* Any views expressed in this opinion piece are those of the author and not of Thomson Reuters Foundation.
By Waithera Kuria
The long-awaited rains have finally come. The clouds that were taunting me the last time I was here look like they finally reached a consensus to pour.
Indeed it pours, to at least cover the scorching sun, to cool the baking earth, to temporarily calm a distressed mother nature who has for the last three years unleashed her wrath on the animals, plants and overpowered their custodian, man.
Puddles have formed; the near-dead shrubs sprout to prove their resilience.
Grass is growing again and the herders gather at daybreak for their livestock to come and feast, and give a cupful of milk.
Behind the façade
The greenery goes beyond and into the horizon, an endless, beautiful scene; but the beauty is just a façade.
The pool of dirty water is incubating malaria-ridden mosquitoes, hiding in the shrubs by day and biting at night.
The dirty water seeps its way into the uncovered shallow wells leaving a trail of sick children.
A mother’s hope
Each day, children and desperate mothers are referred to our stabilisation centres to be treated.
As a new patient gets connected to the oxygen mask, another extremely dehydrated one is having her veins checked for a canula to restore lost fluids and we hope that it shall revive her mother’s hope that there’s a tomorrow.
Her mother silently prays that her little child will live to see another day.
A silent emergency
Just when I thought the drought was over, I am now staring at the silent face of the emergency.
I am the Information and Communications Coordinator for Save the Children's programme in Kenya. My work involves gathering information and case studies from our projects, and contributing to building impactful programmes. The tools of my trade include blogs, video and photography.
