This is the third instalment of Dennis Odhiambo's novel, The Perpetual Sunrise, which is based on the massacre of Kenyan troops in the Somali town of El Adde in 2016. His main character, Bill Odhiambo, survives the massacre but is left crippled and suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.

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"Another one!" Bill ordered the young bartender. His mabati mug exposed his dissatisfaction; he was still thirsty. This was his third mug, but the more he quaffed the brewed imawua, the soberer he became. The bartender gave him a searching look. She wondered why this physically disabled man was such a rolling stone. His well-tailored flamboyant suit and new derby hat crafted a boss out of him, making him look like a king in their sickly mud-walled hut.

The room was half full of men with dyed hair and red shukas. To them, rum was the only consolation for a wrecked economy and the tension of feeding families while Miles’ repulsive soldiers held them chained. For many fathers, it was heart-breaking to watch hunger wash away the nutrients from their children’s pale bodies. Their hopes to live had dwindled; they were merely surviving.

Bill cast his eyes on the antique clock. An hour had glided past. Darkness was creeping in, and he had yet to hear from his "saviour." He worried the old cop’s mission to strike a deal with border officials had fallen through. He pulled out his phone, staring at it with anxiety. The bartender watched him sardonically. Was he truly incapacitated? How did he make his way to the north?

"Hey you! Are you okay?" she asked.

Sensing no response, she returned to serving others. Later, his phone rang three times. The bartender yelled, "Better switch off that thing if you are not prepared to answer!" Bill finally picked up and pressed the loudspeaker. A terrified male voice exploded: "I’VE BEEN ARRESTED. Help me. I warned you!" The line died.

The bartender stared at him. She had heard his name mentioned elsewhere. "Are you after something?" Bill asked angrily. "Sorry, sir," she mumbled. "Here's your bill, and keep the change." He gave her a five-hundred-shilling note. She was blissed out, realizing he was a man on a mission. She swore to milk his pockets dry.

"Get me a mug of water," Bill requested.

When she returned, he remarked, "I don’t like smartphones; they are vulnerable to attacks." He opened the back of the phone, removed his SIM cards, and dropped the device into the water. "You just—" the bartender started. "Yes, I just killed this woman. She wanted to betray me." He moved his lines into an old button phone.

"Where are we?" Bill asked. "You're in Morshan Grasslands, the border between Northern Kenya and Ethiopia. Three kilometres away is the road to the Kisasa Highway." "Is there a place to sleep? I'll pay handsomely." "The rooms are occupied by Miles’ soldiers and security forces," she replied. "Miles! You mean those vampires are nearby?" Bill's revelation sent shivers down his spine. "Yes. They forced us from our homes. We girls became their slaves and wives. Those brutes stole us forcefully."

Bill learned that the "security forces" actually worked for Miles, raiding pastoral communities for livestock. "Aren't they the bandits who torch homes?" Bill asked, shocked that protectors of life were the perpetrators of impunity. "Don't use that term 'bandits' again," the bartender warned. "We call them the security force. Be courteous."

That night, Bill saw young girls wandering with soldiers the age of their fathers. He realized he was dining with his foes. He tossed wearily on a mat, missing his cold bed, until sleep devoured him. The next morning, a call from Hossana and Jefferson aroused him. Jefferson expressed disappointment in Bill’s direction but reassured him that freedom would knock soon. Bill promised to return home as a dignified citizen, not a fugitive.

He then called Honourable Mudogo. "I’m safe, for now... I’ll try everything possible... Compile the evidence."

Later, a young girl named Saret Lesuyai arrived. Despite her youth, she carried herself like an adult. She was a Samburu girl, the right "ingredient" for Bill’s course. She greeted him in her native tongue, which Bill couldn't understand until she spoke English. "I'm Bill Odhiambo." "I'm pleased to meet you!" Saret replied.

Saret pushed his wheelchair outside into the sun. The compound had twelve scattered huts. "Are the soldiers around?" Bill asked. "No. They leave for taoni—Marlal Town—to organize raids and maintain 'order,'" Saret explained. She mentioned a man named Leparsaiya who lost his ability to walk because he refused to pay the soldiers loyalty dues. "I’d wish to meet him," Bill said. Saret detected a hidden mission in his tone.

It was Bill's second day. He was growing sick of the mishaps, but he chose not to fight back with force. Silence was his weapon. He viewed Saret as a potential aide—a "spoonful of sugar" to help his medicine go down. He also considered Menyei, the bartender, a perfect match for his plans due to her tenacity.

