The rhythm of the ocean has always told stories of sustenance, identity, struggle, and hope. Along Kenya’s coastline, from the contested landing sites of Port Riz to the windswept shores of Lamu’s Shella Beach, the ocean has borne witness to the silent resilience of coastal communities.
In June 2025, these stories found voice during a powerful storytelling workshop convened by Natural Justice, bringing together fishers, elders, youth, and women from Lamu, Kilifi, and Kwale counties.
The workshop created a rare and safe space for communities to reflect and speak openly about the intersecting issues that continue to shape and sometimes shake their lives. From the military-led evictions in Kililana, to the murky waters of fisherfolk compensation processes that have dragged on for over a decade, the conversations surfaced deep-seated concerns around land, ocean access, and environmental justice.
The narratives that emerged were as layered as the tides. Elders recalled a time when landing sites were sacred, communally protected spaces. Today, many of these have come under threat, taken over by large-scale infrastructure projects, or acquired by well-connected private individuals. In Lamu, for example, one key landing site has been converted into land for a private hospital.
For farmers who once provided food security through indigenous crops like tamarind, cashew nuts, and mangoes, their lands have been militarized, particularly in Kililana, where evictions by the Kenya Defence Forces have paved the way for government infrastructure projects.
Fishers from Uyombo expressed fear and uncertainty around the proposed nuclear power plant – a project that casts a long shadow over their ancestral lands and livelihoods. The project is currently cloaked in secrecy and community exclusion. In Kwale, communities voiced long-standing concerns about the environmental and social impacts of Base Titanium’s mining operations, which have proceeded with minimal public participation.
Yet, amidst the heaviness, a powerful current of resistance and renewal flowed. Community members spoke not only of what they’ve lost, but also of how they are reclaiming their voices. Youth storytellers are now documenting oral histories and sharing them through digital platforms. Women are leading public dialogues in barazas, transforming pain into power. Beach Management Units (BMUs) are being revitalised not just as regulatory structures, but as hubs where fishers can organise, strategise, and assert their rights.
What the workshop reaffirmed is this: storytelling is not just about memory, it is about movement. When communities tell their own stories, in their own words, they not only reclaim their narratives but also challenge the systems of silence and exclusion. Storytelling is advocacy. It is evidence. It is resistance. It is healing.
The stories captured during the workshop are now being developed into community-driven media outputs , including short films, human-centred factsheets, and policy briefs — to support ongoing advocacy with county governments, national policymakers, and the general public.
As one elder from Uyombo put it: “You can deny us meetings. You can delay compensation. But you cannot stop us from speaking our truth.”
In the end, the ocean continues to speak. And now, so do its people.
