Kenya Drought Over 23 million people across East Africa are facing critical shortages of food and water. As Oxfam launches its East Africa Food Crisis appeal, Alun McDonald visits one of the areas worst affected.

"At this time of year, all this land should be grazing fields and pasture, and full of thousands of animals." Dida Najelino waves his hand towards miles of rocky, barren desert, stretching as far as the horizon. "But now look at it. There hasn't been a drop of rain here, and there's nothing for livestock to eat."

The land is dry and hard, as we drive along a road lined by bare acacia trees, the leaves long fallen. Even camels - the hardiest of animals - are rarely seen. We drive past a water pan, a vast emergency reservoir for when times get desperate. It is completely dry.

I'm visiting Turkana with Dida and David Napereng, two local Oxfam staff, to see some of the areas affected by East Africa's worst food crisis in a decade. Turkana, one of Kenya's largest and driest districts, has suffered increasingly frequent droughts, and people here are feeling the impact of a third successive year of poor rains.

We head for Lake Turkana, the largest desert lake in the world, over 50kms wide. But David tells me that its water levels are receding. "Ten years ago this was the edge of the lake," he says, as we drive over dry sand a few hundred metres from the current shoreline. "Every year the lake gets a bit smaller." Local communities say the droughts and changing climate mean tributary rivers are now bringing less water to the lake.

At the shore we find Paul Erot, a local fisherman unloading his morning's catch. The lake's tilapia and Nile perch are considered delicacies and exported across Kenya, bringing valuable income to Turkana's lakeside villages. But Paul tells us the drought is having a devastating impact on small-scale fishermen like him:

"There are now much fewer fish than before. When it rains, freshwater streams enter the lake and you can catch lots of fish close to the shore. But when the rains fail, the streams dry up and the lake gets very salty, especially near the edges. The fish prefer the freshwater, so they all stay far away in the centre of the lake. To catch them requires big boats, but with no fish to sell these ones are all we can afford..." 

He gestures towards some flimsy looking, small wooden boats. With the fierce winds at the lake's centre, there is little chance these would survive. "My family depends on me catching enough fish to eat and sell. If this drought continues I don't know what we will do," says Paul.

As we drive on, the road quickly deteriorates. It was tarmac when we left Lodwar - the district capital - but now it's just a bumpy dirt track. This part of Kenya has suffered decades of neglect from successive governments, and it remains one of the poorest and least developed regions of the country. Our staff tell me that over 90% of the population here fall below Kenya's national poverty line.

The landscape gets drier and harsher, small rocky mountains jutting up from the desert. Tiny huts made from the bark of trees line both sides of the road. "These are new settlements," Dida explains. "The families are desperate for food. They usually live far away, but they've moved closer to the road so that they can be near to any emergency aid that comes."

As the sun begins to set, we drive several miles along the parched bed of what Dida tells me is supposed to be the seasonal Lokitaung River. I ask him when it last flowed. Spring of 2006, more than three years ago. "It hasn't rained much since," he says.

Our base for the night is the small town of Lokitaung. With no electricity, there's not much to do here after dark except eat, drink and talk under thousands of stars. The problem of rising food prices comes up repeatedly - in some parts of Turkana, the cost of staple foods such as maize has tripled as the drought has worsened, pushing even basic food beyond the reach of many people.

Margaret Lokoel runs the ‘Up-Country Hotel', cooking up plates of tinned tuna, beans and meat stew for visitors, washed down with mugs of hot milky tea and warm beer over a few wooden tables. She's built up the business herself to help support her six children, but she is worried for the future.

"I fear my restaurant will soon close because of the drought. Customers have no money as their animals are dying. Goods are getting more expensive for me to buy. In Lodwar, half a kilo of potatoes costs 10 shillings (about 8p) but here in Lokitaung the same amount costs me 35 shillings. It's the same with tomatoes and sugar and other essentials. There is no food to buy here - tins have to be trucked in from other cities and I can barely afford it. All my profits from this business go to feed my children - we can't afford for it to close down." 

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