Who will liberate pastoralists from relief food syndrome?

THE YEAR WAS 1984; THE LOCATION, Garba Tulla AP compound. Under the scorching afternoon sun, tagging on to his grandmother’s dress, a toddler joins a long, winding queue to receive relief food.

Eight years later, in 1992, with a team of Unicef nutritionists, I witness another horrible scene: Hundreds of malnourished, dying and dead children at a wet-feeding centre in Wajir.

Fast forward to January 16, this year. President Kibaki declares famine a national disaster as hungry crowds shouting ‘unga, unga!’ drown out his national public addresses.

By the government’s own admission and statistics, famine is now synonymous with the lifestyle of people who live in arid and semi-arid lands (Asals).

In fact, in one of the public hearings of the constitution review process, residents of Modogashe wanted provision of relief food guaranteed by the constitution.

For self-serving reasons, the government and aid agencies have institutionalised the provision of relief food at the expense of serious development.

TO START WITH, THIS GOVERNMENT lacks a commitment to the development of Asals, making it easy to politically manipulate and control people through handouts.

Second, it’s easy to blame this neglect on natural calamities such as drought. Third, the bulk of the money for relief is provided by external donors. And finally, the MPs from those areas are divided, divisive and they lack collective vision.

As President Kibaki’s Sh30.2 billion famine budget attests, relief is big business often mired in controversy. But, at the tail end of this massive operation, all a poor household of six inhabitants in Asals hopes to get is a paltry Sh3,313.50 worth of maize, beans, cooking oil and unimix per month. The rest is swallowed up in the corruption-ridden distribution chain and bloated logistics.

Relief food distorts pastoral social structures and safety nets. As a result, sedentary villagers have developed a vicious dependency syndrome. It discourages productive ventures and disrupts market dynamics for practising pastoralists. It is dehumanising.

Across the political divide, pastoralists are given a raw deal. Every election comes with grandiose promises such as Mr Raila Odinga’s livestock insurance scheme.

The two ministries of Livestock Development and Northern Kenya headed by individuals from Asals are nothing to write home about. With a measly Sh2.5 billion budget, Minister Ibrahim Elmi Mohamed knows that his vision for Asals is to say the least a pipe dream.

The debacle that is the Kenya Meat Commission is another classic example of the government’s don’t-care attitude towards Asal issues.

Reopening the KMC, President Kibaki gave stern warning about mismanagement and misappropriation, and promised efficiency. Three years later, and Sh500 million down the drain, the minister for Livestock Development, Dr Mohammed Kuti still talks of ‘‘breathing new life’’ and ‘‘injecting some degree of professionalism’’.

There is nothing fresh or professional about appointing a new board comprising of political deadwood, some of whom are barely literate. Reviving this moribund factory in its present form is not a prudent way of spending taxpayers’ money and will not save pastoralists from the next famine.