Excerpt from the Waters of Africa, British East Africa, Uganda and Great Lake by Norma Lorimer (January 23, 1913)

 From the reading, I just fiund out that the name Moiben may have been derived from the name Moori Ben, an English settler who lived and farmed 3,000 acres of land in present-day Moiben area. Read on.

Sometimes on the plateau we had to do very long distances, because of water, since on the plains you dare not miss it. On these long marches the heat ,and glare and the flatness became painfully depressing.

Sometimes on the plateau we had to do very long distances because of water, since on the plains you dare not miss it. On these long marches the heat ,and glare and the flatness became painfully depressing.

Sometimes on the plateau we had to do very long distances, because of water, since on the plains you dare not miss it. On these long marches, the heat and glare and the flatness became painfully depressing.d to journey on and ever on, over the dullness and bluntness and blackness, until suddenly a hill called Sergoit jumped up abruptly out of the plateau right before our very faces.

Sergoit isn't a high hill, and in an ordinary country it would be quite unworthy of mention, but here it is one of the landmarks of the district. It has the distinction of being the first height you come to after a world of flatness.

There is a store at Sergoit, not kept by an Indian, strange to relate, but by an Englishman, and a post- office, the only one in the district for many miles. Sergoit was our last camp before we reached Moori Ben Farm, where I am now staying, and breaking my journey for a few days. I had an introduction to the owner of the farm, and strangely enough he turns out to be a cousin of your brother-in-law, with whom I spent the winter in San Francisco, a year ago. Nothing can exceed his hospitality and kindness, but I am beginning to learn that a new word is required to express African hospitality, the largeness and whole-heartedness of which is well in keeping with the size of the country.

You can imagine how glad I was to arrive at this delightful spot, which overlooks the whole length, depth, width and height of the Promised Land of British East Africa (B.E.A), after having travelled for five days in a jolting wagon, when I didn't walk or ride. In the future, when I shut my eyes, how vividly I shall see those sixteen bullocks and the great, heavy wagon lumbering along over that sun-scorched plain, followed by an Indian file of black-limbed natives with your sun-helmeted, smoke-begrimed friend on her pony bringing up the rear! It was all full of character, vividly typical of a safari on the plains.

From the very wide veranda of Moori Ben Farm you can see Mount Elgon rising up on the plateau, which stretches for about one hundred miles to the north, south, east and west. In the rare atmosphere it looks astonishingly near, but as it lies on the line of the horizon, it must, of course, be a very long way off. It is a smooth-surfaced, undulating mountain of about 14,000 feet, and is an extinct volcano with a crater of eight miles across.

To the left of it are the Nandi Hills-a long, low line on the horizon, and only three miles from the farm as you look over the plains to the right, lies the valley of the Nzoia River. The country between the river and the farm looks like a very green and undulating English park; the flat-topped acacia trees which are dotted about it strongly resemble wind-blown may-thorns on an English common. These flat-topped trees look very beautiful when the trailing white jasmine which spreads itself over them is in bloom. This African jasmine, which is a terrible parasite, has the sweetest scent in the world.

Up on the plateau there is always a blazing sun and a cold wind. Beyond the valley, on the right, lies a glorious range of mountains, called the Elgeyo, and still further beyond, where the sun sets, there is a vast, untrodden country, wrapped in mystery. The Stifling Valley, which looks so peaceful from the distance, is a haunt of lions and leopards and a hotbed of fever, a veritable death-trap. No one lives in it.

Behind the farm, in the far distance, you can see the dark trees of impenetrable forests. Not tropical jungle forests, as you might expect, but Scotch- looking forests of fir trees, which look quite black against the sunlight. They are the haunt of buffalo.

On the day of our arrival, I rode with my host over a portion of his farm, and down into the valley. His farm stocked with cattle, and about three thousand acre of it are under cultivation. It grows maize, potatoes and linseed. In his large garden he has all sorts of vegetables and apples and pears and plums, and, best of all, he enjoys the luxury of an open-air swimming bath. He is making a polo ground and is a most successful breeder of ponies. He is a very optimistic person. and has unbounded faith in the country. If all he predicts about it ever comes true, he ought to make a lot of money. He believes in it because there will soon be a railway in Eldoret, which is only fifteen miles away, and everything depends upon water and transport facilities.

At present he has about three hundred natives working on the farm; they are treated with great severity. This struck me as rather brutal at first, but you soon learn that it is the only way to make them do any work at all; and when you consider that for countless generations their own chiefs and kings have not only beaten them, but cut off their hands and feet, and even their heads, for quite minor misdemeanors', you realize that a whip made out of a strip of hippopotamus hide is the mildest form of chastisement they understand.