Kitui

Driving through southern Kenya, Uganda’s green expanse of banana trees and dark red soil is replaced by sparse fields, home to the occasional baobab tree, whose twisted arms reach up to the scorching sun. Here, the dirt is thirsty, khaki colored.

Kitui, is one of the most arid regions in Kenya. Locals told me it hasn’t rained since April. Some claimed that a few drops came down in July.

I was able to spend a week in Kenya, visiting a dear friend, Father Joe. We traveled from Nairobi, across Kenya, to his parish, and later to his childhood home in Mwingi, and to Tsavo, a huge wildlife reserve.

As we’re driving I ask Father Joe to stop, I need to stand on the ground, so I can understand what I’m seeing in a way that’s only possible when your feet are on the earth. “You are so lucky to live in this beautiful place” I say over and over. “It is very dry” he replies, over and over.

Some people say that beauty is painful. Though I suspect they’re more often talking about dieting or cosmetic surgery than the Chyulu Mountains, as I look out at those dry mountains, terraced by farmers in a feeble attempt to support their families, as we drive over bridges that cross dusty river beds, I see so much beauty; so much pain.