From Farm to Falsehood: Challenging Kenya's Perception of Progress

In Kenya, the image of a small-scale farmer and those in its vast value chain are often painted with a narrow, often derogatory brush: impoverished, ignorant, and working the land as a last resort – a path taken only when more ‘valued’ professions like doctors, lawyers, or engineers remain out of reach. This deeply ingrained stereotype reflects a fundamental disconnect in how we measure progress and success as Kenyans. Often, we inadvertently dismiss hardworking, enterprising wananchi who, frankly, form the backbone of our economy; they operate within the informal sector and, critically, attend to our food security.

This contradiction is further deepened by what I believe is a colonial conditioning that views a lack of formal education as inherently lacking and the deliberate devaluing of indigenous knowledge passed down through generations, leaving us illiterate and unknowing. We forget that it is the traditional knowledge that many Kenyan farmers possess and skillfully apply to feed their homes and place countless wholesome meals on dinner tables every single day.

This damaging perception isn't accidental; it's a lingering relic of a post-colonial era where Kenyans have been conditioned to chase the elusive ‘white-collar’ dream, viewing blue-collar occupations, especially farming, as uncivilized or a mark of failure. This conditioning accounts for the mass exodus from rural areas to urban centers – a quest for "greener pastures" that often leads to a harsher reality.

Look closely at everyday Kenyan city dwellers and town folks, and you'll find them grappling with prohibitively high costs of living in cramped, often dilapidated concrete structures, their unyielding landlords demanding high rent for small quarters. Years of neglect, coupled with pervasive corruption, have left our so-called metropolitan spaces in a deplorable state. Just the recent rainy season has left Nairobi dwellers grappling with apathetic leaders, burst sewers, perpetually blocked drains, and rain flooding their homes, roads, and offices – a living nightmare. The quality of life in these crowded towns is abysmal, leading to widespread despair, high crime rates, and a general sense of disillusionment. Many evolve into cynical, hardened city folk, jaded by the false promise that greener pastures in the big city, acquiring a better education, rejecting tradition and cultural ways as archaic and outdated, and the erasure of anything remotely rural are guaranteed gateways to riches and success.

But this grand promise is a cruel illusion. It's not uncommon to hear cynical remarks like, “Imagine, a whole university-educated degree holder is now hawking minji…” Such statements betray a profound misunderstanding. They forget that the system that failed this capable doctor and peasant farmers alike is a post-colonial capitalist construct perpetuated by a corrupt, self-serving Kenyan political elite that places little to no value on the daily struggles and ingenuity of ordinary Kenyans.

This is system that criminalises and vilifies Kenyan traditional medicine pathways, swallowing whole the notion of Western medicine as the SI unit of health and well-being. It is the same system neglects to foster opportunities for growth and fair payfor its doctors, teachers, lecturers, nurses leaving them languishing with poor pay and deplorable working conditions. Yet we all know that Kenyan law makers are amongst the highest paid in the world (yes the world).  These are the very same oppressive systems that contributed to policing Kenyan peasant farmers to maintain seedbanks and swap seeds so as to benefit the big, mostly foreign agribusinesses that patent seeds and force feeding us to opt for GMO, synthetic pesticides and fertilisers despite its prohibitive cost, harmful effects on out health, decline of our soil health and reducing our biodiversity… 

Raw honey infused with various herbs are
an age old remedy

Bees pollinate most of our food but their population is declining due to environmental degradation 

The irony is striking. Nowadays, we readily buy mabuyu powder at a premium from glossy grocery shops because the West has declared it a 'superfood' to add to our machine-blended smoothies. Yet, the very communities who for generations have nurtured baobab trees for millennia could readily tell you why it’s truly revered as the 'tree of life.' Instead, our collective imagination continues to perpetuate the trope that farming is merely a fallback for hapless Kenyans, a desperate act when education or its absence and poverty loom large.

The Mighty Baobab - Tree of Life

So where did we go wrong dear Kenyans?

Our children now believe food magically appears on supermarket shelves at Carrefour. They are convinced that the ‘perfect fries’ come from imported, freeze-dried potatoes, meeting some elusive ‘food aesthetic standard,’ when any Kenyan worth their salt knows the best fries potatoes hail from the rich soils of the rolling hills of Dundori, between Lanet and Nyahururu.

Kenyan farmer stereotypes defer to the negative image we have been fed over the years. Unfortunately, many still gravitate towards outdated caricatures of farmers and peasants as representing manual and unrelenting work as unsavoury and this has profound societal implications. The inaccurate portrayals stem from our apathy and collective inaction in challenging these myths. It is no wonder farming is so misunderstood and marginalised.

It is high time we focus on a radical shift in perspective. We must actively dismantle the stereotype of the poor farmer and recognize the contributions and vital role that small-scale farmers play in Kenya's economy and food security.

These are not people who have "resorted to" farming; they are innovators, custodians of land, and pillars of their communities. They are adapting to climate change, embracing and blending new and age-old innovative technologies, and feeding a nation, often with minimal support and against immense odds.

By celebrating their resilience, acknowledging their vast knowledge and entrepreneurial acumen, and valuing their yields beyond narrow, post-colonial metrics, we can begin to correct the narrative.

We need to educate our children that food does not come from a sterile supermarket aisle, but from the sweat, knowledge, and dedication of Kenyan farmers countrywide. Only then can we truly appreciate the rich tapestry of Kenya's economy and empower the hardworking individuals who, despite systemic challenges, continue to nourish our nation.

Who grows your food and more importantly, how?