The pestle of life

Kenneth Jura

By Kenneth Juror | Kenya

It all seemed uniquely dark than usual, school going children had already left, the sounds of chirping birds rose and fell as the sun tried to pierce through the clouds’ opaqueness. The weather however had never deterred anyone from going about their day’s chores.

The village stood conspicuously on the hill, its face towards the highlands and its back towards the plains. On the other side was yet another hill conjoined with a low land, all its waters going downhill like tears on dry cheeks.

The sun had dimmed slightly by the time Kinyua took water to his father’s animals. He was carrying a 20 liter-jerry-can from the homestead’s watering point when he overheard a group of girls talking across the fence. They laughed quite loudly as if to mock him and perhaps get his attention. At first he pretended not to be perturbed by…

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