Afforestation: Charcoal is the color of hope

Kenya should become greener. But why bother digging holes for seedlings when there is an easier solution? Throwing seedballs, for example - it's worth a try.

Chapter:

afforestation

More green

Charcoal black is the color of hope

Text by SONJA KASTILAN

Photos by FRANK RÖTH

September 30, 2022 · Kenya is to become greener.

But why bother digging holes for seedlings when there is an easier solution?

Throwing seedballs, for example - it's worth a try.

he red earth is parched, making it easy for the wind.

The chain of Chyulu Hills can be seen in the distance, and right in front of our eyes a motorcycle is trailing a long cloud of dust, plowing a new track into the savannah.

We are standing in the middle of a large pasture, bordered by a wall of thorny branches.

At first glance there is no difference between indoors and outdoors until Maasai Joyce Simitia leads us to the acacias she planted about two years ago.

Outside the fence, the chances of these ever growing would be relatively slim, as goats are only too happy to pounce on them while their own dairy cows avoid the defensive greens.

She wishes for more trees, appreciates their usefulness in many ways, so she keeps throwing seedballs,

The Maasai Joyce Simitia grows acacia from seed balls on her pasture, here young plants are protected from goats.

"You throw and forget, you don't have to worry because a shell of coal dust protects the seed from birds and rodents," explains Rachael Mwikali Munyao, who accompanies us and translates into English.

The nurse is in her early 50s and runs a self-governing Maasai health center nearby, which Joyce Simitia sells milk to, among other things, and where she helps out with simple tasks.

The dairy farmer and mother of three had to sell some cows because she needed money to finance her children's education;

among her fellow tribesmen she is now considered poor.

The Maasai are passionate herders who keep cattle and drive large herds of goats through the arid landscape.

Merrueshi is nevertheless a progressive Maasai village.

There are schools, promotion of women,

a tourist camp and said health center for the medical care of around 5000 Maasai living in the area.

“Mothers often walk for miles to come to us for a check-up or, for example, to have their children vaccinated,” says Mwikali.

Rachael Mwikali Munyao is a nurse and committed to environmental protection.

We left Nairobi at 6:30 am to first drive southeast on the expressway to Mombasa.

At the level of the town of Emali, we headed towards the border, Tanzania - and Kilimanjaro.

The almost 6000 meter high mountain giant actually showed itself to us for a brief moment, but its snow cap soon disappeared again into the clouds.

A cement factory marks the turnoff to our destination, which we reached around 10 a.m.

The typical street scene here includes heavily loaded trucks as well as zebras, ostriches or giraffes, which can be observed performing daring manoeuvres.

And it seems that people prefer to press the horn rather than the brakes.

At least Rachael Mwikali Munyao's efforts are bearing fruit, because she planted a garden around the "Merrueshi Health Center".

At least that's the label that sums up the useful perennials and trees, including mango and neem, which she's planted alongside the older acacias over the years.

The busy nurse not only stays on the ball in her field, is constantly educating herself, but is also active with the "Kibwezi Well Wishers".

This regional non-profit organization is committed to health, education and nature conservation, so at some point Mwikali became aware of the "Seedballs Kenya" campaign via Facebook and contacted Teddy Kinyanjui, one of the two founders, to share the seeds in the protective coal dust coat.

Since then she has been able to regularly look forward to donations in the form of seed balls, for which she thanks her with photos of the planting or throwing activities.

“We don't have very many trees in this region because of the goats that just bare everything.

Goats and trees - they just don't go well together.

Trees would be important here, among other things as protection from the strong easterly winds.”

With thorny twigs, Joyce Simitia closes the gate in the willow fence, for which acacia trees traditionally provide the building material.

With a cement factory, truck and giraffe, this is a typical street scene.

In the end, the animal made it safely across.

Meager.

Not only this area, but the whole country would benefit from more greenery, Mwikali is not the only one who is convinced of that.

But the native acacia species, which root more deeply and are therefore better at surviving drought, are highly sought after as sources of wood for making charcoal.

Kenya's population has more than doubled in the last thirty years, lifestyles are changing and the need for fuel is increasing.

Acacia charcoal is popular not only among professional chefs: its fire burns hot, with a pleasant aroma, and there is not much ash.

It is estimated that half a kilo of charcoal is consumed per person in an urban environment – per day.

What that means for the capital Nairobi alone with its more than five million inhabitants can be quickly extrapolated.

But what happens

when more acacias are cut down than are replanted, especially in dry areas?

Who provides a replacement?

