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Hug a Tree, Solve a Problem

It is often said, somewhat mockingly, that if you have a problem you should go hug a tree. In Kenya, this advice is no longer metaphorical. It has become a national coping mechanism.

A woman from the drought-stricken lands of the North Eastern region recently hugged a tree for 24 hours to draw attention to the suffering of her people. Her message was simple: while hunger and drought ravage the region, their elected leaders remain comfortably domiciled in Nairobi, investing generously in apartments and mansions built with mysteriously vanishing county funds.

In the last ten years alone, Northeastern counties have received more than a trillion shillings in public funds. Yet hospitals resemble abandoned dispensaries, schools struggle to function, and infrastructure exists mainly in speeches during campaign rallies.

If accountability cannot be obtained through institutions, perhaps a tree will listen.

Elsewhere, Josphat Ndegwa donned sackcloth and hugged a tree for 52 hours to highlight the plight of the boy child and the growing crisis of youth depression. A fourteen-year-old boy, Stephen Gachanja, hugged a tree for 50 hours at Nairobi’s Jeevanjee Gardens to raise Sh3.5 million for his brother’s ear surgery. In his case, Kenyans responded with generosity, proving once again that ordinary citizens often succeed where systems fail.

The modern Kenyan tree-hugging movement, however, gained national attention thanks to 20-year-old Truphena Muthoni. She hugged a tree for 72 hours non-stop, breaking the Guinness World Record. Her protest targeted authorities who appear to be in a permanent competition to see how quickly forests can disappear. Trees are cut, forest land mysteriously changes ownership, hotels sprout in gazetted forests, and water catchment areas are treated like real estate opportunities.

Muthoni’s protest also highlighted something scientists already know: nature is good for mental health. Of course, this only works if the trees are still standing.

Standing upright while hugging a tree for days is no small feat, and casualties were inevitable. Pastor Jimmy Irungu of Murang’a attempted an ambitious 80-hour tree-hugging marathon to raise awareness about cancer. At the 79-hour mark he collapsed from exhaustion and dehydration and was rushed to hospital with kidney complications. Even the tree, one imagines, was relieved.

But Kenya being Kenya, the strangest tree-hugger had to appear eventually.

In Kitale, a father hugged a tree to protest his inability to pay school fees for his daughter. When the local MP heard about it, he sent him KSh 50,000 for the fees—a princely sum by rural standards. Unfortunately, the father complained it was too little compared to what the MP had allegedly given others.

This did not go down well with the villagers.

That evening they gathered to inspect the man who had rejected such generosity. Concerned that temporary madness might be involved, they administered what can only be described as a vigorous community “massage” to help him regain his senses.

The treatment worked.

The girl is now back in school, her fees paid. Her father, meanwhile, is recovering nicely from minor injuries sustained during the villagers’ enthusiastic therapy.

Somewhere in Kenya, another citizen with a grievance is probably looking for a suitable tree. Because in a country where institutions rarely listen, trees have become surprisingly reliable witnesses.

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