Slowly, she turns and leaves the bed as quietly as she can. Beside her, her eight-month-old daughter is sound asleep. The other side of the bed is cold and empty. It has been for the last two weeks. She covers her daughter with an extra blanket and quietly leaves the room. As she walks across the small corridor, she checks on her two older children, ten-year-old Njeri and eight-year-old Sam. They are both sound asleep in their shared room. It won’t be long before they are up for school. For now, she lets them enjoy a few more minutes of sleep.

She proceeds to the sitting room of their three-roomed mabati house. Exercise books, pencils, and papers are sprawled on the single wooden table. At the corner sits a D-light lamp that can barely light up the corner. It must have been on the whole night. She makes a mental note to put it under the sun to recharge.
She walks out to their detached kitchen. It is 6.00 am and some darkness still lingers on. The morning cold makes her shiver a little and she clenches her oversized jacket for some warmth. Silence engulfs her compound and a cold breeze sways the trees to a rhythmic dance.
She needs to prepare tea and heat yesterday’s ngwaci for Njeri and Sam to take before school. She lights up a fire and watches as the smoke billows out through the window. Another typical morning for Mary or Mama Njeri as her neighbors call her.

Mary had been married for only a year and a half. After their small wedding, they settled with her husband at the foothills of Kamwenje hills that border Baringo and Laikipia counties. Their first year was filled with abundance, happiness, and joy. All these culminated with the birth of their daughter Shiru. They built a home, reared a trip of goats and two dairy cattle that provided milk, and filled their pockets. Her two older children joined the nearby primary school. Her marriage was flourishing. The future was promising.

Towards the end of the year, the prevailing peace slowly dwindled. Bandits armed with guns, spears, and machetes started raiding homes and taking away herds of goats and cattle. During the nights, gunshots formed a concord of noises that did everything but soothe them to sleep. During the day, sad solemn hymns escorted those who had fallen victim to the bullets. With every nightfall, fear cropped in, and the uncertainty of who would be next kept most awake. Every night, as Mary locked the pens before retiring for the night, she murmured a silent prayer that they as well would make it through the night.

On this night, the gunshots grew louder and louder followed by bleating and mooing. Her husband grabbed a jacket, and a torch and went out to check the cause of the commotion. Mary held onto her crying daughter who had been awakened by the noisy commotion. Her other two children ran into the room and held n to her for dear life. Shooting continued, intermittently sliced by screams, bleating, and mooing. Pindrop silence followed and she hoped that the bandits had gone and her husband would be back. Five minutes passed, then another five, then another five. Her husband was still outside. The temporary calmness gave her the courage to leave her children and go look for her husband. She tiptoed towards the main door and the door was wide open. A torch lying on the ground lit up the empty pens.

Hardly had she made a few steps when she stumbled, missed a step, and fell on wet soil. She reached for her small phone safely tucked in her breasts and lit up the torch. The soil was red, soaked with blood. She checked what she had stumbled on and saw her husband’s left foot sandal. She trailed it up and her eyes met the lifeless body of her husband, sprawled on the ground, a gunshot wound just above his right eye. She was dumbfounded.
She let out a deafening scream, clinging to his cold body. Her children ran out of the door towards their mother, one stumbling on the same shoe. All three held a part of the man they had grown to love as the reality of what had just happened slowly unfolded. He was gone!

Mary looks out the window, her gaze fixed on the fresh grave at the corner of their small compound. The flowers have started to wither but the cross engraved with his name stands strong. A tear falls down her face and she quickly wipes it off. It has been two weeks, but she is yet to get over the events of that night. She walks out to go wake up Sam and Njeri and prepare them for school. On her right is the empty pen. The damaged hinges hang loosely creaking as they dance to the sway of the wind. Everything reminds her of what she lost that night. She sees the sadness in her children’s eyes but there is only too little she can do to wipe it away.

The bandits keep striking their neighborhood leaving behind a trail of widows, fatherless children, orphans, and empty pens. She heard the government deployed a police operation but she knows it was a little too late. Her husband is gone and so is her hope. Her only prayer is that her children grow up alive.

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Heeey guys
Long time no say!
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Adios
^Faith❤