I grew up in Kesogon village, in Kitale where poverty wore many faces—but hunger was not one of them. In our smoky, soot-darkened kitchen, my grandmother stirred bubbling pots of githeri, fried sucha (spider plant), and steaming nduma (arrowroot). These foods were not luxuries; they were life—cheap, nutritious, and abundant. We never thought of them as “heritage cuisine”. They were simply food. Today, that same githeri is featured on Nairobi’s finest restaurant menus under names like “deconstructed maize-bean medley”. Sucha is plated in geometric perfection and called “organic amaranth.” Nduma comes with imported truffle oil. Prices in these hotels soar…