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On a December day in 2013, I witnessed a large group of people carrying firearms, which was a first for me. The group, known as Ng’iraia, had travelled from Southern Turkana to raid Nadome, an area in Eastern Turkana that had been abandoned and was now inhabited by Pokot communities.
There were hundreds of them, perhaps around eight hundred or more. I recall that some of them came to our home, and my parents were busy boiling plain mahindi and filling their ng’ikibuyo with water. Similar scenes were playing out in other homes as well, as every homestead had visitors that day.
The Ng’iraia had arrived the previous evening, and the next morning, they made their final preparations. There were lengthy conversations, from which the children and women were strictly excluded. This continued until evening when they departed for Nadome.
Nadome is just a short distance from Lomelo, so I reckon they arrived there quickly. (Ng’iraia are known for their quickness.) They likely camped on the outskirts of the target area, waiting for dawn.
Unbeknownst to them, a Pokot troop was waiting for them. Reports of Ng’iraia groups entering Lomelo had reached the Pokot, thanks to their scouts’ exceptional work. As a precaution, they gathered and waited. There are rumours that the Pokot outnumbered the Ng’iraia and even initiated the attack.
And so, it was war – a large-scale exchange that lasted from 2 a.m. into the evening hours, spanning the entire day. Because Lomelo is nearby, we could hear the sounds of gunshots – ”Ta! ta-ta ta! Pah! Pum-pum pah!” By sunrise, Ng’iraia were returning to Lomelo in groups of ten, twenty, and so on. Some had fled to the south, while others had travelled as far as Kapedo.
Rumours had it that the number of those who had been killed exceeded a hundred. Many had been wounded. Whatever the numbers, we could never really tell. We never knew how many Pokot individuals were killed or wounded that day either.
One of the returnees came to our homestead through a small gateway we used to enter our farm, just outside the village perimeter fence. A heartbreaking chat with my mother revealed that he was Jie from the southern parts of Uganda. I still find it puzzling how he became involved with Ng’iraia; however, his involvement suggests the deep ancestral roots of the group. More and more of them arrived in the evening and departed for the south in the following days. A few stayed in Lomelo a little longer for fear of being ridiculed if they returned home immediately.
It was indeed one of those unsuccessful raids where the Ng’iraia returned home empty-handed and emasculated.
I had heard about other raids, but these stories sounded extremely remote to me, more like relics of the past. I never imagined it would happen in my lifetime. Nevertheless, it did happen, and to this day, I have wondered about the motivations behind that large raid.
A popular story connects the raid to an attempt to reclaim Nadome. Although I’ve never been to Nadome, it is a mythical place in many people’s memories. Those who once resided there reminisce about the expansive orchards abundant with mangoes and avocados that they were forced to abandon after being violently expelled by the Pokot in the late 1970s. They describe the large herds of cattle, the plentiful water, and lush pastures that defined the area. It truly was a place unlike any current settlements. You almost feel a sense of nostalgia listening to the telling of these memories, a longing for a home we may never be able to return to. Perhaps the warm reception that the people of Lomelo gave to Ng’iraia that day was an expression of hope, a hope for a potential return.
An additional question arises: Who would be able to gather such large numbers for such a quest at this time? Many people have linked the answer to the political class within Turkana. Since mobilising such large groups takes a lot of resources and communication, the likelihood of politicians being involved is high. Whether that is true leaves me contemplating the accusations about politicians’ involvement in recent and ongoing incursions.
Whichever the case, and however unfashionable the approach, this is a story of a quest. It is a story of memory and identity: of our yearning for our long-lost ancestral home.
Presently, Nadome’s dream is alive. It resonates in people’s conversations, their dreams, and, more recently, in the county’s fiscal budgets. If there is any hope that it will come to pass, it shouldn’t come at the expense of more lives. The impacts of violent incursions continue to echo along the Suguta belt. It is a terrifying but likely question whether people will still be inhabiting this region at the turn of the decade. Already, our grandparents and parents have died waiting to see that dream come true.
For our generation, Nadome is slowly drifting into the world of myths, disconnected from our everyday hopes and aspirations. Ours is a more immediate anxiety, that of potentially being forced to leave Lomelo, just like our parents were once forced to leave Nadome.
As I reflect on that fateful day in 2013, I realise that the quest for Nadome is not just about reclaiming ancestral lands, but about preserving our identity, culture, and community. The memories of our grandparents and parents, who once called Nadome home, continue to shape our dreams and aspirations. However, we must acknowledge the harsh realities of the present, where violence and displacement threaten our very existence. If we hope to return to Nadome, we must first ensure the safety and well-being of those who inhabit the surrounding areas, including Lomelo, Kamuge, Napeitom, Kapedo, and Ng’ilukia. We owe it to ourselves, to our ancestors, and to future generations to prioritise peace, protection, and unity. Only then can we truly reclaim our ancestral home and keep the dream of Nadome alive.
