At five in the morning, a group of us began our journey from Isiolo to Marsabit, a 260-kilometer stretch. The road is part of a major highway that runs from Egypt in the north all the way to South Africa. We chose to start early to avoid the intense heat that would soon rise over the Kenyan desert. Isiolo is less than 100 kilometers from Nanyuki, right on the equator line.
As we drove, the landscape was adorned with acacia trees, a typical feature of Kenya. The Senegalia mellifera, with its pods, leaves, flowers, and twigs, is highly favored by wildlife and livestock alike. We were lucky to spot a few giraffes feeding around the trees. As the name mellifera suggests, these acacias produce nectar-rich flowers, meaning “honey-bearing.” Along the way, we also encountered some ostriches and gazelles, which quickly darted back into the bush at the sound of our vehicle. The baboons, however, were far bolder, sitting by the roadside, hoping for food scraps from passing cars.
On one side of the road, the moon still shone in all its glory, while on the other, the horizon began to hint at dawn. The night’s darkness was slowly giving way to vibrant hues of yellow, orange, and red. Half an hour into the trip, we passed groups of children walking along the roadside on their way to school.
“Isn’t it too early?” I asked.
Alex, the Brother driving our car, didn’t think so. He explained that some schools, including ours, start as early as 6:30 AM, and many children live far away. At one point, we passed a little boy, maybe seven years old, walking alone. I found myself wondering: What goes through the mind of a seven- or eight-year-old walking by himself at this hour? Is he sad? happy? Is he going over his multiplication tables or some other lesson he had to memorize? Does he even notice he’s alone?
Br Carmel Duca MC
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