Author: Eric Biegon

Every Kenyan wants access to food that is affordable, nutritious and safe. The country wants to feed the growing population. Increasingly, food-secure nations globally recognize that long-term food security depends not only on production, but also on food safety, healthy ecosystems, and resilient agricultural systems. As pesticide use continues to rise, concerns about the safety and sustainability of our food systems can no longer be ignored.

The proportion of Kenyans experiencing severe food insecurity in fact increased from 15% in 2016 to 28% in 2023, as highlighted in a CEJAD-Kenya policy brief on scaling up agroecology. Food Insecurity still persists, raising an important question: If increasing chemical inputs is not delivering food security, at what cost are we maintaining this model?

For decades, pesticides have been promoted as a necessary tool for protecting crops and increasing agricultural productivity. Many of these chemicals, however, are highly toxic. Farmers and farm workers are routinely exposed to acute poisoning, respiratory illnesses, skin disorders, neurological effects and long-term health risks, including cancer and reproductive complications. Repeated exposure, often without adequate protective equipment or training, compounds these dangers.

The threat does not end at the farm. Pesticide residues can remain on fruits and vegetables even after washing and cooking. While these measures may reduce residue levels, they cannot always eliminate them completely. This means that exposure extends beyond those applying the chemicals, to the communities consuming the food.

The environmental consequences are equally alarming. Picture a farmer walking through a healthy-looking field after spraying loads of pesticides. The pests appear controlled and the crops thriving. Yet beneath the surface, beneficial organisms that maintain soil fertility are being disrupted. Pollinators are declining, while pesticide runoff contaminates rivers, streams and water sources used by surrounding communities. We have seen farmers in parts of Ukambani reporting declining bee populations.

The damage often unfolds slowly. As soil health deteriorates, farmers become trapped in a cycle of increasing chemical dependence. Declining soil fertility can reduce productivity, encouraging greater pesticide use to maintain yields. Pests may also develop resistance, requiring stronger or more frequent applications. The farmers have to dig deeper into their pockets. What begins as a solution gradually becomes a costly dependency.

This is not just an environmental issue. It is a public health, food safety and economic issue that threatens the resilience of Kenya’s food systems.

Healthy soils store water, retain nutrients and support crops during periods of drought and climate stress. Pollinators contribute to the production of many fruits and vegetables, while natural predators help control pests without chemical interventions. When pesticides undermine these natural systems, agricultural resilience suffers.

Agroecological practices have demonstrated the potential to maintain productive yields. Practices such as crop diversification, intercropping, composting and protecting beneficial insects can help farmers maintain productive farms while reducing reliance on hazardous chemicals. By strengthening the ecological foundations of agriculture, these approaches support long-term food security. Agroecology is not merely an alternative farming approach; it is an investment in public health, environmental sustainability and resilient food systems.

This transition is particularly important for smallholder farmers, who produce a significant share of the food consumed across developing countries. Yet many remain dependent on pesticides due to factors like limited access to information on the viable alternatives and the perception that pesticide use is the only effective way to manage pests and safeguard yields. Governments, civil society organizations, researchers and development partners must therefore work together to support farmers in adopting safer and sustainable agricultural systems.

The responsibility, however, does not rest with farmers and policy makers alone. All of us have a role to play in shaping the food system we want. By supporting sustainably produced food and valuing farming practices that protect people and nature, consumers can help drive demand for safer alternatives. Many of the solutions are neither new nor expensive. From planting pest-repelling crops and enriching soils with organic compost to using natural pest-control preparations made from locally available materials such as chilli, garlic and neem, communities already possess knowledge that can reduce reliance on hazardous pesticides. The challenge is not a lack of alternatives, but ensuring that these solutions are supported, shared and scaled.

Across East Africa, there is growing recognition that the future of agriculture cannot be secured through continuously increasing dependence on pesticides. Recently, there has been the launch of an agroecology initiative to be implemented through collaboration between regional and international partners, under the Global Framework on Chemicals (GFC). The aim is to support more than 3,000 farmers in Kenya, Tanzania and Ethiopia to transition towards safer and more sustainable farming systems. In Kenya, the Centre for Environment Justice and Development (CEJAD) will lead implementation efforts, by utilizing methods like demonstration farms, and farmer trainings.

