Samuel's Letter 

Dear Isiolo,

I know this letter does not find you well. I visited you and saw for myself the weight of your struggles. I heard the sound of your cries and the deafening silence of those who took an oath to protect you. I witnessed the harsh reality of corruption, where its victims bear the brunt while those responsible remain untouched. Most profoundly, I felt your pain as if it were my own.

Isiolo, I am writing this letter to you to inform you that I have come to understand you. It is clear that you are far removed from the formal system, and sadly, it is not by your own doing. Your people do not understand the frameworks meant to protect them, yet it is the same thing that they are forced to seek refuge from. Worse still, it is those who are meant to protect you that are enabling your suffering. 

Isiolo, I know there are cracks within your communities through which some light seeps in. Yet, this light is faint and cannot reach all of you. Your youth, having grasped fragments of education, step forward with hope, trying to guide your communities through a system they barely understand. But as they push forward, they find themselves overwhelmed, and the same darkness that has long engulfed their elders begins to creep back in, pulling them into its shadow.

I know your traditions, rich and enduring, have been your guiding light for generations. These traditions, so dear to your heart, have anchored you through trials and triumphs. Yet the formal system sees them differently. During my visit, I realized how little your people know of this unfamiliar formal system, and how much it alienates what you hold sacred.

I saw your people weep, not just for the loss of life but for the injustices that followed. When a life is taken, this system responds with confinement. They cry because this leaves their bereaved without breadwinners and able workers, exacerbating their already difficult situations. Your cherished traditions, however, propose compensation better known as ‘pole’, as a more fitting resolution. This compensation acts to restore peace and stability after a major fallout among your people, but this system rejects it. This is but one example of the chasm that separates your way of life from imposed frameworks.

Your traditions are judged and tested for their viability by standards that create chaos where they intend order. What has long worked for your people is shunned and what is imposed on them is not taught to them. During my visit, your people also came to learn that not knowing cannot be their defence when they find themselves at odds within the system. So, the darkness lingers.

Your chiefs, chosen from among you and deeply rooted in your traditions, face a heartbreaking dilemma. They wonder if they should enforce what the system prescribes and risk being ostracized by their own, or if they should respect the traditions and risk being at odds with this system.

Isiolo, your people cannot live in limbo. Your cries for justice and dignity deserve to be heard. So, I write this letter to tell you that I will let the others know of your plight. I will speak of your pain to those who hold the keys to change. I will remind them of the oath they took and the promises they made. I will carry your traditions and struggles into the spaces where laws are made, and systems are reformed. Your light may be faint now, but it must grow brighter. Isiolo, your cries will not remain unheard, and your people will not remain unseen.

Yours sincerely,

Samuel Baraka