consultant in the bush: To the field

16: the number of shops which surrounded the area soon to be home to the Nyala Dairy Chilling Plant, in 2002.

285: the number of shops and vendors - microenterprises” and entrepreneurs - which today bustle around Nyala Diary. (Included in this number is the “Obama Hotel” restaurant - note again the love of our pres.)

A few of the shops are directly related to dairy farming, but the vast majority are not: general stores, restaurants, food vendors, clothing “boutiques”, even a TV repair shop – quizzically, given the lack of electricity at all the farms I saw – and an internet café. The village has been transformed. And a chilling plant has become a "hub".

The “hub” concept was pioneered by TechnoServe in Nyala. The primary goal is to develop a market for business development services (e.g. a Savings & Loan, agro-vets) and link suppliers of these services to those who demand them, i.e. dairy farmers. The result is increased efficiency, production, and incomes for all involved. The extension is that a whole community may be revitalized around the linchpin of the hub, a dairy chilling plant in this case, though the concept is applicable in many other industries as well.

It is this concept that I will be working to develop, as part of the East Africa Dairy Development (EADD) project, in other villages in Kenya. Hence, I set off to learn about it first hand by visiting Nyala and the surrounding farms. The journey was about 300km from Nairobi, I think, and took about 3.5 hours. I was going along with a couple colleagues from Uganda and Kenya, and we were meeting up with a film crew creating a documentary, funded by EADD and the Netherlands Development Agency, about Nyala – what it is, how it works, the impact its had, etc.

The drive to Nyala was mostly on 2-lane paved roads, but with a smattering of potholes that necessitated frequent swerving into the opposite lane or off the road. This was an unnerving experience: we were going about 75mph, which may not seem that fast but certainly feels like it when you’re swerving on narrow roads like these. Furthermore, there was a constant flow of people walking alongside the road, and we passed within inches (it seemed, at least) of them as we meandered on and off the street. (Kenyans walk a lot. Which is why, I was recently told by a colleague who claimed he used to walk 6km each way to school every day, they are so adept at long-distance running.)

These roads seemed like a luxury, however, soon after we turned off and headed toward the farms. Within the first 5 minutes, I was exclaiming to my companions that “I can’t believe we are driving on these.” A picture (to the left) cannot convey how rudimentary and bumpy these paths were; clearly intended for pedestrians and donkeys rather than cars. The stares we perpetually received by children and adults alike, standing on the edges of the dirt and rock, confirmed that vehicles were a rarity.

Simple. That was the first word that occurred to me as I stepped out of the truck and onto the hard, dry earth (parts of Kenya are experiencing a protracted drought). The premises consisted of small long and narrow house, a kitchen, where the wife was furiously working surrounded by two of her six kids, a zero-grazing structure (production trumps animal activism in these parts), and a couple hectares of land growing maize and other random crops. Electricity or running water was nowhere to be found. Tea, however, was offered within a few minutes of arriving.

Happy. And surprisingly well dressed. Those were my first impressions of the farmer, whose name I could not pronounce and no longer remember. He was truly content, frequently speaking of the “love” for his cows, praising Nyala for its contributions, and not only very excited about his future, but also about telling us about it. (The well dressed part made a bit more sense once I learned he was also the headmaster at a local school, but it's also further evidence of the sartorial point I made in my last post.)

After speaking with and filming farmer #1 for about an hour and a half, we went on to visit and film another farm, and then to a women’s farmer group meeting at a primary school that was located unbelievably deep within the bush. The tales about walking miles to school are indeed true, it seems.

Farmer #2 did not convey quite the same sense of glee as #1, but I suspect this was largely due to the fact that she was much older and tiring. However, happiness was again evident when the women’s group erupted into song at the slightest prodding by the documentary’s director.

It sounds cliché, surely, but I do wonder how many people of other walks of life are as happy as that farmer. Or wear this happiness on their sleeve, at least. Perhaps many, perhaps very few, I don’t know. In any case, it was a new and interesting experience visiting such a community.

Nevertheless, it did feel good to get back to urbanity and its comforts in Nairobi, though I could definetly do without the pollution). And content as that farmer might have been, I certainly don’t see myself trading Chicago, Boston, or Nairobi for that matter, for the village.

Pictures: (complete album to be posted on facebook)

Farmer #1's daughter. Highly reluctant to smile, but an excellent photo subject nonetheless.