When Akinyi got home, her mother was in the kitchen, preparing ugali on the three stones fireplace, smoke making her eyes water.
“Mother, have you heard that Ocholla has impregnated Awino?” she asked, sitting on a three-legged stool.
“Of course. Word travels fast around here. That man did a heinous act to the poor little girl, and he wants to marry her,” her mother said, shaping the ugali with a cooking stick and letting it simmer.
What had become of this town? Ocholla needed to be behind bars for defiling a minor. Once charged, he would spend a good part of his old age in prison. Yet, people wanted to sweep the act under the carpet and crown Ocholla with a second wife.
“I will ensure that man pays for his horrible crime.” In anger, Akinyi pushed off the stool like it had gotten too hot, and it fell backwards.
“Akinyi! Let Awino be. She is not the first girl to be defiled. She has her people to fight for her,” the older woman pleaded in a concerned tone, obviously hoping to dissuade her daughter from taking up what seemed like a deadly cause. “Didn’t I tell you about the chief of a neighbouring town who was slaughtered like a chicken while trying to settle a dispute? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Mother, it won’t come to that,” she replied defiantly. As her parent always commented, Akinyi had taken up her father’s stubbornness. Once the fire was lit inside her and she made up her mind to do something, there was no stopping her.
“Ah, this child will be the death of me.”
Her mother’s lamentation as she headed out again didn’t deter her. She was not going to sit around just like everyone else. The last time she took her sweet time, Kadogo hanged herself, leaving her a suicide note. She could not fail another person if she could help it.
The sight of Awino’s home—a small, almost-collapsing, grass-thatched house—made Akinyi more determined to do the right thing. Three of Awino’s siblings played outside, barefooted and in tattered clothes. They informed Akinyi that their mother and Awino were on the farm.
Since it was the harvesting season, most folks were busy harvesting maize. Nevertheless, the tallest of the trio went to call them from the shamba. He walked with his head cast down and his hand crisscrossed to hide the holes on his brown pair of shorts, exposing his bare buttocks.
When Awino’s mother arrived, she stared at Akinyi as if wondering why she was there. The woman was tall and emaciated, dressed in a loose-fitting purple nylon dress and a blue headscarf. In her hand was the panga she’d used on the farm, and her feet were covered in dust.
“You’re Absalom’s daughter, aren’t you?” She greeted.
“Yes, that’s right. Good evening. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Akinyi said tentatively, trying to be polite.
“You’re welcome to come inside.” The woman led the way into the poorly lit hut. A skeletal, black dog sat by the door, yawning every few seconds.
Once seated, Akinyi went straight into the heart of the matter. “I heard about what happened to Awino.”
The woman hung her head in despair, her shoulder slumped. “I will just have to marry my daughter off to that man. There is nothing I can do about it.”
Akinyi was about to say something when Awino entered the room with a bucket full of water in her hand. She was a petite girl with a protruding stomach, which seemed too much for her not-so-well developed body. She extended her hand and greeted Akinyi once she put the water down, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She then took one of the stools beside her mother.
One look at the helpless duo, and Akinyi nearly screamed. Why was life so unfair?
“Awino, please tell me what happened with Ocholla?” she asked.
The young girl stared at the twisting hands on her lap, seemingly caught off-guard.
Her mother quickly stood upright, her face devoid of any trace of a smile. “Young lady, get out of my house! I know you have just come to collect gossip for your friend, Adhiambo.”
Akinyi’s gut congealed. “I am very sorry. That was not my reason for coming here. I want to help.”
Awino’s mother didn’t look convinced. “Why should you even bother? Nobody cares anymore. With my husband gone, it’s even worse.”
The woman retook her seat. Mentioning her husband seemed to have weakened her knees.
Silence descended, Akinyi unsure of what to say.