Teddy Kinyanjui co-founded the Seedballs Kenya initiative in 2016.

"This question was already on my father's mind in the early 2000s.

We asked ministries and authorities for an answer and were sent from one to the other.

There were plantations for fast-growing alien species such as pines and eucalyptus, and they grew in rows in monocultures.

Back then, however, there was hardly any interest in growing indigenous tree species,” Teddy Kinyanjui tells us when we visit him in Nairobi on the factory premises where the “Seedballs Kenya” are produced.

Not only does he continue the business of his late father, which is based on trading in energy-saving ovens, grill stations and stoves, all fired with charcoal, of course.

But also his legacy by taking care of tree replacements on a large scale, in marble format.

Coal dust covers the seed of an African acacia species.
This protects it from being eaten until the next rain falls.
The core of an Olea africana is now exposed again, noticeably smaller than that of a European olive.
The seed balls are equipped with the seeds of African trees and grasses, the spectrum now includes 18 species.

What once began as a sweaty process of digging holes for new seedlings with a shovel, which are relatively expensive and are grown and sold individually in plastic bags, can now be done by airplanes, drones or even children with a slingshot.

Or you can simply throw the seed balls out into the open with your hand.

In order to distribute the seedballs in the country, which has officially set itself the goal of having ten percent of its area covered with forest by 2030 – from the current 7.2 percent – Kinyanjui is working with a wide variety of organizations and international sponsors .

For example, he gives experienced safari guides, hiking or cycling groups the appropriate tree seeds for an area, but he also uses every opportunity himself and documents the GPS data:

Teddy Kinyanjui gets the seeds in sacks from the Kenya Forestry Research Institute, KEFRI for short, a state research institute that pays attention to regional varieties.

A test series is also set up for each order, but the germination of tree seeds can take a long time, months or even years.

His tests are not strictly scientific, but after years of empiricism, Kinyanjui now assumes that ten to twelve percent of the seed balls grow into trees in the wild.

"On a farm where you can care more and protect the seedlings, it might be forty to fifty percent, depending on the species.

Some species thrive and grow so quickly that we assume a yield of around seventy percent.”

Waste recycling: Coal dust and smaller fragments are mechanically pressed into briquettes.
Freshly formed, the egg coals are laid out to dry.
The seed balls also need to dry in the sun for a while.

In order to give plant seeds a protective cover and to produce seed balls in large numbers, a few tricks are required.

"We first tried it by hand: Half a kilo a day wasn't that much," says Kinyanjui.

An old business partner of his father came up with the idea of the coal dust, which accumulates in large quantities in Kenya. In 2016, he and Teddy founded “Seedballs Kenya”. For years, Elsen Karstad has had coal residues and dust collected and pressed out of the Waste material practical briquettes that can easily be sold to chicken farmers, for example, who use them to heat furnaces in their pens.

While we are talking in the factory courtyard, the loud rattling of the machines that the workers are filling with fragments can be heard coming from the hall.

Specialists from the "Kenya Flying Labs" demonstrate the converted transport drone to forestry scientist Jane Wangu Njuguna from the state institute KEFRI.

The drone can be loaded with seven kilograms of seed balls.

The flying seed drill manages 0.8 hectares in fifteen flight minutes.

Fresh seedballs are also spread out on towels in the sun.

Teddy Kinyanjui grabs one and opens it to show us the core: an

Olea africana seed

, which is significantly smaller than that of a European olive.

“On the one hand, the shell of coal dust protects the seed from birds, ground squirrels, mice and other animals until the next rainy season.

On the other hand, when it breaks down, it can still store moisture and thus promote germination.” The seed balls are now produced mechanically, and each converted pressing machine can produce around half a tonne a day.

The founders started with eight species of trees, and in the meantime they have expanded the spectrum to include plants for the African highlands, but several acacias still lead the field.

“The focus is on trees, but we are also experimenting with grasses and have just made the first seedballs containing seeds from three species.

The grasses are intended to stop soil erosion and at the same time serve as animal feed.

"I'm actually in the barbecue business, so with good grass I promote that too via the cattle," jokes the 38-year-old.

With his uncomplicated, open nature, Teddy Kinyanjui finds it easy to convince people of the benefits of seedballs. Numerous media, influencers and television stations such as the British BBC have already taken up the cause and reported on his campaigns.

His latest coup: he was able to win over the "Kenyan Flying Labs" with their specially trained pilots for a drone project: A flying load carrier was converted into a seed drill - a drone in the service of reforestation.

