Sugoi residents in President William Ruto’s home village threaten to march all the way to State House in Nairobi to protest what they call a clear case of land grabbing right in their own backyard.
The quiet farming area in Uasin Gishu County, known as the place where the president grew up and still keeps his family home, suddenly feels anything but peaceful. A viral video depicts on Tuesday a group of angry locals standing together, voices raised, pointing fingers at police and land officials.
They say someone sent officers to start carving up a piece of ground that belonged to a deceased neighbour – or, in some accounts, a vulnerable woman who recently passed – without a single court order or proper legal paper in sight.
One man in the crowd asks straight out: who gave the green light for this? Why skip the normal steps that families are supposed to follow when sorting out inheritance or boundaries after someone dies?
Residents claim the team from the Ministry of Lands rolled in with police backup, ready to plant beacons and divide the plot as if it was already settled business. Some reports mention a former chief linked to the push, though names fly around fast in the heat of the moment. They claim the chief is used by top officials in the government to grab the land.
This is not some distant story for these families. Sugoi sits just outside Eldoret, a place many Kenyans picture when they think of Ruto’s simple roots – the modest house and the chicken farm he still talks about from his early days.
Now the same community that cheered his rise finds itself on the front page for all the wrong reasons. Sugoi villagers watched heavy machinery and surveyors show up uninvited. A few claim they had to step in physically to stop the work, with tensions running so high that structures on the disputed land reportedly got torched in the scuffle.
The frustration boils over into a bold threat. If nothing changes fast, they say they will organise buses or even walk the long road to Nairobi and camp outside State House until someone listens. That kind of move would turn a local dispute into a national embarrassment, especially with cameras sure to follow every step.
Many Kenyans shake their heads in disbelief, asking how this could happen so close to the president’s own village. A few replies hit hard, wondering if the appetite for land has no limits, even among neighbours.
Land matters always cut deep in Kenya. Families pass down small plots generation after generation, and any hint of grabbing sparks instant outrage. The 2010 Constitution tried to fix old wrongs with clear rules on titles, succession, and disputes, but too often the system bends when powerful interests get involved.
Here the twist feels extra bitter – this is supposed to be home turf for the man who promised to protect the ordinary mwananchi from exactly this kind of thing.
So far no word has come from State House or the Ministry of Lands answering the claims. Police in the area have stayed quiet too, at least in public statements.
That silence only adds fuel. Locals want answers: Was this a private family fight that somehow pulled in officers? Did someone with connections push the process? Or is there a bigger pattern playing out that nobody wants to name?
Human rights groups and opposition voices have already started sharing their thoughts, calling for an immediate stop to any subdivision and a full investigation.
They argue that if the law gets ignored in Sugoi, what hope do people in far-flung counties have? A few elders in the community remember past clashes over boundaries and say this one feels different because of who lives nearby.
For now the residents wait, but their patience looks thin. They have given a clear deadline: “Sort this, or we head to Nairobi State House.” Whether that march actually happens depends on how quickly authorities respond and whether cooler heads step in to mediate.
One thing is sure: the story has put Sugoi back in the spotlight, and not for the usual reasons of presidential homecoming or development projects.
Kenya has seen plenty of land rows before, but when they land literally next door to the leader’s village, they hit harder. Families watch closely, wondering if this will end with beacons pulled out and justice served, or if the whole thing quietly fades like so many others. The coming days will tell whether the threat forces real action or just adds another chapter to the long book of disputed acres in the Rift Valley.
