"We call this area Nairobi," says Wesley Rotich, gazing across a 50 acre basin of severely eroded land, punctuated by red mud stacks of various sizes. "Nairobi is all tall buildings and short buildings and it looks like this."
Every year more and more of 'Nairobi' is washed away during the rainy season; Wesley reckons that in the last three decades more than 20 acres of arable land have been lost. For him the rapid rate of erosion is more of a subject of curiosity but for the farmers whose shambas back onto the receding cliffs, it's a very real concern.
"The people now will be forced to move from their farms," says local small-holder Samuel Yator, who estimates that 30 to 40 farmers are facing an immediate threat.
"Unless the government does something, people are going to lose their shambas," he adds.
For one thing, he says, more trees need to be planted - their roots would hold the soil together when the water from the annual rains flows over it. It's clear to see that areas with a density of trees have eroded far less than those with no trees.
He goes on to say that dams need to be built on the gulleys that bring the water cascading into the area; and, finally, the government needs to bring in bulldozers to level the area, removing the steep inclines which funnel the water.
It all sounds a bit ambitious, but Samuel insists it is essential if people are going to hold onto their farms. Aready chickens can be seen, silhouetted against the setting sun, walking along the precipice at the end of their owner's farm.
Samuel says that when the government was distributing reclaimed colonial land after independence, it listed this area as commonage, to be used for grazing. "They said it wasn't fair to give it to a person because it was so eroded."
That was almost 50 years ago and the erosion has since spread further. If the 'Nairobi' sprawl isn't stemmed, it will soon reach farmers.
