Murder Near Home

One morning last year, Mum asked our house girl to check if there was someone at the gate as a neighbor had called to say. She went and came back with news that someone had been killed.

Alarmed like an antelope that had seen an approaching predator, I dashed to see what was happening. When I opened the gate, I saw a crowd from a distance and walked towards it.

As I drew near, I saw a dead man lying on the ground. He was in a pullover like one Dad wears. That made me worry about Dad who had left home early that morning.

I was relieved when I saw the dead man in blue jeans that Dad doesn't wear. Then I joined the crowd and asked one woman if she knew who the dead man was.

"Yes!" she replied, "He's my son."

Feeling embarrassed for asking such a sensitive question, I said something to comfort her and then joined men on the scene.

I felt like uncovering the dead man to see his face but feared angering the already shocked crowd milling around the scene. So I asked someone else who the dead man was.

When I was told his name was Kinyajui, I couldn't recall knowing a man with that name from the area he hailed from. But I thought maybe I knew him by face. So when two confident men joined us, I followed them as I could tell they were going to uncover the slain man.

Uncovering the man, they did. He looked like a fella whose pastime was drinking and smoking. But I couldn't recall seeing his face either. What a morning!

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RECOMMENDATION: If you've enjoyed this story, you might also enjoy "My Adventures in Kiserian".