As we work towards achieving food security, the focus should not only be on producing more food but on producing food that is safe. A food system dependent on toxic pesticides puts farmers, farm workers, consumers and ecosystems at risk while failing to address the root causes of hunger and malnutrition. Kenya has an opportunity to lead by eliminating the Highly Hazardous Pesticides and supporting farming systems that nourish people without harming them. Food security begins on the farm.

The writer is a Communications and Outreach officer at the Centre for Environment Justice and Development (CEJAD)

There is a quiet migration that takes place every year.

No headlines. No farewell tours. No brass band.

Just a man packing his life into a few boxes and declaring, with the certainty of a returning king: “I am going home.”

Home.

A place he has not lived in for thirty years.

A place where his last official duty was fetching water as a boy.

Now he arrives with a suitcase, a pension, and urban habits that bewilder even the livestock.

The reality is plain: Visiting the village once a year for Christmas is not the same as living there.

Christmas is a festival.

Retirement is a full-time commitment.

They are fundamentally different environments.

During Christmas, one arrives as an honored guest. Livestock is prepared. Relatives emerge from all directions. One eats, laughs, and offers expert commentary on national affairs. Then one departs.

It is a powerful, but temporary, experience.

Remove the celebrations. Remove the audience. Remove the sense of occasion.

What remains is Tuesday.

And this is where the narrative changes.

The village has not been waiting.

It has continued to evolve, quietly and without external supervision.

The people you knew have aged. Some are gone. Others now hold positions of authority and may not regard you as significant. Even childhood nicknames have been reassigned.

You are not returning.

You are arriving.

For many, that arrival is complex.

Particularly for those who never went back. Not for holidays. Not for funerals. Not for any reason.

They built their entire existence in the city. Their networks, habits, and lifestyles are urban.

Then, one day, they relocate.

That is not retirement.

That is migration.

Suddenly, everything is unfamiliar.

The silence is profound. The nights are long. The community is close-knit. Everyone knows you, yet you know no one. Even the food requires adjustment.

In the city, you managed systems. Water flowed. Electricity functioned. Food was procured on schedule.

In the village, water has its own timing. Electricity is unpredictable. Food requires direct engagement with the land or market.

Then there is the matter of time.

In the city, you were occupied. Meetings. Traffic. Deadlines. Constant activity.

In the village, time expands. Morning becomes afternoon without notice. You sit. You stand. You sit again. You begin recalling matters long forgotten.

This is where many begin to decline. Not abruptly. Gradually.

Because retirement without structure is not rest. It is disorientation.

The body slows. The mind drifts. Purpose diminishes. And a man without purpose becomes vulnerable to ill health.

Minor ailments become significant. Significant ailments become permanent. Some do not endure long, not because the village is harsh, but because the transition was unprepared.

There is another category. They survive, but they are not content.

They live in constant comparison: “In the city, we used to…”

Indeed. In the city, there was also pressure, noise, and financial obligation. But memory is a selective narrator.

So they sit. Complaining. Regretting. Observing life as if they arrived late to their own story.

Some even struggle. Because pension is not infinite. Farming is not a hobby to commence at seventy without experience. The soil does not recognize former titles. Hunger does not respect past achievements. Illness does not negotiate with memories of success.

Therefore, the lesson is straightforward.

If you intend to return home one day, begin the process now.

Not for festivities. For ordinary days.

Go when nothing is happening. Sit. Listen to the silence. Allow it to unsettle you early.

Learn the rhythm before it becomes your only rhythm.

Cultivate relationships not dependent on your arrival with gifts. Understand how the community functions when you are not being celebrated.

Retirement is not the time to learn how to live. It is the time to continue a life you have already practiced.

Visit often. Stay longer. Become comfortable with stillness.

Let the village cease to be a destination and become familiar territory.

So that when the day comes to say, “I am going home,” you are not speculating.

You are returning to a place that knows you.

And, more importantly, to a place you understand.

The village is a good place. Peaceful. Grounded. Honest.

But only for the man who arrives prepared.

The unprepared spend their final years attempting to adjust to a life that never adjusted to them.

Col. (rtd) I.K.Guleid is aConsultant specialising in National Defence, Security, and Disaster Management.