Kenya's national parks, such as Tsavo and Masai Mara, offer breathtaking views of exotic wildlife. Visitors marvel at the majesty of zebras and lions, often paying thousands of dollars for the experience. Yet, behind the magic of these safaris lies a stark reality that remains largely unseen by tourists: the daily struggles of local communities.
I was visiting Kenya for the Black Liberation conference in Nairobi. After the conference I had decided to travel to some remote villages of Kenya and see the national parks. During my journey through Kenya, the significance of blue and yellow plastic barrels became all too apparent. For rural Kenyans, these colours symbolise the quest for water—Kenya's equivalent of “blue diamonds”. While tourists are captivated by the zebras and other wildlife, the harsh reality for many locals is a daily battle for this basic necessity. And when tourists are enchanted by the sight of zebras grazing under the African sun, the blue and yellow plastic barrels carried by rural Kenyans tell a different story.
Driving from Nairobi to Tsavo National Park, the stark contrast between my comfortable rental 4x4 and the lives of local villagers was striking. Along the way, I saw young girls and women, often barefoot and carrying barrels of water on old bicycles, trudging miles under the blazing sun. John, our driver, explained that fetching water can take up to four hours each day, with families relying on cycles and donkeys to transport the precious liquid. This scene, so vivid against the backdrop of luxury tourism, painted a troubling picture of inequality. Where one side has zebras for tourists, and the other has donkeys for locals.
In my homeland, India, water scarcity is a pressing issue. However, the severity of the situation in Kenya is alarming. Villages struggling with water shortages face even harsher realities than those in many parts of India. Young locals, often children, attempt to earn a less than $3 a day by selling corn, oranges and slingshots to tourists, while simultaneously tourists competing for a fleeting glimpse of zebras through the windows of safari vehicles. Tourists are chasing exotic animals, spending a staggering $500 a day just for the perfect selfie. Meanwhile, local tribal Kenyans are relentlessly pursuing these tourists, struggling to earn less than $3 a day. The stark contrast paints a dramatic picture of disparity: Where the fascination of the wild is a luxury for some, it's a daily struggle for others.
This contrast is especially stark in Masai Mara, where I met Kevin, a 19-year-old Maasai working at a resort owned by Chinese investors. Despite the high cost of staying at the resort—about Rs 30,000 per night—Kevin receives no salary during his six-month training period. Once his training ends, his wage will be a mere Rs 8,000 per month for 12- to 14-hour shifts. This modern form of exploitation, where locals are paid meagre wages while their land and resources are commercialised, mirrors a kind of economic colonialism, where indigenous tribes are made to work for free and the land where foreign investors have built the hotel belongs to the indigenous tribes.
Kevin's story gives the real angle, example of how local communities are often left out of the economic benefits of tourism. The land where the resort now stands was once Maasai territory, and the profits from tourism flow to foreign investors, leaving the Maasai people marginalised. One notable aspect of Kevin's character that highlights his bravery and integrity is his decision to marry a woman who had a daughter from a previous relationship. Her former husband had left her, yet Kevin embraced both her and her child with commitment and compassion. In the Maasai community, such actions are seen as customary, where women and widows are permitted to remarry, and Maasai men are expected to care for their wives' children from previous marriages. Kevin dreams of a better future for his daughter, hoping she will have the opportunity to be educated and explore the world—a dream that remains uncertain.
I had the opportunity to meet Major Jillo, a retired soldier from the Maasai tribe, whose deep-rooted connection with the land and its wildlife paints a vivid picture of the tribal experience and the impact of modern development. During our conversation, Major Jillo recounted a poignant story about the relationship between his tribe and the elephants, describing how the Maasai view these majestic animals as their kin. Major Jillo, who lives with his 100-year-old mother—an esteemed authority on elephants—embodies the profound bond between the Maasai people and their environment. However, this connection has been tragically disrupted. The expansion of resorts and other corporate projects has displaced his community, severing their ties to their ancestral lands. Major Jillo's anguish was evident as he spoke of the loss of their traditional territory and the dire water shortages now facing his people. With sorrow, Major Jillo lamented that they can no longer encounter their revered ‘cousins’, the elephants, and face an uncertain future without land to call their own. “Is this your climate justice?” he asked me, his voice heavy with the weight of his community's plight and the broader implications of tourism and development on indigenous ways of life.
In Kenya, the disparity between the luxury experienced by tourists and the daily struggles of locals is a glaring issue. While tourists spend hundreds of dollars to see zebras and other wildlife, the indigenous communities, with their donkeys and plastic barrels, are left behind, fighting for basic necessities. The picturesque landscapes and exotic animals may capture the imagination, but it is crucial to remember the unseen human stories that are equally deserving of attention and empathy.
Prabhat Sinha is the Founder of Mann Deshi Champions (prabhat@manndeshi.org.in)
