KENYA: River Sio Taught Me Climate Change

After losing a schoolmate to the floods in River Sio, student Juliet Nekesa realized climate education is as vital as emergency shelters, and that understanding why disasters happen is the first step toward building resilience.

"Climate change is not an abstract topic in a textbook. It is the backdrop of our childhood."

I live in Esidende village in western Kenya, near River Sio, a winding waterway that begins in the Bungoma plains and stretches all the way to Lake Victoria, in Budalang'i.

For much of the year, the river is a calm presence, sustaining farmers with water for their crops and families with fish for their tables. But when the heavy rains arrive, it swells beyond its banks. Muddy waters spill into villages and farms, carrying away crops, damaging homes, and leaving families in fear of the next flood.

During these times, something unusual happens. Fish leap out of the overflowing waters, stranding themselves on flooded fields and along the riverbanks. Children dash to catch them, laughing as if it were a game. For a moment, the floods look like a gift from nature, delivering food straight to our hands.

But the truth is harsher. For the families whose homes are submerged, for the farmers whose crops are destroyed, and for children who miss school because of a broken bridge, the river's floods bring far more loss than gain.

As a child, I thought this was simply the river's nature. Elders spoke of floods as inevitable, and catching stranded fish seemed like a tradition as old as the river itself. But as I grew older, I noticed something different. The floods were becoming more frequent and more destructive.

People in Budalang'i spoke of how, in the past, River Sio only burst its banks once in many years. Now, heavy rains almost always mean flooding. Climate change has altered the rhythm of the river, and our community is living with the consequences.

At St. Cecilia Girls' High School, where I study, I often connect with schoolmates whose families also live along the banks of the River Sio or near its tributaries.

Their stories resonate with my own: flooded homes, lost harvests, or nights spent in evacuation centers.

For us, climate change is not an abstract topic in a textbook—it is the backdrop of our childhood.

Last year, the floods took an even heavier toll.

We lost a schoolmate to the rising waters.

Her absence still lingers in our classrooms, a painful reminder that the effects of climate change are not distant headlines; they are personal, immediate, and devastating.

This loss made me realize something important: that while global forces cause climate change, its impacts are carried by individuals, families, and communities like mine.

What troubles me most is that many still see these floods as ordinary misfortunes rather than part of a bigger pattern. Without understanding climate change, people attribute the destruction to fate or bad luck. But ignorance comes at a cost. If we do not recognize the problem, how can we prepare for it?

Climate education, I have come to realize, is just as vital as dikes, emergency shelters, or drainage canals.

Education gives us the power to see the floods not as isolated disasters, but as signs of a changing climate. It allows us to build the connection: the deforestation upstream that makes flooding worse, the rising global temperatures that disrupt rainfall patterns, and the need for adaptation strategies in our villages. With this knowledge, resilience becomes possible.

I have seen how even a little education on climate change makes a bigger difference in my community. When local organizations came to our area to talk about climate change, farmers began trying drought-resistant crops and improving drainage in their farms.

I shared lessons with our families, explaining why planting trees along the riverbanks could reduce soil erosion and flooding. Even small actions like understanding how to store food safely during floods helped protect households from hunger. Each new piece of knowledge became a tool, a shield against the river's growing unpredictability.

For me, the story of River Sio is more than a local tale. It's a reminder of how global problems reach into the daily lives of ordinary people. A river that starts in the Bungoma plains and ends in Lake Victoria is now a classroom where climate change teaches its harshest lessons. But if the river can teach us through destruction, we can teach each other through education.

Today, when I watch children chase fish during floods, I no longer see just a game. I see a message: The river is telling us that the balance between people and nature is shifting. Whether we treat that message as a warning or ignore it depends on how much we understand and how willing we are to act.

Climate change may feel overwhelming, but stories like that of River Sio remind me that resilience begins with knowledge.

If every child in my community learned not just to catch fish from floodwaters but to understand why those floods happen, and what we can do about them, we could turn vulnerability into strength.

Education is the bridge between fear and preparedness, between loss and resilience.

The river will continue to flow from Bungoma's plains to Lake Victoria. What changes is how we, the young people growing up along its banks and learning together in schools like St. Cecilia, respond.

We are not powerless.

With education, we can ensure the next generation does not inherit the floods, but instead acquire wisdom on how to prevent them.

STORY AWARDS

This story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.