They called me Silwal

It's the golden hour as we meander through the beach at Luanda Rombo, the village next to Alekii. Bathed in the evening sun the main street is a chaos of activity. Several children from my school are chasing after a makeshift football made from carefully collected leftover plastic bags tied together with broken fishing lines whilst cooking stoves waft over steam from ugali pots cooked by mothers looking on. In the distance I can hear the pocho mill whirring it's daily routine as a queue of patient girls exchange the day's gossip waiting to grind their freshly harvested maize. 

In many ways it's an idyllic scene. About as far from the rat race as you could get, laughter in abundance and a happy melancholy that hangs in the air. The local shop keeper, barber, and a few drunken fishermen greet me and I return each of them in Luo, their mother tongue.

Apart from London where I was brought up and now live, and Manchester where I studied, Luanda Rombo is the place I've spent most time and know best in the whole world.

The literal translation into English is Sheep's Stone which refers to the old grazing pastures for shepherds and farmers to bring their livestock to drink from the lake. Today the village is home to a few hundred Luo people which centres around a small beach where fishing boats rock gently in the evening breeze. Women are collecting omena, small fish, from nets on the ground where they've been drying the morning's catch in the sun.

Omena are tiny fish which form the cornerstone of the local diet. They are typically dried, and then boiled or fried. For the uninitiated both the smell and flavour can be overpowering and it takes a while to build up a tolerance, but it's cheap and full of protein which is why Luos love it.

Typically it will be the women who buy direct from the boats in the morning, dry and sell omena in the sun and sell in local markets. For many it's the only way they know how to make a living for their families. Lake Victoria has been significantly over-fished and fishermen have reported a fall in catch over the last few years meaning there is less omena to sell and more competition between women who want to buy it.

This, combined with a staggeringly high HIV infection rate(at least one in four across the county and much higher by the beaches) means that women like Sarah* are forced into having sex with fishermen to win their favour and make sure that they are first in line to buy fish. These fishermen will often have several relationships with different women across the island which contributes to the spread of the virus. This is known as 'Jaboya' around the lake and is widespread, found in every beach where there is omena fishing.

Other women like Anne* who manages a boat are forced to have sex with fishermen just to make sure that they keep working for them and don't move to another boat. When we interview Anne for our documentary she calls them parasites who feed off her. Anne also tells us that she is HIV positive. Sarah is still to be tested.

The fishermen are fundamentally flawed characters, living from one day to the next. Drinking, drugs and gambling are all the norm rather than the exception, money coming and going too easily and too quickly.

We meet Ezekiel who's bloodshot eyes and slurred speech betray all the signs off a life lived for today rather than tomorrow. He tells us that his life fishing is hard, and is getting harder as they catch less and less fish. He says he drinks and smokes bhang because they help with the cold at night, and that most fishermen do the same. He also says he has a girlfriend who he sells fish to at another beach across the lake from his wife and family.

I feel like I should be angry or disgusted with Ezekiel, but in the end I feel a deep sympathy for him. There are no choices for men like him other than to work on the boats in hard conditions, and the short term nature of living hand to mouth gives rise to alcoholism and drug abuse when men are continually away from their families for long periods.

More significantly though it feels like Ezekiel's life has little purpose, one day staggering into another devoid of plans or aspirations for the future. It's like he just exists rather than actually lives.

This is a stark contrast to the amazing women that we meet, who although faced with serious hardship and struggle exert a tremendous warmth and humour. Spending time with Sarah and her nine year old son gives an insight what real purpose means for local women who would do anything for their children. At the end of the day these are people who's environment and circumstances shape their lives but don't necessarily define them.

Generally Luos are good natured people characterised by the Lake - typically laid back and easy going, funny and quick to make jokes but ultimately extremely hard working which comes with the territory being a fishing community.

They are the third biggest ethnic group in Kenya and although they have never been in power, but have played an important role in Kenya's history. In 1963 as Kenya became an independent country it was Tom Mboya, a Luo from Rusinga, who mobilised international support for the new country, making relationships with the West and in particular promoting university partnerships with America which is how Barack Obama's father first made it to the states on a scholarship programme.

In 1969 Tom Mboya was assassinated in Nairobi, and although never proven many Luos believe that his murder was politically motivated to keep him out of power. At his trial, the assassin referred to a 'Big Man' who should have been standing trial instead, possibly referring to a higher conspiracy from the ruling party.

Today the leader of the opposition coalition, Raila Odinga, is Luo and is currently mobilising support for a referendum on whether the government should stay in power. He needs one million signatures under the country's new constitution to make this happen and there will be significant consequences for the country if he's successful in reaching this target.  

As I sit down by the bank of the shore to watch the setting sun paint the lake and the sky one last time, I replay the last three months. There have been difficult times for sure - there are significant social problems here on Rusinga and during darker moments it can be difficult to see the light and not feel like the whole situation is helpless.

However together with Alekii, some talented local fixers and the community we have launched an impact investment club which raised just under £11,000 in a month, researched and launched a consumer transport business and shot a film about Jaboya and life on the fishing  communities. This won't necessarily change the world of course, but the collective efforts of the last ten weeks should sustain Alekii and raise the profile of the community and the issues they face.

It's just the start, and there's a lot to do still, but at a glance we've been successful in what we originally set out to do.

It also occurs to me that I've come to really identify with Luos. Their food, their politics, their language, their music, their problems and their jokes have all become mine as I've lived here.

I'm honoured on my last day on the island as the Alekii family offer me a plot of land to own and build on which I'm humble to accept. This will be the next project I think, to build something lasting which can benefit the local community but also be mine to use when I visit.

I've absolutely loved learning their language which is peppered with smiles and laughter and I plan to try and become one of only a handful of whites who are fluent in my lifetime.

My favourite phrase, and the one that earns me most respect, is 'A ja Luo gi chunya' which translates to 'I'm Luo in my heart' which I now understand to be true. I  know that I will return many times to this part of the world which has become a second home with a second family.

As the sky kaleidoscopes orange to purple the peace and serenity is abruptly shattered by a gaggle of Alekii kids who descend on me London riot style. Most of them jump around me shouting my English name, but Caroline, a very bright girl who also plays an aggressive Roy Kean type enforcer role in midfield greets me by my Luo nickname. 'Silwal' means 'brown' in Luo (rather than being referred to generically as musungo which means white) which was given to me by an elder and adopted by Luanda Rombo residents to my delight.   

Darkness approaches and people shout greetings and farewells as I walk up the dusty hill away from the village, and I smile inwardly feeling accepted - they called me Silwal.

* Name changed / real photos not used.