Fall of sacred Mukuyu tree sparks cultural and political tensions in Mount Elgon

[PHOTO] A section of the falling branch of the Mukuyu tree at Toroso Primary School in Mount Elgon.
For generations, the towering mukuyu tree at Toroso Primary School in Mount Elgon, Bungoma county, stood as a silent sentinel. It has wide roots deep into the soil, and its branches stretch over classrooms and playgrounds. To the Sabaot community, it was never just a tree.
Known locally as Mokoyweet, the Mukuyu was revered as a sacred site, believed to guard ancestral relics buried beneath its roots, a ceremonial bell and a traditional hoe, symbols of fertility, prosperity, and renewal. Elders say the artefacts were placed there by forebears to bind the community to the land and ensure continuity of life.
So when the tree unexpectedly fell, it was as if a guardian had been struck down. In the days that followed, grief, confusion, and fierce debate gripped the Sabaot. Was the fall a natural occurrence or a spiritual message demanding action?
“This is not just a tree”
[PHOTO] Mukuyu tree at Toroso Primary School in Mount Elgon stands as a symbol of the community’s spiritual unity.
“This is not just a tree; it is a living connection to our ancestors,” said Mos Ndiema, a respected elder who has often spoken about the spiritual weight of the Mukuyu. To Ndiema and many traditionalists, the collapse is a call to perform cleansing rituals to heal the land and lift misfortunes the community has faced, persistent poverty, food shortages, and social unrest.
“The fall is a message, and we must answer it the way our forefathers would, through rituals that restore balance. This has nothing to do with politics — it is about who we are as a people,” Ndiema added.
But his words have also placed him under scrutiny. Authorities recently summoned Ndiema to the Directorate of Criminal Investigations (DCI) on suspicion that gatherings around the tree might be used to incite unrest. He dismissed the accusations. “The government misunderstands us. These are cultural gatherings, not political rallies,” he said.
Politics and superstition
Not everyone sees the fallen Mukuyu in mystical terms. Mount Elgon MP Fred Kapondi has warned that attempts to excavate the site or hold traditional ceremonies could destabilise the fragile peace in the region.
“We can not allow superstitions to destabilise our community again. The focus should be on peace and development, not digging up old beliefs that may stir tension,” said Kapondi.
His stance is echoed by Bungoma County Commissioner Thomas Sankei, who insists the collapse of the Mukuyu should be treated as a natural event, not a curse. “There is no curse here,” Sankei said firmly. “This is a natural tree that fell. People must move forward instead of reviving practices that may bring conflict.”
Earlier this year, Interior Cabinet Secretary Kipchumba Murkomen intervened directly, instructing security agencies to block any ceremonies that sought to cut or uproot the tree, citing fears of unrest.
A prophet’s claim
The debate has been further complicated by spiritual authority. Prophet Kuko Sausan, of the Kapchaai clan, publicly declared that he holds guardianship over the Mukuyu on behalf of the community.
“The Mukuyu belongs to the people, and its fate must be guided by tradition and prophecy,” Sausan said. “It can not simply be dismissed as just another tree.”
His words have resonated with many, fueling calls to allow cultural rites to proceed despite the government’s ban.
A symbol at a crossroads
For the Sabaot, the fall of the Mukuyu has become more than an environmental loss. It is now a prism through which larger questions about heritage, governance, and identity are refracted.
The mountain region is no stranger to conflict. Past land disputes and militia activity have left scars that still run deep. Many leaders fear that reviving the rituals tied to the Mukuyu could reopen those wounds, while elders insist that ignoring tradition would amount to rejecting their very identity.
Caught between the two perspectives are ordinary residents of Mount Elgon. “If we forget the meaning of this tree, we forget ourselves,” said one elder quietly during a gathering near the fallen trunk.
 Today, the great Mukuyu lies on its side, its roots exposed to the sky, its leaves drying under the sun. Around it swirl questions that have no easy answers: Should the site be left untouched in respect of modern law and peace, or should rituals proceed to honour the ancestors?
For now, the community remains in limbo, torn between reverence for tradition and the call for stability.
Whether remembered as a sacred link to the ancestors or a natural relic claimed by time, the Mukuyu’s fall has left an emptiness that will not easily be filled.
As one local teacher at Toroso Primary reflected, watching her pupils play near the fallen trunk: “The tree is gone, but the story it tells is still very much alive.”