According to the customs of my community, children were considered a source of wealth. Interested suitors reserved girls at birth. My story is not any different. As soon as my mother gave birth to me, I was earmarked to be married off as soon as I attained the age of twelve. The memories of my childhood, I fondly reminisce, by mothers daily chores comprising herding, preparing meals, and, on several occasions, I also saw her stitching by clay, our dung smeared manyatta huts.
My father was mostly quiet man, who liked to sit next to the fire every night. In his early days, he was a gallant warrior who once defended his clan from cattle rustlers. As a matter of fact, he walked with a slight limp from the injuries he sustained from the fierce battles. Chepkai! Chepkai! He would chant at the herd whenever counting. Then hed turn to my mother and ask her my age.
I was scarcely eight years old. Soon Id turn twelve and my suitor would claim me. At this time, I was accustomed to school, where I particularly loved learning bible stories, singing and dancing. I wanted to become a doctor and help all the girls who could not sit in classrooms owing to unbearable circumcision pains: Or an advocate to defend girls who did not want to be married against their wish.

The sheer thoughts of my own fate numbed my nerves. My desolation grew quite strong that cheerful songs sounded gloomy. I had to escape it. Yet my father would get none of it. Children are a source of wealth, any suggestions contrary to our traditions is a scam, staunchly believed my father. Chepkai! Chepkai ! Ten! my mother responded before he could implore about my age.

Later this night, mother sneaked into my hut and found me sound asleep next to my young brother. Frantically shaking me up, I sat up and for the first time, and noticed a tense and sad on my mothers face. Chepto, my child, she began, your father is planning to give you away in two days time. I cannot let that happen to you. Tomorrow when you go to the school, please, do not come back. Go to the convent, sister Beatrice will be waiting for you. With this, we flung our hands around each other and soaked in our tears.
By Cheperur Lokosyoo