A Reflection on My Childhood in Sergoit, Kenya

Growing up in Sergoit, a region that lie close to the expansive agricultural heartland of Uasin Gishu County, Kenya, was a unique and deeply formative experience. Sergoit was not just a place; it was an ecosystem of memories, lessons, and transformations that shaped the person I am today. It was home, a sanctuary surrounded by sprawling wheat farms, rolling hills, and the iconic Sergoit Hill that silently stood as a sentinel over our lives.

My family lived on the vast Sergoit Farm, owned by an Afrikaner named Jan Ernst Kruger and later by his son Fanie Kruger (after the former died in 1983), who embodied the complexities of colonial legacies. For many families, including ours, Sergoit Farm symbolized both opportunity and limitation. It was an expanse of fertile land, yet much of it felt inaccessible, reserved for the wheat fields that fed the nation but rarely the squatters living on the fringes. My father worked on the farm until his untimely passing in 1980, after which my mother shouldered the responsibility of raising us amidst an environment fraught with socioeconomic challenges.

Sergoit Farm was more than land; it was a community of squatters—families like mine who knew no other home. We lived in a paradox of belonging and exclusion, bound by the only life we had ever known but aware of our tenuous connection to the land. Life on the farm revolved around communal chores, seasonal rhythms, and the whims of the farm owners. The aroma of fresh wheat mingled with the sounds of children playing barefoot on the dusty paths, and this simplicity formed the backdrop of my childhood.

The farm was a world of its own, where adventure was abundant. I vividly recall our escapades hunting in the bushes and climbing Sergoit Hill, our imaginations running wild as we pretended to be explorers in an uncharted territory. The hill offered us a place to dream beyond the wheat fields, to imagine a world where possibilities were limitless. Those adventures also gave us a sense of connection to nature and to each other, a camaraderie built on shared experiences and youthful naivety.

Yet, life in Sergoit was not without its trials. The reality of being squatters became increasingly evident as I grew older. Kruger’s unease with the growing number of families on the farm led to measures designed to push us out—police raids, arrests, and intimidation. These actions disrupted our lives and planted seeds of fear and uncertainty. I remember one harrowing night when my mother was among those arrested during a raid, leaving us scared and vulnerable. These moments forced me to grapple with the harshness of the world at an early age.

Education was both a privilege and a battleground in Sergoit. Attending school was not guaranteed for many children in our community, but my mother’s determination ensured that I received an education despite the odds. The school was a short distance away, but the journey was filled with challenges. I walked to school barefoot on chilly mornings, often on an empty stomach, yet each step symbolized hope—a belief in a future beyond the confines of the farm.

Faith played an integral role in our lives. The Reformed Church of East Africa (RCEA) was a cornerstone of our community, offering spiritual nourishment and a sense of belonging. Sunday services were more than religious gatherings; they were social lifelines that united families. My involvement in church youth activities introduced me to leadership roles, nurturing a sense of responsibility and purpose.

Leaving Sergoit was a pivotal moment in my life. As the pressures of displacement mounted, my family and I made the difficult decision to relocate to our ancestral home in Marakwet. The move was both an ending and a beginning, filled with apprehension but also hope. While it marked the end of my childhood in Sergoit, it also opened doors to new opportunities and challenges that would shape my adulthood.

Looking back, my childhood in Sergoit was a microcosm of resilience hat  taught me the value of community, the importance of education, and the strength found in faith. The struggles we faced were not unique to my family but were reflective of broader systemic challenges. Yet, it is these very experiences that instilled in me a commitment to advocating for justice, equity, and the empowerment of marginalized communities.

Sergoit remains etched in my memory as a place of contrasts—beauty and hardship, belonging and exclusion, hope and despair. It was the crucible in which my character was forged, and it continues to inspire my journey today.