Before roads carved through Kisii hills and before missionaries knocked on homestead doors, the land had its own guardians. One of them didn’t carry a spear or sit on a throne—but his name carried more weight than most warriors.
His name was Sakwa wa Ng’iti. But in modern folklore, he’s simply known as Sakawa.
Born around 1840 in southern Kisii, Sakawa became a legend long before legends were written down. He wasn’t loud. He didn’t need to be. His silence was the kind that made people listen. They say he could predict the future with unnerving precision—warfare, raiders, epidemics—often down to the day and hour. And when he spoke, the Abagusii listened.
Sakawa wasn’t just another village elder. He was a foreteller—one of the most mysterious figures in Kisii folklore. Said to have been born during a thunderstorm sometime in the early 20th century, Sakawa was believed to be gifted, or as some would say, cursed, with the ability to speak to the spirits of the dead. Not everyone trusted him. Many feared him. But no one ignored him.
By the age of ten, the boy had already become known for predicting things that came true with eerie accuracy: the death of a village elder, the birth of twins, the coming of a long drought. His visions came in dreams, often after he had wandered alone into the nearby forest, which the locals believed was sacred. Sometimes he would stay there for days, only to return dazed, speaking in riddles.
What set Sakawa apart from other diviners was his connection to the ancestral world. According to those who met him, he could summon spirits using a carved staff passed down from his grandfather. He never accepted payment in money. Instead, villagers brought him goats, bananas, and local brew. In return, he offered glimpses into the past, present, and sometimes, the future.
There’s a famous story from 1965, just after Kenya’s independence, when Sakawa reportedly warned of a “terrible silence” that would fall over the land. Days later, a mysterious illness swept through a few villages in Kisii. Livestock died. People became ill. And just as suddenly as it had come, it vanished. No one ever found the cause. But everyone remembered that Sakawa had seen it coming.
Over the years, tales of his abilities only grew. Some claimed he had the power to curse corrupt chiefs. Others said he could locate lost people or stolen cows by speaking with spirits. A few swore they saw him levitate, though that part remains the most debated.
As Christianity spread through the region, many began to view Sakawa’s work as dangerous or even evil. Yet even the most devout churchgoers were careful not to speak ill of him aloud. You never knew who—or what—might be listening.
In the late 1980s, Sakawa is said to have foretold his own death. He told a few close followers that the spirits had called him home. One morning, he walked into the forest and never came back. His staff was later found resting against a tree stump, untouched by weather or insects.
To this day, some say Sakawa still roams the hills at night, especially during the rainy season. Children are told to be quiet in the evenings, lest they disturb him. And if you ever hear drumming in the forest with no visible drummer, the elders will tell you: it’s Sakawa, speaking with the ancestors.
Whether you believe in his powers or not, the story of Sakawa is more than just a ghost tale. It’s a reminder of a time when the line between the living and the dead felt thinner, when wisdom came not from textbooks but from dreams, and when some people were born to speak for both worlds.
