education, with children walking long distances or learning under trees when classrooms are out of reach. At the same time, long-held practices such as female genital mutilation are being challenged from within, slowly being phased out as awareness grows about its harm. It is a region where tradition and transition exist side by side. It is shaped by hardship, strength, and an evolving vision of the future.

Here, distance is not just measured in kilometers/miles but in hours of rough roads, washed-out paths after rain, and routes that can change from passable to impassable not just in a single storm, but in minutes. It is a place where remoteness is not an idea but a daily reality. Where access to schools, healthcare, and basic supplies depends as much on determination and community strength as it does on infrastructure.

The journey began in Nanyuki, where we used funds generously donated by friends and family to purchase essential supplies from local vendors. Bags of rice, maize, porridge flour, sugar, and other non-perishables were carefully loaded into the vehicle. Every item chosen with the needs of the school and surrounding community in mind. It was important to us to buy as much as possible locally in Nanyuki, knowing that even before reaching Baragoi, the impact had already begun to ripple outward.

We set off just after sunrise, leaving Mount Kenya behind. With coffee in hand for the road ahead, we began what was expected to be an 8–10 hour journey.

“So long, Nanyuki… Baragoi, here we come.”

The smooth tarmac roads of Nanyuki quickly gave way to smaller and smaller dirt roads as we headed north. Before long, we were slowing down to let zebras cross the road. Welcome to Kenya.

Traveling with us was Paul, a former colleague of Sammy’s from Ol Pejeta Conservancy. Since he was headed home to see his family for a few weeks and we were traveling in the same direction, he hitched a ride. Along the way we passed three men and two sheep sharing a motorcycle on their way to market, along with a few camels wandering near the road.

We stopped in a small town for lunch. The nyama choma wasn’t ready yet, so we settled for boiled meat served with ugali, chapati, and coleslaw. Then it was back on the road.

After lunch we enjoyed a stretch of tarmac, although “animal traffic” remained a constant feature of the journey. We crossed into Samburu County and made our way to Maralal, where we dropped off Paul. Before leaving, he wanted to make sure we took the safest route to Baragoi. Some roads had been completely washed out by flooding, while others were considered unsafe due to banditry. To make sure we didn’t miss the turn, he arranged for a boda boda rider to escort us out of town and then return Paul to his home. Eventually, with directions secured, the motorcycle turned back with Paul and we continued on our own.

The road over the mountains was rough in places, but the scenery was absolutely spectacular. Along the way we handed out cookies and lollipops to children we met in small villages. Little did we know what was waiting for us farther down the road.

After crossing the mountains, we encountered our first major obstacle. Heavy rains had sent water rushing down the slopes, creating a crossing that was impossible to navigate safely. We waited nearly an hour for the water level to drop before attempting the crossing. Once we made it through, another delay awaited us. The vehicle in front of us became stuck while climbing a muddy hill, adding another hour to our journey.

Finally moving again, we encountered a different kind of roadblock…animal traffic jams.

Camels. Sheep. Goats. Cows.

Such is life when traveling through a region where pastoralism is the way of life. We knew before leaving that morning that this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park.

More than eleven hours after leaving Nanyuki we finally arrived in Baragoi, a remote town in northern Samburu County. To put the journey into perspective, Baragoi is only about 310 kilometers (193 miles) from Nanyuki, yet the drive took over eleven hours, even with only a lunch stop and delays caused by flooding.

Baragoi is known for its rich pastoralist culture and the coexistence of Samburu and Turkana communities. After picking up school supplies, cooking oil, and a few other necessities, we continued on to Nachola Community Campsite, which would be our home for the next two nights.

The campsite is a community-owned ecotourism and conservation project in Nachola Village. Operating as a sustainable social enterprise, it helps fund education, wildlife conservation, and employment opportunities for local indigenous Turkana communities.

As we drove into camp, we were treated to one of the most spectacular African sunsets I’ve ever seen.

Dinner that evening was Ng’atiri, a traditional Turkana dried meat made by slicing goat, camel, and beef into thin strips and naturally sun-drying them. Alongside the meat, we enjoyed rice, cabbage, chapati, and greens.

The camp was completely off-grid and powered entirely by solar energy. My tent was surprisingly comfortable and even came with a private outdoor shower and toilet. After such a long day on the road, it felt like luxury.

Following dinner, we spent about thirty minutes stargazing under some of the darkest skies I’ve ever experienced. With absolutely no light pollution, the stars seemed endless.

By 9:30 p.m., exhaustion finally caught up with us. We turned in for the night knowing an even bigger adventure awaited us the next day.

After an early night, it was an early morning. They say “early to bed and early to rise makes you healthy, wealthy, and wise.” I can’t speak for the healthy or wealthy part, but I certainly felt rich in experience that day.

I woke before sunrise and was treated to a spectacular dawn over the Turkana landscape. Shortly afterward, the camp staff brought coffee, and I settled under a tree beside the dying embers of the previous night’s fire. As I sat quietly enjoying the morning, I heard a commotion overhead. Looking up, I realized I had been joined by a troop of vervet monkeys, who seemed just as curious about me as I was a them.

Eventually the guys emerged from their tents, and we enjoyed a simple breakfast of hard-boiled eggs and chapati stuffed with cabbage and carrots. A few Turkana women and men passed through the campsite, and before long it was time to begin our day.

As we prepared to leave Nachola Community Campsite, we encountered a group of Turkana men who had spent the night sleeping beneath a large shade tree. They greeted us with singing and dancing and invited us to attend a wedding celebration taking place nearby.

In Turkana culture, weddings are multi-day ceremonies held near the bride’s family homestead. The groom and other men from the community spend the night beneath a sacred tree, preparing physically, mentally, and spiritually for the traditional rites that follow. These include the ceremonial spearing of a bull and the negotiation of bride wealth.

