When the Forest Became a Name

To the young, it was just land. To the old, it was a living memory.

In Gitithia, the first and second generations once walked under the canopy of ancient trees, but the next generations grew up without the whispers of the past. To them, Lare was not a forest but just a name, a patch of land overgrown with shrubs, its history buried beneath the weight of time and forgetfulness.

The village elders, with eyes that had seen the world transform, often spoke in soft tones about the Lare Forest of old. They remembered a time when the forest was a living entity, its vastness stretching far beyond the imagination of the young. Trees, tall and mighty, reached for the sky, their leaves rustling with secrets known only to the wind and the animals that called the forest home.

Buffaloes, in their majestic herds, used to wander into the village at night. Their heavy hooves would shake the earth, a rumble that sent shivers down the spines of the villagers, especially those living on the outskirts of the forest, huddled in their beds. The villagers, unafraid, would take up icinga—long, one side burning woods—and chase the buffaloes back into the depths of the forest. Thuruai, elusive and cunning, would dart between the trees, while baboons, with their mischievous eyes, would venture close to the village, stealing crops like maize and causing chaos.

But those days are gone, as were the stories that gave life to the memories. The current generation, busy with their modern lives, have no time for tales of buffaloes and thuruai. They know nothing of Karera, a wooden structure that once stood tall like a sentinel at the edge of the forest. Karera was more than just a lookout; it was a symbol of the village’s connection to the forest. From its peak, one could see the entirety of Lare, a sea of green trees.

Karera stood where the Korean government now plants saplings in an effort to reforest the land. The reforestation project is hopeful, but it is nothing compared to the grandeur of the original forest. Where Karera once stood, there had been a forest station, a hub of activity where forest guards lived, ensuring that Lare remained untouched and sacred.

There were other stations too. One was at Gíthíyí (this is where the villagers fetched the water), where the road to Mai Mahiu wound its way through the landscape. Another was at Manyoni, a checkpoint for vehicles passing from Gitithia to connect with the main Mai Mahiu road. These stations were the guardians of the forest, standing vigilant against those who sought to harm it. Do not forget Ngûbí too.

But everything changed when Karera was destroyed. The day it fell, the forest’s fate was sealed. The station at Githiyi was dismantled, its guards relocated, and with it, the forest’s last line of defense crumbled. Wagitatha and Ndiang'ui, two of the oldest forest guards known by the villagers, tried in vain to stop the destruction. They pleaded with the villagers, reminded them of the forest’s importance, but their words fell on deaf ears.

The villagers, eager to profit from the forest, saw the forest not as a living entity but as a resource to be exploited. They began to harvest firewood, cutting down trees that had stood for centuries. Charcoal kilns dotted the landscape, filling the air with the acrid scent of burning wood. Cedar posts, once the pride of the forest, were cut down and sold, their sturdy trunks reduced to mere planks.

Lare was dying, and with it, a piece of Gitithia’s soul. The new generation would never know the forest as their ancestors did. They would never walk beneath its towering trees, hear the calls of the wild animals, or see the world from the top of Karera. The forest, once a thriving ecosystem, was now just a memory, a story told by the few who still remembered it.

But even as the forest faded, the elders held onto hope. They believed that one day, the new generation would realize what they had lost. That they would see the importance of the forest, not just as a resource, but as a vital part of their heritage. And perhaps, in that realization, they would find the strength to restore what had been taken, to bring life back to Lare, and to ensure that the stories of the past would not be forgotten.