Wild life | 4 May 2017

Laikipia, Kenya

On my way home to the ranch, I stopped for a beer with my neighbour Martin. It was twilight and large herds of cattle were being brought into the yards around Martin’s house for the night. Pokot militias had been attacking for days, trying to rustle cattle and shooting at anybody in sight. Gunmen had a few days before shot Athaju Eloto, one of Martin’s farm workers. Doctors extracted a bullet from near Eloto’s spine but he later died. The bandits had also killed a police officer on the farm during operations to remove the attackers. In a nearby village full of smallholders, Pokot attackers had murdered a policeman and taken two others hostage; their bodies were later discovered burned and stripped of weapons and uniforms. After sunset, smoke rose from herders’ fires and Martin’s cows were chewing the cud. I asked, ‘Can I have a bed?’ Martin popped open more Tuskers as his sons Warren and Matt came and sat down after the work of the day. The radio crackled to life with urgent voices. ‘Duncan’s been shot,’ said Warren. Martin’s boys kitted up and took off. ‘We had better follow,’ said Martin. Darkness had fallen and our two vehicles made their way up a hill behind the farmstead. A voice on the radio that I realised was Duncan’s pleaded for us to hurry. As we drove, I cursed myself for forgetting the trauma medical pack I kept in my car, but it was too late now. Under a moonless sky, we arrived on a flat plain and came upon a group of farmhouses near the farm cattle dip. The boys pulled Duncan out of his house and by now he was groaning but still able to speak. He said that he, together with his team of three others, had seen the gang of gunmen striding towards them at dusk.