The Shamba Chronicle: How did we get Here, How can we get OUR Wholesome Supper Back!

Food, a fundamental necessity for life, is increasingly becoming a battleground in Kenya.

 

For many Kenyans, particularly the younger generations, the connection to how and where their food is produced has been severed, replaced by a reliance on often opaque industrial food systems. These days, there is a worrying number of folks, especially youth, navigating TikTok trends and the price of data bundles, who, for them, the journey of food to our supper plates is a mystery wrapped in plastic and nestled in a supermarket aisle. They are likelier to know a foodie influencer who Snapchatted avocado toast than the farmer whose back ached to bring that avocado to life.

 

And this, my dear Kenyans, is an urgent indication of a much larger, unacceptable issue: food injustice, the erasure of our traditional pathways, and the alarming disappearance of our natural bounty. We must confront the erosion of food justice and the degradation of biodiversity, which are significantly worsened by restrictive seed law policies that undermine our time-honoured peasant farming practices. The reliance on expensive external inputs is trapping Kenyan farmers in a cycle of dependency, and we must reclaim our self-sufficiency and protect our agricultural legacy.

 

Let’s take a trip down memory lane to the rich tapestry of Kenyan agriculture. In the past, our grandparents, with their hands deep in the soil, possessed an extraordinary wealth of knowledge. They understood which seeds flourished best in their fields, often exchanging them with neighbours to access the finest varieties. This was more than just farming—it was a vibrant tradition of community, resilience, and a treasure trove of biodiversity.

Fast forward to today. 

It feels like we’re watching a slow unravelling of this age-old wisdom that has sustained us for generations. The Seeds and Plant Varieties Act has been implemented in Kenya, gradually tightening its grip on seed systems. Reports from organisations like Greenpeace Africa and Minority Africa highlight a troubling reality: this legislation criminalises the sale, exchange, and even the barter of uncertified and unregistered seeds—practices once fundamental to rural agriculture. The implications are severe, with harsh penalties that include hefty fines and the threat of imprisonment for those who dare to uphold these traditional practices.

 

So lets chew on that for a short second… What does this mean for our connection to the land and to each other?

 

Sharing seeds is an age-old farming tradition passed down through generations, and is now being unjustly labelled as illicit. This shift in legal perspective is hitting smallholder farmers hard, particularly in Kenya, where they make up a significant portion of the agricultural community. These farmers often struggle to navigate the complicated and expensive labyrinth of seed certification—a system that fails to recognise the richness and variability of our indigenous seed varieties.

 

Indigenous seeds possess a unique advantage: they are naturally attuned to local climates and ecosystems, making them essential for sustainable food production and resilience, especially as we face the challenges of climate change. By restricting the use of these vital seeds, we not only jeopardise biodiversity but also undermine the very foundations of our food systems.

 

Experts warn that criminalising informal seed exchanges stifles access to a diverse range of seeds, paving the way for biopiracy and eroding plant genetic diversity. This, in turn, exacerbates food insecurity and diminishes our nutritional options. 

 

It's time to recognise the importance of seed sharing and defend the diverse agricultural practices that sustain our communities and our planet.

 

You might be curious about who stands to gain from the current situation that's putting everyday Kenyans at a disadvantage when it comes to access to wholesome, safe and culturally sound food pathways. Well, the answer often lies in following the money trail. Here come the international agribusiness corporations, stepping onto the stage with their eye-catching, patented seeds. These seeds, interestingly enough, often come with a catch—they tend to require specific fertilisers and pesticides that only they provide. 

 

In this story, these corporate giants take the lead, overshadowing the wonderful, resilient seed systems managed by local farmers. It’s a bit like the tale of David and Goliath, but in this version, Goliath seems to be pals and has access to the referee! These corporations push for ‘breeder rights’ and often overlook ‘farmer rights,’ turning what should be a shared resource and commons into private, patented property.

 

But it's not just about business for them—they excel at cosying up with government officials, enough to influence policies that favour their interests. Sadly, this often comes at the cost of many Kenyans who rely on the informal and small-scale agriculture sector for livelihoods and nourishment. 

 

The repercussions of this shift are extensive and fundamentally unjust. At the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic five years ago, it didn’t just spark a health crisis; it also laid bare and intensified the existing vulnerabilities within our food systems. Women farmers, who are crucial to the agriculture sector in Kenya and throughout the continent, were hit the hardest, facing heightened food insecurity, lost income due to restrictions, and a severe lack of social support. The pandemic further underscored the unfortunate dependence on imported staple foods. Take Tunisia, for instance—the restrictions highlighted their reliance on imported wheat, a legacy of colonial agricultural policies that undermined local production and food sovereignty. More recently, the ongoing conflict in Ukraine has disrupted one of their primary sources of wheat imports, jeopardising access to this essential grain. The decline in cultivating indigenous grains and wheat has meant that Tunisian farmers are missing out on the benefits of their genetic heritage, which is better suited to the local environment and more resilient against the challenges of drought, disease, and climate change that farmers continue to face. This serves as a potent reminder that giving up control of our food systems makes us susceptible to global upheavals and the unpredictable nature of international markets.

