In the quiet hills of Marakwet, along the banks of a river that traverses the ever green villages as it winds its path up to the river Turkwel in the Kerio Valley,men and women are soaking their feet in water in search of gold. Real gold it is, but the cost is too expensive. It is an adventure that was discovered just the other day but has sent even children to spend the entire day apparently, “digging gold”. Laboring ten hours a day knee deep in freezing water produced only meager rewards, if any.
As splendid as the slopes adore the highland area, as the trees dance to the rhythm of the cool breeze blowing, as the birds chip and nestle after a night of heavy down pour, the people of Nam village are awakening to some sad news. Around a homestead that looks deserted are clusters of people talking in low tones, gestures are being made, heads are bowed down as the talk continues and it seems like they are not even fully informed of the happenings around them. Questions without answers are all these people have as they try to recount the events of last night.
The rains had started early last evening and had continued till just before dawn. No one had heard anything throughout the night, not even the closest neighbor who is about two huts away. It had been a still night but the rain had pounded heavily, water sliding down the slopes, dividing into tributaries then surging together again. For the families who had iron above their heads, whenever it rained, the sound of each drop magnified exponentially.