During a flight demonstration, to which we were invited along with other press representatives, not everything went smoothly,

but if it works, as in other tests, the drone can be loaded with seven kilos, which it distributes in no time.

One battery charge gives you fifteen minutes of flight, in which 0.8 hectares can be recorded - and planted with the help of the seed balls.

The density can be influenced by the throwing frequency, and the advantages of sowing tree seeds in areas that are difficult to access are quickly apparent.

A box of seedballs is a practical gift for guests or visitors to an event.

More than 26.3 million seedballs have been distributed over the past six years, and although only 10 percent of the seeds have germinated, a few million more trees are now growing in Kenya.

The whole world can participate in the forest through donations, and the generous donors include, for example, the company Bolt and the French company OCB, which uses the high-quality gum from

Acacia Senegal for cigarette paper

uses.

A ton – packed in 25 kilo units – costs 5,000 US dollars;

a ten-kilo sack can be had for $65, and the approximately 4,500 seed balls inside are likely to find buyers without a problem.

For example Rachael Mwikali Munyao, who had enough ideas and is now organizing the collection of tree seeds herself: mothers should be able to earn something like this.

When we have a late lunch in Merrueshi, everyone gets the same thing: Ugali corn porridge for a spicy stew.

"One goat down," laughs Mwikali: one goat down.

Trees are more important to her.

Next chapter:

Gardening with the slingshot

Naila Daudkhan uses a slingshot to sling seed balls to the other bank and hopes that the seed will sprout there: more trees are supposed to grow in her neighbourhood.

Gardening with the slingshot

Text by SONJA KASTILAN

Photos by FRANK RÖTH

Naila Daudkhan uses a slingshot to sling seed balls to the other bank and hopes that the seed will sprout there: more trees are supposed to grow in her neighbourhood.

September 25, 2022 · How a neighborhood initiative is trying to free a river landscape in the middle of Nairobi from garbage - and to upgrade it with trees.

he was a really good shot!” Rebecca Jepkosgey Bor congratulates the shooter Naila Daudkhan with a laugh, the two middle-aged women are obviously having fun.

Again Bor reaches deep into a cardboard bag and pulls out a few matt black balls, Daudkhan takes one of them and uses it to tighten the slingshot: "Klong", again it hits the corrugated iron fence on the other side of the canal, the ball bounces off audibly and lands somewhere on the embankment.

It lies well there, because surrounded by coal dust, the tree seed is safely protected from being eaten.

After the next downpour, it has the chance to germinate on the spot and grow into a coveted source of shade.

There used to be more of that here, but almost all of the tall trees have been felled and made into charcoal.

Rebecca Jepkosgey Bor fights for clean rivers and teaches people how rubbish can still be used, for example for flower pots.

It's early on this Sunday morning in mid-March, and traffic on Nairobi's roads is still relatively calm.

No traffic jams stopped us as we drove across the Kenyan capital - past countless construction sites for the expressway that is subject to a fee - to the South B district to meet Rebecca Bor here at the "Plainsview Phase 5 Estate".

In this quiet neighborhood south of downtown, the middle class live in one-story houses and have a guard posted at the entrance to the main street.

No coming or going goes unnoticed.

Until recently, all of the residents kept their garden doors locked, people closed themselves off to the rear and to the front, protecting themselves from the rubbish and the people who were drawn into the undergrowth of the "backyards" after dark.

Naila Doudkhan took the initiative for the public "backyards" in 2018.

Step by step, the neglected area on the canal is now being redesigned.

The mountains of rubbish have now disappeared, stable barriers have been erected on a car bridge, and the uncontrolled growth is gradually giving way to a plan: here on the canal, which absorbs the flood water after rainstorms, a small park for local recreation is to be created, where children can play in peace and the meets the whole neighborhood for a picnic.

It's a dream come true for Rebecca Bor: "My job is to give them seed balls and trees, and they create a beautiful green area," she puts it in a nutshell.

"They even set up an office for me, which I like to drop by in the afternoons," says Bor, pointing to a row of roughly made benches.

She likes to work there in the shade of the bushes and trees, especially when there is a light breeze.

It's still a privilege

because without a key or the right connections, this urban oasis remains hidden behind high walls and steel doors.

But Bor hopes that the commitment of Naila Doudkhan and her neighbors in this urban area will set an example and they can not only expand the facility, but open it to visitors at some point.

"Whether for bird watching or for a wedding party." The shore landscape should be designed as uniformly as possible and serve to relax, which is why fruit trees are permitted in addition to native acacia trees, but large vegetable beds are not.