Many shade trees, such as the Ereng and Edung, are considered sacred in Turkana culture. They are gathering places where elders make important decisions, pray to Akuj, the Creator, and offer sacrifices. Spending the night beneath one is a time of reflection and a way to seek blessings and protection from ancestors before entering marriage.

We were honored by the invitation to witness the bull slaughter and wedding festivities. Unfortunately, flooding and the realities of our schedule made it impossible for us to attend.

Still, the day held something equally special.

After leaving the Turkana men, we drove to a nearby boarding school that Marco wanted to show us. Many of the students come from communities so far away that walking to school each day simply isn’t possible, making boarding their only option for accessing an education.

The teachers proudly showed us around the campus, including the boys’ and girls’ dormitories. One thing that immediately caught my attention was the school bell. When I heard it “ring,” I expected to see a traditional bell, but instead discovered a tire rim hanging in the schoolyard. Resourcefulness at its finest.

As we toured the school, we learned about some of the challenges facing the students and their families. Moved by what we saw, we decided to sponsor four students for the next term. The cost is just $25 per learner, which covers room, board, and schooling.

After taking a group photo, one of the teachers quietly shared a story that has stayed with me ever since. One of the young men we had met had lost his father only days earlier. He feared he would have to leave school because his mother could no longer afford the fees. The teacher had reassured him not to worry, telling him that somehow a way would be found for him to continue his education.

Hearing that, and knowing that help had arrived at exactly the right moment, was incredibly moving.

If you look at my photos, you’ll notice small red objects lined up on the ground. Those are solar lights. The school has no electricity, so the lights are used to illuminate the area at night whenever students need to leave the dormitories.

It was a powerful reminder that something as simple as education, something many of us take for granted, often requires extraordinary determination in places like this.

Nothing could have prepared me for the next welcome we received.

As we approached the community and the school under the tree, as I took to calling it, a group of women greeted us and escorted us down a hillside toward the children with singing and dancing. We had driven as far as the terrain allowed before meeting a motorcycle that carried some of the supplies. The rest we carried by hand down the hill.

Waiting for us was a school unlike any I had ever seen.

The children attend classes beneath a tree, using rocks as their desks and seats. Despite their limited resources, they had prepared songs to welcome us. Their smiles and enthusiasm were contagious.

We delivered notebooks, markers, pencils, sharpeners, and food supplies. Some of the mothers immediately began preparing porridge over an open fire. The local chief, along with community representatives, spoke and thanked us for making the journey.

One of the most touching moments came when I was presented with a beautiful handmade headdress. It was an unexpected gift and a gesture I will never forget.

The following morning, the school’s teacher walked approximately five kilometers to our campsite carrying another surprise. She had handmade bracelets with our names on them and wanted to personally give them to us before we left.

The joy, kindness, gratitude, and love we experienced from this community were overwhelming.

Before leaving Baragoi, we also wanted to do something practical that would make an immediate difference. Through the help of our friend Marco, we located a carpenter and commissioned benches for the school, along with two chairs for the volunteer teachers.

Recently, we received photos confirming that the benches had been delivered. Seeing the children sitting on them instead of rocks was incredibly rewarding. The two chairs for the teachers are also on their way.

We have also begun exploring the next phase of support by requesting estimates for a concrete slab that could serve as the foundation for a permanent school structure.

Looking ahead to our next trip, we hope to introduce solar cooking and beekeeping projects to the community. Our goal is not simply to provide supplies but to help create sustainable opportunities that can empower local women and generate income through honey production.

Our friend Sharon, who has extensive knowledge of beekeeping, has offered to assist with the project. While we will continue helping with educational and food supplies when needed, our long-term hope is to support solutions that strengthen the community’s self-sufficiency.

What began as a journey to deliver school supplies became something much more meaningful. It was a reminder that education, kindness, and community can flourish anywhere…even in a classroom under a tree.

One of our final stops of the day was a small community near Baragoi where we delivered supplies to a woman who had recently suffered a stroke and was paralyzed on her left side. As members of the community explained what we had brought for her, she held tightly onto my hand and simply wouldn’t let go. Despite the language barrier, her gratitude was unmistakable.

After saying our goodbyes, we walked back up the hill to where our vehicle was parked beneath a tree. I climbed into the car and noticed the window was rolled down. Two boys, probably about fourteen or fifteen years old, wandered over and began looking at me. They stepped back, pointed in my direction, made faces, and burst into laughter.

At first, I assumed they were laughing at me. Not that I particularly cared, but I was curious what I had done to become the source of such amusement.

Our local guide quickly explained that the boys weren’t laughing at me at all. They were fascinated by their reflections in the side of our vehicle. Seeing themselves so clearly in a reflective surface was something entirely new and endlessly entertaining.

That was one of those rare “wow” moments that stops you in your tracks.

In a world where many of us see our reflection dozens of times a day without giving it a second thought, these boys found pure joy and wonder in something so simple. It was another powerful reminder of how differently people experience the world and how easily we take everyday things for granted.

We spent the remainder of the afternoon delivering supplies throughout the community, including to a family whose home had been destroyed by recent flooding. This is the same family supported in part by the owner of the house I rent in Nanyuki, who uses a portion of my rent to assist them.

As Friday evening approached, we found ourselves perched high above the surrounding landscape for a sundowner. Sitting there, feeling as though we were on top of the world, I watched the sun sink toward the horizon and reflected on everything we had experienced, the children learning under a tree, the generosity of people who had so little, the laughter of boys discovering their reflections, and the strength of communities supporting one another through difficult times.