A journey cut short

Its 7:00 am in the morning. My friends and are prepared to a village called Kakamega.

" Kakamega is a beautiful village located in western Kenya. In its intestine, is a beautiful momentous spot. What makes the spot historic is the presence of a tall gargantuan crying stone. The stone has a head. It also has a shoulder. But it has no neck. It's crippled. It also has no hands and legs…. Perhaps that's why it cries the whole day long. It has experienced eternal devastation… it was there during the eon when our ancestors were colonized. It was there when our country was headed to the dogs during the bloody post elections violence a few years ago. And that's why my friends and I decided to go and commune with it. We had decided that we shall name the stone "Cinderella" 

We wanted to wipe her tears and tell her that everything will one day be fine. That we love her with all her disabilities. We wanted her to know that even though her face has old age wrinkles, and her cheeks have shriveled into her cheek bones, she is still as beautiful as a blooming rose flower." 

Our journey to Kakamega begins. We carry our tents and foodstuff. The driver of the car we hired comes up with a cool suggestion. 
"Guys, for us to get to have something to remember about out trip to Kakamega, we should pass through Pokot. "

"Cool, what do you love about Pokot?"

"The history…."

"What about the history?"

"there's a certain remand where the first president of our nation was apprehended for a couple of months. See, all the toiletries that he used at the time are still there. Even the last underwear he wore before, the day of his release, is still there, the last time is saw it, there were residues of some three pubic hair left. I counted them. Don't you guys want to see a president's pubic hair? Come on"

"Of course we do! What are we waiting for?"

Its 8:00 am. Our journey to Kakamega via Pokot begins. The road has a little bit of mist and fog. We get to a certain zebra crossing. There's a batty woman who's urinating on our traffic lane. So we are forced to stop our car until she's done. No one is really eager to watch her urinate at this point… our minds are thinking of the late presidents pubic hair, and Cinderella, the Kakamega crying stone.

After three long hours, we arrive at the lawns of Pokot, we are tired. Blood has clotted in my buttocks. There's a raucous stillness in Pokot. The type of stillness that that gives the ticking of a clock a shrill tock at the dead of the night. All shops have been shut. We slow down our car. Peeping through my half closed window, I see a school that looks uninhabited. In front of the schools closed gates, is a lonely notebook whose fatigued pages keep on being flipped be the whistling currents of air… three gunshots pound on the silence that was there, followed by a woman's painful scream that pierced our ears.

We are all bewildered this time. We are unacquainted of what to do. We are incapable of knowing whether the scream and the gunshot we heard came from where we came from, or where we are going to.

What's worse?

There's no gas in our car.
Our car stops a few steps from a grass thatched hut. We hear a cat meowing. A dog then barks three times. We panic even more. The driver trembles, tears balance in my eyes, my two friends at the backseat breathe like a crowd of women who are about to go to labor… all our faces have the look of a guy who is experiencing constipation.

The driver then notices that the narrow path that leads to the grass thatched hut has trails of blood. At this point, I feel like peeing. My urinary bladder if full of the coffee I took before we left. But I'm unable to get out of the car. We hear another gunshot in the air. Now I can feel some droplets of urine salivating to come out of my bladder. My pant is terribly getting wet.

As my pants get wet, a man appears from the grass thatched house…. He has stains of blood in his hands and shirt. He looks like he has come from killing somebody, and in fact, he does not mind killing another one. He is in custody of a double edged machete. All sign indicate that he is coming towards our direction.

The last thing I remember before losing my conscious, was a loud scream from my friend at the back seat and the panic our driver heard when he tried to restart the car…
I found myself in a hospital bed. Surrounded by my family and friends. Our driver was also there.  Including the man who came from the grass thatched hut with blood in his hands. He narrated the story of what happened when I lost my conscious at Pokot. He said that what emanated the inter- clan war that was there, was the midnight burglary of livestock… he claimed that on that very day, he had slaughtered a goat for his family. And that he was not a killer as I thought before I got into my panic attack and lost my life temporarily… there was a smile on everyone's face when I opened my eyes at the hospital be where I had been laid for two days.

Our driver and two friends said that, when I fully pull through the panic attack, we shall plan another journey to Kakamega. And that once we arrive, we shall tell Cinderella, the crying stone the spiteful voyage we navigated through just to wipe the tears that have been oozing from her eyes perpetually. 

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