Today I’ve been thinking about the power of rural youth; a power that the world talks about, but rarely invests in. In villages like mine, young people carry deep knowledge of the land, livestock, water patterns, wildlife movement, and community dynamics. They grow up understanding climate change long before it becomes a headline. They know the struggles families face during drought, the sacrifices made to protect cattle, and the cultural values that hold our communities toge

I speak as a child of the savannah, a daughter of wide horizons and red soil. Long before the world gave us names like indigenous, the earth already knew who we were. It whispered our name through the wind, carried it across plains, and echoed it in the footsteps of cattle. My grandmother would sit by the fire, her shuka glowing like sunset, and say, “Listen carefully, child. The earth speaks. But only those who walk gently can hear her.” And so we learned to walk gently. We

By Benson Sinkoi I was born about twenty-two years ago in the dusty plains of Amboseli, in Southern Kenya—a place where the horizon meets the mountains and where culture breathes through every sunrise. To be born Maasai is to be born into rhythm, responsibility, and reverence. Our land is not just where we live; it is who we are. From my earliest memories, I belonged to a community deeply rooted in orkuak, the guiding force of Maasai cultural identity. In our worldview, tradi

I rise before dawn, when the world is still wrapped in silence and the sky holds its breath. The air is cold on my skin, but a quiet fire warms me from within the fire of my mother, and her mother before her, passed down like a sacred flame. I step out of my manyatta, and the earth greets me with its deep red memory. I walk barefoot, feeling the heartbeat of the land pulsing through my feet. This is home. This is where my spirit learned its first song. My day is woven like be