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Climate Change and Resilience: How Pastoralists Are adapting to Climate Shocks

Climate Change and Resilience: How Pastoralists Are adapting to Climate Shocks

Climate change is no longer just an environmental concern; it has become a psychological reality for pastoralists. The unpredictability of seasons, prolonged droughts, biodiversity loss, livestock losses, restricted mobility, and shifting grazing patterns are no longer occasional disruptions; they are part of everyday life. These pressures are shaping how pastoralists plan, adapt, and envision their future. At the same time, they are reinforcing the resilience of pastoralism, bringing to the forefront its strength as a dynamic and adaptive system in navigating an increasingly uncertain climate.

In 2022, the United Nations General Assembly declared 2026 as the International Year of Rangelands and Pastoralists (IYRP 2026), prompting a timely reflection: what does the future of pastoralism look like?

For decades, pastoralists have relied on their Indigenous knowledge systems to care for and protect their land. They steward vast rangelands across Africa, supporting millions of livelihoods. Pastoralists are not victims of climate change; they are solution-holders and key actors in rangeland stewardship, biodiversity conservation, and the advancement of resilient economies. They continue to manage rangelands through sustainable grazing, strategic mobility, and seasonal land-use planning. These efforts are supported by community-led weather forecasting and conservation practices, all rooted in traditional knowledge systems.

Pastoralist communities are devising ways of integrating their indigenous systems with the evolving world of modern sciences. One of the ways is through developing their own Bio-Cultural Protocols (BCPs) to document their Indigenous knowledge, customary rights, and stewardship of natural resources. These protocols enable the integration of Indigenous knowledge, cultural traditions, and spirituality into land management plans, policy influence, and intergenerational learning. They also support communities in responding to changing climatic conditions while sustainably managing their lands. Grounded in lived experience, BCPs ensure that pastoralists guide how they govern and manage their land.

In Northern Kenya, IMPACT Kenya, through projects such as the Inclusive Conservation Initiative (ICI), (https://impactkenya.org/community-knowledge-products/) supports communities in strengthening local stewardship and land management systems. This includes facilitating the development of BCPs and recognising customary governance institutions.

Building on this, communities are also developing Bio-Cultural Maps (BCMs) to define their territorial coverage and strengthen their climate resilience. Through these maps, they identify and document key resources such as grazing areas, migratory routes, wildlife corridors, water sources, and settlement areas. This helps them reduce conflicts over shared resources, particularly during periods of climate-induced scarcity. Their BCMs also support active ecosystem restoration efforts rooted in Indigenous knowledge developed over time.

For instance, communities are leading initiatives that aim to restore degraded lands by managing the number of livestock to be grazed, the period of leaving land undisturbed to recover, and determining the level of pasture to be left on the land after grazing.

Others have gone a notch higher by planting indigenous trees and perennial grasses that are resilient to drought, ensuring the soil remains productive and biodiversity is preserved. Furthermore, these maps show trends within the landscape and also serve as early warning systems, enabling communities to better plan for sustainable management practices during seasonal changes.

Community members from Sesia Community Land in Samburu County going through their Bio-Cultural Map that they created

Amid these shifting realities, a critical question emerges: how are pastoralists navigating these complexities and building resilience?

Across rangelands, resilience is taking on new forms. Pastoral communities are diversifying their livelihoods in practical and forward-looking ways, from adding value to livestock products and rearing adaptive breeds such as the Galla goat, to engaging in aloe vera farming, agroecology, beekeeping, and Village Savings and Loan Associations (VSLAs).

 

Restocking of drought resilient Galla Goats in Leparua, Burat Ward in Isiolo County

At the same time, pastoralists are exploring complementary income opportunities that support environmentally sustainable enterprises, reinforcing pastoralism as a viable and resilient livelihood system. The RASILIMALI Sacco (https://rasilimalisacco.org/) an initiative of IMPACT, supports the economic self-determination of pastoralists in Northern Kenya, an extension of a system that has always adapted. This self-determination is further reflected in Locally-Led Adaptation (LLA), where communities identify priorities, design projects, and take ownership of initiatives that strengthen resilience and build practical, hands-on capacity for the future.

Pastoralist communities in Northern Kenya, such as the Borana, Samburu, Maasai, and Rendille, have long relied on customary natural resource governance institutions, such as the Dheedha (Borana), Naapo (Samburu & Rendille), and Oloip (Maasai), led by traditionally elected elders who enforce community bylaws to regulate access to rangelands. These systems designate wet- and dry-season grazing areas, drought reserves, and rules of herd mobility, enabling structured pasture use and water access while fostering dialogue with neighbouring groups and mitigating the risks of drought and resource-based conflicts in the face of changing climatic conditions.

