Mwanasiti Juma once dreamed of sugarcane.
She saw tall, green stalks as her way out of poverty.
Little wonder she signed up without hesitation when Kwale International Sugar Company Ltd (KISCOL) arrived with promises of steady income, jobs, and transformation.
She borrowed money. She tilled her land. She planted hope in the soil.
Today, that dream has withered. The loans remain.
The payments never came. The mill slowed, then stalled.
Juma now plans to uproot the cane on her 3-acre farm to plant cassava and maize, but she cannot afford the cost.
The old tall cane is a badge of shame for Juma and other farmers who believe the sweet tongue of Kaushik Pabari and Rajesh Pabari commonly referred as the Pabari brothers .
“I thought sugarcane would change my life,” she says quietly.
“Now it has buried me in debt. It feels like a nightmare.”
Her story echoes across the coastal plains of Kwale.
Hundreds of small farmers are trapped in the same cycle – hope, debt, despair.
And at the centre of it all is KISCOL, once touted as a multi-billion-shilling marvel of Kenya’s modern agriculture.
But the company is now teetering.
Management has been in turmoil. Reports indicate that General Manager Pamela Ogada has left her post, deepening the uncertainty within the firm.
Communication with farmers has practically stopped, and the once-strong leadership team has become smaller.
Then followed the legal battles.
The Supreme Court rejected KISCOL’s request to halt EPCO Builders Limited’s insolvency petition in August 2025.
This decision paved the way for creditors to force the company into liquidation.
What’s more, the Kenya Bureau of Standards sought the High Court to compel KISCOL to provide KSh 135 million as security for costs.
Beneath the legal jargon, the simple truth is that KISCOL is overwhelmed by debt.
If the insolvency case proceeds, the company risks losing vast tracts of land – the very ground that once symbolised renewal for Kwale County.
Villagers in Vidziani and Mabatani claim that KISCOL’s estate forced them to relocate.
Many are now wondering if all that land will be lost for nothing as the company struggles.
It has become a bitter dream, one that started with ribbon-cutting ceremonies, bulldozers, and beautiful brochures.
Once full of hope, cane fields are now abandoned.
Once rumbling to the mill, trucks now sit unused. The hum of the factory is silent.
For farmers, the collapse is more than financial. It’s personal.
They had bet their futures on contracts they trusted, agreements that promised technical support, supply of seedlings, and payment per tonne.
But as KISCOL’s finances crumbled, so did its obligations.
Payments stopped. Harvests rotted. Banks came calling.
Many, like Juma, have gone back to food crops. Others have abandoned farming altogether.
The company once touted as a KSh 50 billion symbol of industrial renewal has become a cautionary tale – of corporate mismanagement, of political meddling, of dreams betrayed.
And as the court cases drag on and managers resign, one truth stands clear: the people who believed most in KISCOL are the ones paying the highest price.
For Mwanasiti Juma, the sugar dream turned sour. For KISCOL, the end may be closer than it appears.