By Gloriah Kamwamu

It’s a Sunday afternoon, and we’ve done the one thing every adventurer-slash-prayer-warrior does before setting off: we asked the Lord to hold the rain. And guess what? He did. Either for us… or for one very desperate brickmaker. Either way, we benefited!

With excitement bubbling, we hit the murram road from home. We roll past Nasianda Primary School, and nostalgia hits like a wave—Mom used to teach there before she retired! Every little turn holds a memory, especially of the Sundays we walked miles to church, feet dusty, hearts full. If that’s not spiritual cardio, I don’t know what is.

The tarmac greets us at Number One (yes, that’s the place’s actual name), and we pick up speed. Ryan’s in charge of directions—destination: the foot of Mawe Tatu. Three bold rocks rising like a divine exclamation mark on the landscape. Who put them there? Why three? We don’t know. But Jill and Smart (a.k.a. our resident myth-makers) decide they’re the fossilized toes of a giant who once strolled these lands. Honestly? It tracks.

We will only manage to climb one rock today, promising ourselves we’ll come back for the rest. As we approach, the base is buzzing with life—homes, fences, farms—so much so, we can barely see a path up. But there’s always a way, and someone points us toward a small passage (thank God for random helpful strangers). We backtrack nearly 500 meters from the car, but hey—we did come to hike.

The climb begins. It’s like God Himself carved stairs into the rock just for us. Ryan and Smart, the young bloods of our squad, shoot up like mountain goats. The rest of us? We follow behind, calling out dramatic “Wait for us!” chants between gasps. Jill and Sylvia pause every few steps for selfies—content first, cardio second.

At the top? Whew. Beauty. Unfiltered. Unmatched. Unbelievable.

From this height, you can see fields being ploughed below, two men moving in sync like they rehearsed it. The other two rocks rise to the right like proud siblings—one even has a natural runway (we’re claiming it for our imaginary airline). I stretch out my arms in worship, because honestly, how else do you respond to this kind of glory?

Then, as if God was curating the moment, a flock of birds swoops by in perfect formation—a sky-dance welcoming the planting season. I decide to name it the dance for the rains. You’re welcome.

And just when you think it can’t get better, there it is: a panoramic view of Matunda Town, Mt. Elgon in the northeast, Cherangani Hills in the distance, and Lugari Forest wrapping it all like nature’s final amen.

And so, after worshipping and marveling, we begin our descent—photos snapped, hearts full, and memories safely tucked away like treasures. We leave Mawe Tatu behind… but not for long. Trust us, we’ll be back—sooner rather than later.