“One day, I was going to fetch firewood,” Awino broke the long silence. “When I saw Ocholla sitting outside his house. He called me, and I went to him. He then sent me into the house to bring him drinking water. Once I was inside the house, he quickly followed me and closed the door behind him. I got suspicious and asked him why he had closed the door, but he didn’t answer. He moved towards me, and I moved back until my back met the wall. He grabbed me and ripped me off all my clothes. I was very scared and started shaking violently, but that did not stop him. He undid his clothes and forced himself on me.”
When Awino paused, Akinyi felt warm tears cascade down her cheeks, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away.
Awino continued calmly like she was sleepwalking through the whole incident. “He threatened to hurt me and my family if I told anyone or stopped going to his house for a daily dose of sex. I would go, and he would send me away with firewood so that nobody would suspect.”
The girl’s mother shook her head in disbelief. “That man came here last night, wanting to pay a huge sum of money for our silence. I won’t lie. The money would change our lives, but at what expense?”
Akinyi did not know what to say after such a harrowing tale. The young girl sat slumped on the stool as if she had just unloaded some burden off her back. Akinyi felt like holding her and telling her it was just a bad dream and when she woke, it would be alright, but she knew that was just wishful thinking. The reality was glaring at her, and it was harsh.
Promising to do her best to help, she left them and walked home in the dark, where her mother waited impatiently by the front door.
“Since when did you become the village chief?” her mother asked, face contorted with fury.
Akinyi entered the house and settled on a squeaky stool before answering. “Since the chief stopped doing his work. All he is interested in doing is settling land disputes where he can collect kitu kidogo, little thing.”
Her mother pointed a finger at her and said, “You can put that energy into use in the housework. It seems you are very idle.”
Knowing the argument would get them nowhere, Akinyi ignored her and gobbled down the food. She would visit her grandmother the next day.
When she lay on the bed, sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, her mind drifted to Kadogo, a seven-year-old, plump girl with the sad eyes she’d met at the Little Angel Orphanage where she volunteered.
The first day, Kadogo had clung to her hands when she’d wanted to leave, making her promise to come back. Akinyi hadn’t planned on returning there soon since she’d been swamped at work and doubted whether she would find the time. She’d turned to tell the girl, but there’d been something in her eyes that day—sadness and despair.
Akinyi had nodded, and that became the start of their friendship. She’d spent her weekends at the Orphanage and discovered the girl's tragic past over time.
Kadogo had been defiled by her father, and when her mother found out, she made her swear to not tell anybody. Her keen class teacher had realized that something was off with her and went to inform her parents. In turn, her parents abandoned her in the orphanage and fled.
“I swore that I never told anyone. But they never believed me,” Kadogo had whispered, tears streaming down her face.
Akinyi had hugged her. “We should report the matter to the police, you know?”
Shaking her head violently, her eyes had darted around the room. “No! If you try that, I will run away!”
“Okay, calm down. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Akinyi had reached for her sweaty hands. “This is your call, Kadogo.”
Finally nodding, Kadogo had spoken softly. “You can’t tell anyone. I just want to go home.”
Akinyi kept visiting her, and they’d bonded. However, after Akinyi’s father passed on, she went home and didn’t visit Kadogo for a few weeks. When she’d returned to the orphanage. The surly-faced, middle-aged man in charge had informed her that Kadogo had been found dead in her dormitory due to suicide.
She had plopped on her seat, the news knocking the wind out of her lungs, making her cold. He’d handed her a brown envelope with her name scribbled in Kadogo’s handwriting. She’d eyed the letter suspiciously like it was a ticking bomb, and the coarse texture had scalded her hands. Then she’d opened it and read its contents with mounting dread, her heartbeat slowing, her breath catching. The girl had assumed she had gone for good. She’d wailed for Kadogo on the dusty orphanage floor, heartbroken.
Now, Akinyi stared at the dark, wondering why the world was so cruel to the young.
She remembered her younger years with nostalgia—carefree days full of laughter and abandon. She was fortunate.
In contrast, Kadogo and Awino wouldn’t have the same. Awino would be anguished, walk around with her head bent in shame, and regard everyone, especially men, with suspicion. Would she get to fall in love and be loved after what Ocholla did?