Deep beneath the rugged black terrain of eastern Kenya lies a hidden world – an intricate labyrinth of ancient caves, sculpted over millions of years. Within these cool, sacred chambers, where delicate violet flowers push through the darkness and ancestral bones rest, the Chonyi people perform their spiritual rituals. They whisper prayers, leave offerings, and carefully tie vibrant ribbons to the stone walls, believing these acts summon the spirits of their forebears.
For countless generations, guardians like Lugadi Runya Shipa have served as spiritual guides, leading worshipers through these revered caverns, following in the footsteps of his father and grandfather. In one particular chamber, he performs rituals of gratitude, sometimes involving the sacrifice of a goat, to honor the spirits.
“I know they can hear me,” he affirms, his voice echoing softly in the profound darkness.
However, for the last five years, Mr. Shipa and his entire community have been locked in a seemingly insurmountable struggle. An ambitious Emirati-backed company planned to clear over 600 acres of land, encompassing a significant portion of these sacred caves, to establish a large-scale cement production facility.
Against all expectations, they achieved a remarkable victory just last month. A Kenyan court officially revoked the company’s operating licenses, a decision prompted by the vigorous challenge launched by local residents and dedicated environmental organizations.
This triumph is particularly noteworthy in a region where mining companies are aggressively altering the natural landscape. All along Kenya’s coastline, numerous titanium and cement operations have acquired vast tracts of land for resource extraction. These deals have frequently attracted intense criticism due to their opaque nature, minimal community consultation, and a history of unfulfilled pledges regarding local employment and development.
Despite the win, the sense of victory remains delicate.
The court’s decision brings an end to a divisive dispute that has fractured this impoverished community, highlighting the enduring conflict between economic advancement and the preservation of cultural heritage. While some residents expressed deep concern over losing their traditional way of life and invaluable heritage, many families opted to sell their land, clinging to the hope that the company would deliver on its assurances of employment and a brighter future for their children.
Even within the Kenyan government, opinions were sharply divided. The mining minister visited the site and his ministry openly supported the project, viewing it as a vital opportunity to attract much-needed foreign investment during a severe recession. However, the National Museums of Kenya, operating under the culture ministry, subtly voiced its opposition. In a confidential internal letter that was never publicly released, the museums cautioned that the project would irreversibly devastate a significant portion of the nation’s cultural legacy and subsequently proposed the caves for UNESCO World Heritage status.
“The destruction of this vibrant heritage space by human actions would inflict irreversible damage upon the community’s identity,” the museum asserted in its official submission.
The Visionary and the ‘Investor’
Situated hundreds of feet above the azure Indian Ocean, the rolling hills of Chasimba are home to approximately 20,000 people, predominantly members of the Chonyi community – one of the oldest ethnic groups inhabiting Kenya’s coast.
Life in Chasimba follows rhythms far more ancient than those of modern coastal towns. Days are marked by maize and coconut harvests, lively communal gatherings, and profound prayers offered within the sacred caves that honeycomb this ancestral land. Most families reside in simple wooden homes dispersed across the farmland, lacking both electricity and running water, and the entire area relies on a single small hospital.
Then, in late 2019, an outsider arrived with a proposal that promised to transform their world: jobs, improved roads, clean water, and even a new hospital.
Michael Njoroge, a Kenyan entrepreneur residing in the United States, had been diligently searching for the ideal location to construct what he envisioned as Kenya’s pioneering hydrogen-powered cement plant.
After exploring various locations across the country, Njoroge settled on Chasimba, a secluded community blessed with an extraordinary natural asset hidden beneath its surface: an estimated 100 miles of ancient limestone. This vast reserve, once processed into cement, could sustain operations for over a century, he projected.
Mr. Njoroge partnered with Super Cement, an Abu Dhabi-based company, to secure funding for the $90 million venture. He named the proposed plant Mashujaa – meaning “heroes” in Swahili – and pledged that it would usher in transformative, generational change for this underserved region.
“Our aim is to bring significant value to a deeply disadvantaged community,” Mr. Njoroge stated in an interview from a coastal hotel last year. He also claimed the company planned to safeguard 6.7 acres that included the Mawe Meru caves, a particularly renowned sacred site for the Chonyi people.
However, realizing this ambitious project required extensive land acquisition. A lot of it.
Mr. Njoroge embarked on a complex mission to acquire the necessary land. He meticulously traced hundreds of landowners in the Chasimba hills, many of whom were difficult to identify as properties often lacked formal wills or deeds. He personally visited homes, worked to establish rightful heirs, and actively participated in numerous elders’ meetings and community forums.
“He was truly ubiquitous,” recounted Salim Chibo, a long-standing resident. “We simply referred to him as ‘the investor.’”
Initially, many listened to his proposals with a sense of cautious optimism.
For individuals like Kevin Mwachimunye, burdened with seven children and land unsuitable for farming, the company’s pledges seemed like a lifeline. In 2020, he sold a little over four acres of his property.
