Tribesman looking at the landscape of Kenya. Picture credit: GoodFreePhotos
Patrick Kilonzo Mwalua thinks of fertile green pastures while connected to a machine that cleanses his failing kidneys. Once finished, he gets out of the hospital bed to carefully fill a bottle by keeping it steady under a tap – making sure not a single drop is wasted.
Mwalua finishes his treatment drained, but continues toward his large carrier truck that is attached to a tank filled with over 3,000 litres of water. He climbs into the driver’s seat and heads 50 km west from the hospital in Koi to the Lumo Community Wildlife Sanctuary in Eastern Kenya. As he passes through the entrance and into Tsavo West, Kenya’s second largest national park which is about the size of Cyprus, a herd of antelope begins to follow. The sound of each gravel rock crushed alerts a new animal to trail Mwalua’s path.
By the time the truck comes to a halt, dozens of elephants, lions, zebras and antelopes are in sight. The gathering is peaceful - on neutral territory during a war of survival where both predators and prey ignore their instincts to attack in anticipation of something greater. Mwalua parks and releases all the water into a vast concrete trough, like a bird bath for dinosaurs, that he designed and built. He watches intently as the thirsty animals begin to guzzle the water, as if their lives depended on it.
He watches intently as the thirsty animals begin to guzzle the water, as if their lives depended on it
When the tank is empty, Mwalua notices a familiar face from a previous water run. An elephant, only recognisable by a tear on her left ear. She glances at Mwalua. The captive gaze is unafraid and appreciative, suggesting her silent prayers were answered.
In December 2016, Mwalua witnessed a buffalo desperately searching the arid ground for moisture. From the animal’s suffering emerged his passion to be the intermediary between mother nature and wild animals. The arrangement is simple; he provides them with water when there is no rain. “A lot of people criticize me for getting these animals used to my water,” says Mwalua passionately from his home. Before he started delivering water to Kenya’s wildlife, Mwalua was a pea farmer. He watched as animals were forced to leave their natural habitats and raid villages for water and food, often being killed by frightened people trying to protect their families. “We caused this drought,” he says.
Over the years as human production continues to affect climate and weather patterns, his desire to protect animals intensifies. In 2009, over 40 percent of the wildlife in Tsavo West died from drought. Historically, this region of Eastern Kenya experiences low rain cycles every 10 to 15 years. Yet, lately Mwalua says the area is drier than ever. During droughts, much of the wildlife population dies because the normal cycle of food distribution ceases, leaving only the fittest of animals to survive with little nourishment. He feels that because humans are causing droughts, that it is our duty to, in turn, supply the ‘innocent animals’ with water.
Over the years as human production continues to affect climate and weather patterns, Patrick's desire to protect animals intensifies
Toward the end of 2016, Mwalua left his job as a farmer to work for Kenya’s Wildlife Service. With the help of some volunteers, he rented a carrier truck and began delivering thousands of litres of water to Tsavo West, three times a day - in total each round trip was 100 km. At first, the animals were frightened by a bright blue truck bustling through the tranquil wilderness. But in a matter of seconds, “the animals were drinking right from the tap,” cries Mwalua with laughter that quickly turns into panting. He stops to catch his breath.
As a kid on his father’s farm, he tended cattle and often saw antelopes run past his kitchen window. “I connected with animals at an early age,” he utters recalling his childhood. “It was easy for me to ask my neighbours for some water, but an animal can’t do that,” he says. He uses this analogy frequently because it perfectly describes his mantra. No one is going to help these animals if not Mwalua.
He is not alone on the quest to save these animals from the fate that lies before them. Two American activists, Cher Callaway and Tami Calliope, raised over $400,000 to help him buy more water trucks, create new concrete troughs and support other creative conservation projects. His ‘story’, as he likes to call it, is getting mass media attention through a video he posted to a crowdfunding page that garnered over 60 million views. This is helping assuage some of the monetary burdens that comes with being so charitable. With donors’ investments, he is currently working on creating a system that uses gravity to pull water from the nearby Mzima springs to refill the many troughs around the park, eliminating the need for daily truck runs.
Mwalua’s success is contradicted by his diminishing health. Four years ago, he was diagnosed with kidney failure and goes twice a week to hospital for dialysis. With an audible grin, he softens the status of his kidneys by saying “health challenges are normal for everyone.” But, Mwalua is aware that his days driving to quench the thirst of these animals are numbered if he does not receive a kidney transplant. He created Tsavo Volunteers, a program that educates students from Lakita and Mwashoti Primary Schools on the importance of wildlife conservation and environmental sustainability. While Mwalua’s kidneys are cleansing, his students are learning to purify humanities wrongdoings by giving back to Kenya’s wildlife.
On a subsequent drive to one of the troughs, Mwalua is again greeted by a grateful crowd. His personal connection with the Kenyan wildlife pushes him to get up every morning and assume the role of God for these destitute animals. Speaking to Mwalua is like speaking to a passionate musician about playing live in concert. There is nothing that will stop him from providing his gift to those he loves. He coughs softly and announces, “I’ll be doing this as long as I live.”
Noah Eckstein