Where will I take the congregation now?
On the shores of Lake Victoria, a bulldozer reduced an Anglican church to rubble, enacting in a single morning what years of contested documentation had failed to resolve. The demolition of Mbita Parish in Kenya's Homa Bay County is not merely a property dispute — it is a symptom of a land tenure system fractured by colonial inheritance, institutional corruption, and laws that reward endurance over ownership. Across Kenya, Anglican dioceses find themselves caught in a paradox: holding legal title to land that others occupy, or losing buildings they built to claimants armed with fraudulent papers. The question a weeping bishop asked at the flattened site — where will I take my congregation? — echoes a deeper uncertainty about whether law, in its current form, can still be trusted to protect what communities hold sacred.
- A bulldozer leveled a standing church on February 19, leaving a congregation to worship in open air through the rainy season with no roof and no recourse but the courts.
- Despite holding land allocation documents from 1985 and 1991, the Anglican Church could not prevent rival claimants from acting — exposing how paper rights collapse when enforcement mechanisms are corrupted.
- Allegations of collusion between Ministry of Lands officials and fraudsters have turned Mbita township into a systematic dispossession zone, targeting churches, schools, and community organizations alike.
- The crisis cuts both ways: in Eldoret, the Anglican Church itself evicted over 100 families from church land, while those families claimed sixty years of occupation had earned them legal standing.
- The Diocese of Southern Nyanza is pursuing legal action for damages exceeding $50,000, but a deacon warns that some ACK land cases have already languished in court for over two decades with no resolution in sight.
On February 19, a bulldozer arrived at Mbita on the shores of Lake Victoria and demolished an Anglican parish church. The people who sent it claimed competing rights to the land. Bishop Simon Onyango of Southern Nyanza stood at the flattened, fenced-off site and wept. The church held allocation documents from 1985 and a formal allotment letter from 1991. None of it had mattered.
The congregation did not stop gathering. They moved to adjacent land and continued to worship in the open, exposed to rain and wind off the lake. The diocese valued the destroyed building at more than $50,000 and committed to legal action — but the immediate reality was simpler and harder: they had no roof.
Mbita has become a center of land fraud, with fraudsters systematically targeting churches, schools, and community organizations. Residents allege that the Ministry of Lands itself is complicit, colluding with fraudsters to strip legitimate owners of unregistered properties — a vulnerability built into Kenya's land tenure system, which has been reformed repeatedly since independence but never fully stabilized.
The problem reaches every corner of the country. A deacon from Southern Nyanza told The Living Church that every Anglican diocese in Kenya is entangled in land disputes, some frozen in court for over twenty years. The demolition of an actual church building marked a threshold not crossed before.
Yet the Anglican Church is not only a victim. In late March, the Diocese of Eldoret evicted more than 100 families from church land in Kipkaren. Bishop Christopher Ruto said the church had exhausted every peaceful remedy. The evicted families said they had lived there for sixty years — long enough, under Kenyan law, to potentially establish an ownership claim if the original owner fails to assert their rights. They said no formal notice was given and that force was used. The church said it owned what it owned.
These colliding stories — a congregation without walls, families without homes, documents that protect nothing, courts that resolve nothing — reveal a system in genuine collapse. The question Bishop Onyango asked at the rubble of his church has no clean answer: what comes next when the ground beneath a congregation's feet can simply disappear?
On February 19, a bulldozer arrived at the shores of Lake Victoria in Homa Bay County and reduced an Anglican parish church to rubble. The building that had stood in Mbita, about 400 kilometers northwest of Nairobi, was demolished by people claiming competing rights to the land—the latest and most dramatic chapter in a sprawling crisis over church property ownership that has entangled the Anglican Church of Kenya in legal battles across the nation.
Bishop Simon Onyango of Southern Nyanza oversees Mbita Parish. He stood at the flattened site, now fenced off by the rival claimants, and asked a question that carried the weight of displacement: "Now where will I take the congregation?" The church held legal documentation stretching back decades. The National Land Commission had allocated the property to the Anglican Church in 1985. A formal allotment letter followed in 1991. Yet someone else had claimed ownership and acted on it. "Why is it that some people claim to be the owner of this land when the church is legally the owner?" Onyango asked, his voice breaking with tears.