“This project could create a ripple effect of opportunities,” he mused, hopeful. “Perhaps we could even establish a small shop to sell food.”
Many others soon followed suit. However, a growing sense of unease began to permeate the community. As land sales rapidly progressed, deep fissures emerged within the social fabric. Clans became divided, and even siblings ceased communication.
Kai Mwahunga discovered that a distant relative had sold his family’s land without informing the current occupants, sparking fears of imminent eviction from his home.
Moreover, even those who received compensation felt it was inadequate. Land sale documents obtained by The New York Times reveal that Mashujaa generally offered between 200,000 and 300,000 Kenyan shillings per acre (approximately $1,500 to $2,300 USD), an amount often divided among multiple households. Many families reported that the remaining sum was simply insufficient.
The Unyielding Resistance
As initial hopes faded, frustration mounted. Numerous residents reported feeling coerced into selling their land, not only by the company but also by local government officials.
Umazi Shera vividly recalls a visit in late 2021 from then-local chief Rueben Ndago. “He explicitly told us that if we refused to sell, the government would seize our land,” she recounted. Her son, however, implored her to resist.
Internal documents reveal that the now-former chief was far from a neutral messenger. As a documented advocate for the company, he actively arranged sales meetings, conducted door-to-door visits, and even acted as Mashujaa’s legal witness in the appeal filed by the residents and environmental organizations.
During an interview last October, journalists discovered Mashujaa officials conducting operations directly from Mr. Ndago’s residence. Despite the appearance of a conflict of interest, he vehemently denied any allegations of coercion.
“Nobody was forced to sell their land,” he insisted.
Shortly after Mr. Njoroge’s arrival in Chasimba in 2019, a dedicated group of residents and environmental advocates initiated a robust resistance. Spearheading this effort was Dr. Mtana Lewa, a respected Chonyi elder, former member of parliament, and committed conservationist.
Dr. Lewa and his fellow villagers devised a multifaceted strategy. They rallied support from other traditional elders, cultural and environmental organizations, scientists, and legal professionals. By 2024, they had systematically filed a series of complaints with Kenya’s environmental regulator, each submitted by a distinct institution, meticulously constructing their case.
The Malindi Museum Society voiced concerns over the trade-off between cultural heritage and corporate profit. The National Museums of Kenya issued a stark warning about irreparable cultural destruction. Nature Kenya, the nation’s longest-standing environmental organization, meticulously documented endangered species at risk from the mining activities. Even the government’s own Environmental Complaints Committee initiated an inquiry into potential manipulation or rushing of community consultations.
Working alongside the Caves Exploration Group of East Africa, they diligently documented newly discovered caverns. Furthermore, they successfully lobbied the government to nominate the site for UNESCO World Heritage protection, a status it officially received in June 2023.
Despite these extensive efforts, in July 2024, Mashujaa still managed to secure its initial mining license.
The coalition reacted instantly, filing an appeal with Kenya’s National Environment Tribunal, which successfully halted all operations before they could even commence.
“Mr. Njoroge’s expectation was likely that he would obtain the license unopposed,” Dr. Lewa remarked. “However, we are fully aware of our rights, and we are determined to fight for them.”
The Moment of Truth: The Verdict
This August, the court delivered its favorable ruling to the residents. The judgment highlighted the profound cultural importance of the caves, the presence of rare ecosystems, and the company’s clear failure to adequately consult the community regarding the project’s potential risks and benefits.
“The company exploited the fact that many within the local community might be less formally educated, and therefore didn’t fully grasp the true value of their land,” explained Duncan Onyango, an associate with the environmental court.
Mashujaa has not yet indicated whether it intends to appeal the court’s decision.
“I have no comment at this moment,” Mr. Njoroge simply stated to The Times on the day the judgment was delivered.
Yet, even amidst this victory, an uncertain future looms for many families. Mashujaa retains ownership of the purchased land, and according to Kenyan law, families who sold their plots are unable to reclaim them, as confirmed by Mr. Onyango.
Deche Guni believed he was making a wise decision when he sold his land to Mashujaa. However, he now states that the meager payout proved insufficient to construct a better life. Today, he resides in an incomplete house with gaping holes in its walls, his funds entirely depleted.
“I deeply regret selling,” he lamented. “All the money is completely gone.”
Conversely, other villagers still harbor hopes that the company will proceed with development, envisioning jobs, new opportunities, and a means to benefit from the land they reluctantly sold.
Meanwhile, deep within the heart of the caves, traditional healers such as Selina Chiwetse Jefwa continue to conduct their ancient rituals.
Her ceremonies involve a circle of women who chant rhythmic prayers to invoke spirits. They burn aromatic incense, gently sprinkle rose water over their client’s shoulders, and create a resonant beat with percussion instruments. The ritual culminates in a powerful crescendo of singing and dancing within the ethereal limestone cave.
