Songs, Stories, and the Rhythm of Life in Turkana

The past few days have been full in every sense. Full of encounters, impressions, and small moments that stay with you.

There is so much to take in. So many layers to this place, its people, and their way of life. One thing became clear very quickly: Kenyans love music, and not quietly.

We had already noticed it in the matatus in Nairobi, where music fills the bus and seems to move through your whole body. But here in Lodwar, it took on a new dimension. When we arrived at the parish of St. Michael, we were welcomed not just with smiles, but with music, loud, joyful, and full of energy.

The children had prepared something for us during their school holidays. There were dances, songs, even a small play. It felt like such an honour to be welcomed in this way.

They performed with such warmth and openness that it was impossible not to be moved.

They knew we had come from Switzerland, and Emmanuel asked them which continent we were from, Asia, Europe, or North America. Most guessed Asia. It was very sweet.

At the end, they gave us small bracelets and told us they would pray for us and for the children in Switzerland. A simple gesture, full of kindness.

That same spirit continued during Sunday Mass.

The service lasted around two and a half hours, which we are learning is quite normal here. But it did not feel long. There was singing, clapping, and dancing. The atmosphere was alive and joyful. Faith here is not quiet or reserved. It is expressed fully, with the whole body.

We also joined Father Denis for a special Mass for a group of teachers who had just completed further training. One sentence stayed with me:

“You are the ones shaping the future of these children, so let’s do justice to them.”

A powerful reminder of the responsibility teachers carry, and how important it is to recognise and value their work. Education shapes lives, and ultimately, the future.

Another custom we came to appreciate is that visitors are invited to stand up and introduce themselves. So there we were, introducing ourselves in different churches and parishes. I still need a bit of practice, but it is a lovely way of being seen and welcomed.

Beyond these moments, it is often the details of everyday life that stay with us.

The women of the Turkana region are strikingly beautiful, often wearing layered beaded necklaces that cover much of their neck. We first noticed them when we arrived in Lodwar, but now we see them everywhere, in town, along the roads, in church, and out in the countryside.

These necklaces are more than ornament. They reflect identity, status, and tradition. The colours and number of layers each tell their own story.

Another image that has stayed with me is the sight of people carrying water.

Every time we leave the compound of the diocese, we see people rolling or carrying large yellow containers. Some push them along the ground, others carry several at once, or load them onto bicycles. Children and adults alike are involved. It is clearly part of daily life.

A simple act, and yet it speaks volumes.

We also noticed the elders, men dressed in traditional cloth, sometimes wearing a hat. Those wearing hats, we were told, are often decision makers and leaders within the community. There is a quiet sense of respect surrounding them as they sit together and discuss important matters.

And then there is the land itself.

We had planned to visit the mission in Nariokotome, the mother house of the Missionary Community of St. Paul the Apostle. We hoped to learn more about their work in this remote region, and to see the place where the famous Turkana Boy was discovered, a nearly complete skeleton of a Homo erectus youth who lived around 1.5 million years ago.

When we first travelled towards Loropio, the land was dry and dusty. This time, nature had other plans.

In a place where rain is rare, it had rained.

Dry riverbeds came alive. Dusty roads turned to mud. What had felt familiar just days before shifted with every kilometre. We crossed newly formed streams, moving forward slowly.

At some point, it became clear we would not make it all the way.

We turned back. It was no longer possible to continue, and with the rain still falling, it felt unwise to risk not making it back safely.

And yet, it did not feel like a failure. It felt like an adventure.

The children were excited with every crossing and every unexpected turn. Sometimes, the journey itself becomes the story.

Perhaps that is something we are slowly learning here in Turkana. Plans shift. Roads disappear. The unexpected becomes part of the experience.

And beneath it all, something deeper keeps revealing itself. A quiet, steady commitment to people, especially to the most vulnerable.

What stays with us most is the work of the diocese here in Lodwar.

They run schools in remote areas, support vulnerable children and orphans, and reach out to children living on the streets, creating opportunities where there are few. They also provide food and nutrition support where it is needed most. Together with Mary’s Meals, they help ensure that many schoolchildren receive at least one daily meal.

It is not loud work. It does not seek the spotlight. But it holds so much of this place together.

A few glimpses of the diocesan farm

As we move through these days, meeting people, listening, observing, and learning, one feeling keeps returning:

Gratitude.

For the openness with which we are welcomed.

For the stories we are allowed to witness.

For the quiet moments in between.

And perhaps this is what will stay with us most: that even here, where life is not always easy, joy is not the exception.

It is part of the rhythm of life.