 

As the world looks toward the International Year of Rangelands and Pastoralists 2026, one thing is clear: pastoralism is not a system in decline, but one that continues to evolve. Supporting pastoralist communities means recognising their knowledge systems, strengthening their institutions, and investing in solutions that are already working on the ground.

The Carbon Question from the Grassroot Level

The Carbon Question from the Grassroot Level

Could carbon be the new “elephant in the room”, a global pursuit where everyone seeks a stake in, yet few are willing to confront the uncomfortable questions it leaves behind?

Carbon markets are rapidly gaining momentum, presenting economic, environmental, and social opportunities. But as this wave accelerates, a critical question remains: are the stewards of the land rightfully, meaningfully and equitably included? Are communities stakeholders, or merely beneficiaries on their own land and from their own sources of revenue?

A sentiment from the ground captures this tension vividly:

“Carbon ni ya wenye nguvu, ni ya wenye wanajua kupigana na wanaweza leta vurugu ndio wanyamazishwe na pesa, sisi wengine wote tunapewa mia mia kwa mikutano ya Free, Prior and Informed Consent (FPIC)”

Which translates to: “Carbon is for the powerful, for those who know how to fight and can cause chaos so they can be silenced with money. The rest of us are just given small token amounts during the Free, Prior and Informed Consent (FPIC) meetings.”

This reality raises deeper questions: Is the approach truly bottom-up, or is it still top-down in practice? And is FPIC a meaningful participatory process or sometimes reduced to a box-ticking exercise meant to arrive at a quick “yes” or “no”?

Ideally, Free, Prior and Informed Consent is not a procedural formality. It is a lived and ongoing process, one where communities receive information early, understand it fully, internalize it, and are able to give informed feedback without pressure, rush, or manipulation.

Amid the vast landscapes of Laikipia, these questions took centre stage. Community voices from Il Ngwesi, Lekurruki, Leparua, Nkutuk e Ngiron, and Naibunga Community Lands, including Murpusi, Il Polei, Munishoi, Nkiloriti, Musul, Kijabe, Tiamamut, Koija, and Il Motiok, gathered alongside diverse actors working at the intersection of land tenure rights, climate justice, conservation, and the equitable distribution of resources accruing from carbon credits for a grounded and timely dialogue.

Because to truly understand the promises and pitfalls of carbon initiatives, we must move beyond boardrooms and policy spaces into community landscapes, listening directly to those who live with, depend on, and protect these ecosystems. Much like in Maa tradition, where conversations held under a tree signify seriousness, openness, and collective reflection, this was no mere meeting but a pivotal convergence rooted in lived realities.

As carbon credits continue to gain traction globally, Kenya is emerging as a significant player, leveraging its rich ecosystems and expanding portfolio of climate initiatives. From landscape restoration to clean energy solutions, the opportunities are vast and promising.

However, as momentum builds, underlying concerns cannot be overlooked. Persistent questions around land ownership, fairness in benefit-sharing, access to information, and gaps in regulatory frameworks continue to shape how communities engage with these processes.

In the midst of this progress, a critical reflection remains: are these systems truly inclusive, and do they deliver meaningful value to the people on the ground?

A light moment emerged when a question was raised, what exactly is carbon? What is this “thing” that has attracted so much attention, investment, and global ambition?

It was at this point that a community member noted that it is difficult to meaningfully engage with something one does not fully understand. And in many ways, this brings us back to a fundamental concern: are communities truly aware of what carbon credits and carbon markets are, and what they mean for their land, livelihoods, and future?

A community member posed a question that strikes at the very heart of community sovereignty:

'If I rear a cow, nurturing it from birth until it reaches its prime, and then decide to sell it, who determines the price? The owner or the buyer?'

This is more than a matter of commerce; it is a trial of agency. If we permit the buyer to dictate the value of what we have bled to build, do we truly own the fruit of our labour? Or have we unknowingly become unpaid caretakers for a world that values our convenience more than our sacrifice?

We must confront the ultimate tension: who defines the worth of a life’s work—the soul who knows its history, or the stranger who only sees its end? This struggle for economic self-determination is not merely about the physical animal, but about the right of the producer to stand as a sovereign partner in the global market.

Perhaps it is this exact question that must guide the future of carbon markets. In this emerging economy, will communities be the ones setting the terms based on their ancestral stewardship, or will they merely be adapting to terms set by other actors? For sovereignty to be real, the “owner” of the land and its benefits must be the one who defines its value.