By: John Wabwire Shikuku
My name is John Wabwire Shikuku. I am a community health promoter from Busia County, Kenya, reporting at Port Victoria Sub-County Hospital. I have served my community in this role since 2006, and long before I had the title, I was already doing the work.
My journey into community health did not begin in a classroom or a training hall. It began in 2001, when I was diagnosed with HIV. At that time, fear and silence surrounded the disease. Many people did not understand how HIV was transmitted, how it could be managed, or that people living with HIV could still live full lives. I watched friends fall ill and die, not just because of the virus, but because of stigma, lack of information, and lack of support. When I later developed tuberculosis, I was bedridden for a long time. Recovery was slow and difficult, but it changed how I saw the world.
That period taught me something powerful: information can save lives, and so can compassion.
When I regained my strength, I knew I could not keep quiet. I began encouraging my peers to get tested, often testing alongside them to reduce fear. Before I officially became a community health volunteer, I was already doing moonlight HIV testing and sensitisation, speaking openly about my own status to show others that knowledge is not something to fear. In 2006, when the Kenya Ministry of Health rolled out the nationwide Community Health Volunteer (CHV) programme to improve health outcomes, I formally joined the community health system, determined to make sure fewer people suffered in silence the way we had.
What keeps me going, all these years later, is seeing lives change. It is knowing that something I shared, something I taught, or simply my presence, helped someone take a step towards better health.
Over time, my work expanded beyond HIV. I began to see patterns in my community that worried me. Illness was no longer coming only from infections or lack of treatment. It was coming from our surroundings.
Climate change is no longer a distant idea discussed on the radio or in meetings. In Busia, we feel it with our bodies and our minds. Floods have become more frequent and more destructive. Recently, severe flooding in areas like Bunyale displaced many families, washing away homes, farms, and sources of income. Pregnant women and children under five were among the hardest hit.
I remember seeing a pregnant mother walking a long distance to a health facility after her home was flooded. She was exhausted, anxious, and overwhelmed. She did not know where she would sleep that night or how she would feed her family. Around her, children were falling sick from contaminated water, poor sanitation, and lack of food. Cases of diarrhoeal diseases increased. Malnutrition became more common. Alongside the physical illness, I saw fear, stress, and hopelessness growing quietly in people’s faces.
That was the moment it became clear to me: climate change is not only an environmental issue. It is a health crisis.
Floods do not just destroy houses. They destroy dignity, routine, and peace of mind. When crops are washed away, nutrition suffers. When latrines collapse, water sources become unsafe. When families are displaced, mental health is affected, even if no one speaks about it openly. Vulnerable groups feel this first and most deeply.
As a community health promoter, my role is to help people cope, adapt, and protect themselves as much as possible. A big part of my work now focuses on environmental health education. I conduct regular health talks on sanitation, hygiene, and nutrition, especially in flood-prone areas. We discuss simple but critical practices: safe water treatment, proper waste disposal, handwashing, and how to protect food from contamination.
Education alone is not enough, so I work closely with local leaders and community groups. Together, we help organise support groups for displaced families. These spaces allow people to share their experiences, receive psychosocial support, and learn where to access health and social services. Sometimes, what people need most is not medicine, but reassurance that they are not alone.
I also encourage communities to take the lead in rebuilding and adapting. When people are involved in solutions, they regain a sense of control. We talk about safer ways to rebuild homes, improving drainage, protecting water sources, and preparing for future floods. These are not easy conversations, especially when resources are limited, but they are necessary. Hope grows when people see that small actions, done together, can make a difference.
What I want the world to hear from my story is simple: climate change affects health directly, and it affects the most vulnerable first. You do not need to wait for a disaster to act. Awareness, preparation, and compassion can reduce suffering before it becomes overwhelming.
Community health workers are often the first to see these impacts and the last to leave when emergencies strike. We walk with people through illness, loss, and recovery. We translate big global issues into everyday actions that protect families and save lives.
I am still here because I believe change is possible. I have seen it. I have lived it. From surviving illness myself to helping others protect their health in a changing environment, this work gives my life purpose.
If we act together, with empathy and commitment, we can build communities that are healthier, stronger, and more resilient, even in the face of climate challenges.
Watch John tell his story in his own words.
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