The congregation did not stop gathering. They moved to adjacent land and continued to worship in the open air, exposed to the spring rains and the wind off the lake. The diocese calculated the destroyed building's value at more than $50,000 USD and committed to pursuing legal action for damages and recovery of title. But the immediate loss was simpler and more painful: they had no roof.
Mbita township has become a epicenter for land fraud. Fraudsters have systematically targeted properties belonging to community organizations, schools, and churches. Local residents allege that the Ministry of Lands itself has become complicit in the scheme, colluding with fraudsters to strip legitimate owners of property that remains unregistered under Kenya's fragmented land tenure system—a system that has undergone multiple reforms since the colonial period ended but has never fully stabilized.
The problem extends far beyond this one demolished building. A deacon from Southern Nyanza told The Living Church that every Anglican diocese in Kenya has been entangled in land disputes. "The ACK has so many land cases," he said. "Some of the cases have been in court for over twenty years." The destruction of an actual church building, though, represented a threshold that had not been crossed before.
The crisis is not confined to disputes where churches are the victims. In late March, the Diocese of Eldoret, located about 200 kilometers northeast of Mbita in the Rift Valley, evicted more than 100 families from church property in Kipkaren. Bishop Christopher Ruto said the diocese had made repeated attempts to convince the squatters to leave voluntarily, without success. He characterized the eviction as orderly and humane, noting that the church had been patient and had exhausted other remedies. "As a religious organization, we did everything possible to resolve the matter properly and with respect," Ruto said, "but they resisted."
The squatters told a different story. They claimed they had occupied the land for sixty years—long enough, under Kenyan law, to establish an ownership claim if the legal owner fails to assert their rights within that period. They said the diocese issued no formal eviction notice and employed excessive force. The law itself creates the paradox: occupy private land for twelve consecutive years without challenge, and the original owner loses their claim. The squatters believed they had earned the land through time. The church believed it owned what it owned.
These disputes—churches demolished by rival claimants, families evicted from land they say they have inhabited for generations, legal cases frozen in court for two decades—reveal a system in collapse. The Anglican Church of Kenya finds itself caught between defending its own property rights and confronting the human consequences of asserting them. The question Bishop Onyango asked at the rubble of his church remains unanswered: what comes next when the law itself is contested, when documents mean nothing, and when the ground beneath a congregation's feet can simply disappear.
Citas Notables
Why is it that some people claim to be the owner of this land when the church is legally the owner?— Bishop Simon Onyango, Diocese of Southern Nyanza
As a religious organization, we did everything possible to resolve the matter properly and with respect, but they resisted.— Bishop Christopher Ruto, Diocese of Eldoret, on the eviction of squatters
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why would someone actually demolish a church building over a land dispute? That seems extreme.
Because in Mbita, and across Kenya, land fraud has become so normalized that people act on false claims with confidence. The rival claimants believed they had a right to the property, or at least believed they could get away with it. There's no enforcement stopping them.
But the church had documents from 1985 and 1991. Doesn't that settle it?
It should. But the documents exist in a system that has fractured over decades. Kenya's land tenure has been reformed multiple times since independence, and properties registered under old systems aren't always recognized under new ones. A piece of paper isn't the same as power.
The bishop mentioned the Ministry of Lands colluding with fraudsters. Is that actually happening, or is it frustration talking?
Locals say it's happening. Whether it's systematic corruption or negligence that amounts to the same thing, the effect is identical: people with false claims can move against legitimate owners and face no consequences. That's what emboldens someone to bring a bulldozer.
What about the evictions in Eldoret? Is the church the victim there or the aggressor?
Both, maybe. The church owns the land legally. But the families have lived there for sixty years. Under Kenyan law, that occupation creates a claim. The church and the squatters are both right according to different versions of the law.
So there's no resolution coming.
Not soon. Some of these cases have been in court for over twenty years. The system is too broken to adjudicate them quickly, and the stakes are too high—property, shelter, identity—for anyone to simply walk away.