 

The transformation toward an industrialised and corporatised food system carries profound and far-reaching consequences, particularly for the most vulnerable among us. It's not just about seeds and chemicals; the struggle for land is equally crucial. As crises like droughts, violence, and climate change intensify, women, in particular, face mounting challenges in accessing and securing the land they need to cultivate their crops. Political turmoil and corruption further complicate matters, obstructing efforts to challenge the entrenched systems that leave small farmers in the lurch. It’s as if the very ground beneath our feet has become a battleground in the urgent fight for food justice. Our relationship with the land and food is not just a matter of survival; it’s a rallying call for change against a backdrop of inequality.

 

And let’s not overlook the impact of the digital divide. In a world that increasingly depends on online information and connectivity, the lack of internet access, especially for women in rural areas, deepens their marginalisation. This silence serves as a subtle yet profound form of exclusion, robbing those disadvantaged of accessing essential information, supportive networks, and avenues for advocacy in a world that grows more interconnected each day.

 

Although the challenges we face are daunting, courageous food justice activists across Kenya and the broader African continent are rising up with unwavering resistance, resilience, and a wealth of powerful solutions.

 

The promotion of agroecology and permaculture is increasingly recognised as essential for sustainable agriculture. These farming systems prioritise harmony with nature, focusing on soil health, biodiversity, and the utilisation of local resources. Not only do these approaches support environmental sustainability, but they also play a critical role in advancing food sovereignty and ensuring communities have access to safe, affordable, and organic food. 

 

Envisioning a future where agroecology is integrated into the Kenyan education system could make it as foundational as learning about equations of two unknowns and Kiswahili sanifu ngeli wa ‘ji-ma’ , as it would represent a significant shift towards sustainable practices in agriculture.

 

Additionally, it is imperative to enhance the technical and financial capacities of women small-scale farmers. These women are vital not only as producers but also as guardians of traditional knowledge and biodiversity. Their leadership and active participation in decision-making processes at all levels are essential. Prioritising women-led solutions is crucial, whether through innovative methods of food preservation or community-focused farming initiatives. Many practical solutions stem from traditional wisdom and the solidarity found within local communities.

 

There’s also a vital need for African feminist conversations on food justice and climate justice, recognising that these issues are intrinsically linked and disproportionately affect women. Challenging the entrenched, often neo-colonial, systems that devalue indigenous food systems and promote a neoliberal concept of food (hello, junk food!) is essential. It is important to understand how commodification has replaced the true meaning and relationship we have with food as Africans, which is a real sense of intimacy and a knowing where our food comes from, how it's produced, which makes conscious consumption a form of activism but also of honouring our interconnectedness.

 

It’s really important for us to support indigenous food systems and the farmers who rely on them. To make this happen, we need to tackle the challenges posed by big corporations in agriculture and pharmaceuticals. Let’s explore alternatives to the current capitalist model that often puts profits ahead of people and the environment. We can do this by encouraging local markets and food networks that promote bartering and exchanging goods, bringing back those wonderful traditions that ensured everyone has access to nourishing food. Together, we can make a positive difference!

 

The recent debate surrounding GMOs in Kenya exemplifies the ongoing struggle over our food future. In October 2022, the newly elected president took a bold step during his inauguration by lifting a decade-long ban on GMO foods, highlighting the urgent need to enhance food security in light of persistent drought conditions. However, this decision sparked considerable backlash and triggered a legal challenge. The Court of Appeal's subsequent suspension of the ban, pending a hearing on various appeals, including one from the Kenya Peasants League, underscores the contentious nature of this issue. Experts warn that prioritising GMOS while simultaneously outlawing the use of indigenous seeds poses a significant risk, as it threatens to undermine biodiversity and traditional farming practices.

 

Forcing farmers onto a treadmill of hybrid seeds jeopardises our precious food biodiversity and erodes our rich traditional food cultures.

 

The fight for food justice in Kenya, and throughout Africa, transcends what graces our supper plates; it embodies sovereignty, dignity, culture, and the health of our planet. It is about empowering our communities to choose what we eat, how it's grown, and who grows it, freeing ourselves from corporate control and restrictive laws.

 

It’s time for Kenyans to awaken their curiosity about food. Ask questions. Champion local, organic farmers. Discover indigenous seeds and the remarkable biodiversity they offer. Engage in meaningful conversations about food justice. Advocate for policies that uplift smallholder farmers and safeguard our environment.

 

The journey from soil to plate should not be mysterious, exploitative, and environmentally damaging. 

It should be a journey of transparency, fairness, and respect—respect for the land, respect for the farmers, and respect for the incredible edible heritage we are in danger of losing. 

 

The shamba is calling. Let’s answer it. Let’s fight for our right to good, clean, fair food grown in harmony with nature and shared with generosity, just as our ancestors intended.

 

The future of our plates and our planet depends on it.