The Season the Skies Confused Us and the Legend of Tulwop Sergoit

By William Kiptoo

First shared in The Wonders of Sergoit Hills Facebook group on 1 August 2026.

This year, Uasin Gishu, and Moiben in particular, has lived through one of the strangest weather seasons in memory.

It began with rain that came too early and too heavy, arriving just as farmers were preparing their land for planting. Instead of a blessing, it became an obstacle: weeks of relentless downpour that kept ploughs idle and planting delayed. Then, just when farmers finally got their seeds into the ground, the rain vanished. The skies that had given so much suddenly gave nothing, and the delayed rains that followed came too late to save much of the crop. For many families it has meant near total crop failure, a heavy blow in a region that depends so deeply on its harvest.

As the dry spell stretched on, people did what our grandparents and great grandparents have always done in times like these: they turned to prayer. Spiritual leaders were called upon, and among them the local rainmakers, custodians of a tradition older than most of us can remember.

Central to this tradition is Sergoit Hill, long regarded as sacred ground where prayers for rain are sought in times of drought.

The Legend of Tulwop Sergoit

The story behind its name is one worth telling. Many years ago, a severe drought swept across Uasin Gishu, so severe that it emptied the land. Cattle and wild animals alike grew thin and desperate, and children suffered from malnutrition as the drought dragged on for months with no relief in sight.

Moved by the suffering, Keiyo elders are said to have journeyed to the hill, a site they held sacred as a shrine of the Keiyo and Marakwet people, and offered sacrifices and prayers to their gods. And as they made their way back home, the rains finally broke.

In gratitude and wonder, they named the hill "Sereee-goit," meaning "our mission was fruitful." Over time the name settled into what we know today: Tulwop Sergoit, Sergoit Hill.

That belief has endured across generations. Even now, as communities face another difficult drought, the memory of those rituals, the journeys, the sacrifices and the prayers that once broke the skies open, continues to linger in people's hearts. The hill itself is now restricted, but the story it carries remains very much alive.

As we watch the clouds and wait, may this season remind us of the resilience of our people, through failed rains, through hardship, and through the enduring hope that has always carried Uasin Gishu forward.

For other accounts of how the hill got its name, read Charar and Sergoit: The Stories Behind the Names.