Governor Isaac Mutuma of Meru County has stirred considerable public discourse following his recent appeal to President William Ruto, requesting permission for locals to “milk elephants and giraffes.” While many have taken the governor’s statement literally — with reactions ranging from amusement to outrage — a more thoughtful and contextual reading reveals a deeper, symbolic message that deserves support rather than ridicule.
Governor Mutuma’s statement was not a call to domesticate or exploit wild animals in the literal sense. Rather, it was a powerful metaphor for a long-standing and deeply frustrating issue: the imbalance between the benefits and burdens of wildlife conservation in Kenya, particularly in regions like Meru where communities coexist uneasily with game parks and wildlife corridors.
Residents of Meru and similar regions suffer routinely from human-wildlife conflict. Elephants trample crops, giraffes consume farm vegetation, and dangerous encounters with wildlife often result in injury or death. These communities endure these hardships in the name of national and global conservation efforts. Yet, they rarely see any meaningful economic return from the very wildlife they protect — wildlife that draws billions in tourism revenue annually for Kenya.
When Mutuma said, “Allow us to milk elephants,” he was articulating a simple but urgent demand: Let communities benefit tangibly from the natural resources they help conserve. The imagery of milking, which in pastoralist and agricultural societies implies regular, sustainable livelihood, symbolically represents a desire to draw consistent value — not just costs — from wildlife.
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Kenya’s wildlife laws are stringent, and rightly so, as they aim to prevent poaching and ecological exploitation. However, they also create a paradox: while wildlife is a national treasure, the local people who live alongside it are legally barred from using it in any economically meaningful way. This has led to a sense of alienation, resentment, and at times, covert hostility toward conservation efforts.
Governor Mutuma’s appeal, therefore, should be seen as a call for intelligent, community-centered policy reform. His statement is not an attack on wildlife protection; it is a plea for its democratization. He is asking, in essence: can conservation coexist with local economic empowerment?
There are precedents for such thinking. Community-based conservation (CBC) models in parts of Namibia and Botswana allow local communities to directly benefit from wildlife through regulated eco-tourism, legal game meat harvesting, and controlled resource use. These programs have not only improved livelihoods but also strengthened conservation outcomes by making local communities stakeholders in the survival of wildlife.
Mutuma’s vision aligns with such models. His metaphor may have been provocative, but its intention is serious — to shift conservation from a purely state-driven, externally funded enterprise to one in which locals have ownership and incentive to protect what they profit from.
That Governor Mutuma’s message was met with laughter or sensationalism underscores a worrying disconnect in Kenyan political and civic discourse. Too often, we are quick to dismiss metaphorical or provocative language without probing its meaning or context. In African orature, symbolism is a traditional and potent rhetorical tool. Elders do not always speak plainly — they speak profoundly.
By ridiculing the governor’s statement, we miss a chance to have a real conversation about equity in conservation. We overlook the pain of smallholder farmers who lose entire seasons’ harvests to elephants. We silence the communities that have been asked to sacrifice their safety, their food security, and their land access for a conservation model that sees them as passive observers rather than active beneficiaries.
Supporting Governor Mutuma’s deeper message means advocating for a more inclusive conservation framework. It involves:
- Reviewing wildlife compensation policies to ensure timely, fair, and comprehensive support for affected families.
- Expanding community conservation areas where locals can derive revenue from wildlife through tourism, crafts, and sustainable product harvesting.
- Investing in local eco-enterprises such as beekeeping, guided wildlife experiences, and cultural tourism that tie community welfare to environmental stewardship.
- Exploring research-driven innovations in sustainable resource use – for example, elephant dung paper, or regulated wildlife milk research (as is being explored in countries like South Africa with elephant milk studies).
None of these ideas violate conservation ethics. On the contrary, they enhance it by rooting environmentalism in local legitimacy and support.
Governor Isaac Mutuma’s words may have been unusual, but the problem he addressed is very real. The laughter his comment sparked should now give way to listening, and the misunderstanding to meaningful dialogue. Instead of focusing on the literal impossibility of milking elephants, we should ask ourselves a more important question: How long will the people who live with Kenya’s wildlife continue to suffer without sharing in its value?
Mutuma’s statement is a bold metaphor that calls for justice — environmental, economic, and social. He deserves not mockery, but support, for daring to raise a question that many leaders fear to ask. It is time we take the metaphor seriously, if not literally.
Ashford Gikunda teaches English and Literature in Gatundu North Sub County.
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