That night, a feminine voice knocked on his door. "Kindly open for me! It's me!" The person sounded in serious danger. Then, an edgy male voice charged, "Open this door!" Bill grabbed his crutches and spotlight. Two heavily built twins in red shukas stood outside with a thirteen-year-old girl. The girl suddenly bolted past Bill into the hut.

"Go after her, Lempeii!" one man shouted. "I'm afraid of the lmang'antita (stranger)," the other replied, pointing at Bill. The girl yelled from inside, "I will never come back! I want to go to school! I'll be Morshan's MP!" The men eventually left, hurling insults. They had lost the "bride" and the herd of cattle they expected in exchange.

Bill sat in silence. He wondered why the girl chose his door. He heard her mumble in her sleep, "I will never be wife to Mr. Tree Trunk!" At 5 a.m., Bill heard whispering outside. He wondered if they were wizards, a common phenomenon in native Kenya where wizardry was used for riches or power. He shone his spotlight through the wall crevices, and the footsteps faded away.

In the morning, Saret was woken by Menyei’s singing. Menyei loved the song "Ukombozi Waja Wana-Kenya." Her mother, Yieyoo, hated the singing, believing it was a boy's affair. Menyei’s brother, Lempeii, was a famous artist with a YouTube channel. Though Lempeii often snubbed her, Menyei’s voice was the reason his videos got millions of views. She hoped to have the barricades removed from her path one day.

"Stop it, Menyei!" Saret cried. "I'm sorry," Menyei replied. "What about the plan for Lenguris? We must stand for her. Mr. Tree Trunk will never be of use to her future."

A knock followed, and Lenguris—the endangered sister—entered. The man "Mr. Tree Trunk" had four wives but was obsessed with Lenguris’ beauty. "We thought you accepted his hand!" Menyei joked. "Me? Never! One of my feet is already in Kisima Girls school," Lenguris declared. They all broke into laughter, ready to face the music. "Was the lmang'antita in the hut?" Saret asked. "Yes, he was asleep. But he is scary! He talks to himself all night," Lenguris whispered. "Maybe he is sick in the head," Saret observed. "I doubt that," Menyei said. "He is the bridge between us and Papaa. We should not give up on him yet."

Bill's phone rang and he answered it. The voice on the line was none other than Jefferson's. In the background, he could clearly hear Hossana sing what sounded like a lullaby.

"Bill. They're all after you again! You need to be more careful!"

"Who are they?"

"The soldiers. The President. Dr Miles. Everyone... It's all over Bill, even in today’s headlines and briefings!"

Bill went silent. It was not something new.

"You had known him?" Jefferson asked.

"What do you mean?"

"That old man. The constable. They said he helped you break out... he was arrested while attempting to make his way across the border."

"So? What about him?”

"He's in jail, accused of treason... Oh poor old chap!"

"What about his family?"

"I doubt their safety... they’ll haunt your family to get information out of you."

"Where are you located?"

"That is my little secret for now... I destroyed my smartphone and opted for my old button."

"You’re so smart, Bill. But where really are you?"

"And I already refused to divulge that bit... this is wireless communication... I'll be the next one biting the dust!"

"Ha! Those clueless dudes in the name of IT experts?"

"Still, I have to be cautious. Keep my boy out of this... I'll be back one day."

"But I still think you had better not run away!"

"I only changed my battle-ground... I had to run away from that death camp."

"If you're safe, the best. Please take care."

“Did you receive some help from a visitor?”

“A truck full of different items... a man who introduced himself only as Simon... he said that you were safe.”

“A long-time friend... I keep my cards close to my chest.”

“And let me ask you one question...”

The call instantly disconnected. Bill sighed.

What followed was an urgent knock on the door. The three girls stormed in.

"We need your help, sir!"

"Me?"

"Today we have visitors back in the village... they want her to tie the knot with Mr Tree Trunk."

"And who's he?"

"He's a finance officer... Papaa's intimate friend."

"We need you to stop this, please."

"Today!"

"Yes."

Bill hesitated. "Where will I spend the night?... Don't you think your departure will raise the soldiers' eyebrows?"

"I’ve resolved that I have to fight this battle and win it," Menyei explained.

"You'll surely love the place and the warm hospitality... at Merty Village."

Bill had no other way out.

That same morning, Bill set out for Merty Village. It was tiring. There were no roads. However, with each step, they became more reenergized.

They met different faces on the way—young women and children carrying empty water cans. Water scarcity was a huge concern in Northern Kenya. It humiliated many families.

For him, the people to blame were the leaders. There were numberless ways of solving the water crisis. All they had to do was pump enough resources into water projects.

The residents struggled to meet that vital need. It was possible that they had failed in making meaningful choices at the ballot. If they had succeeded and there were still no changes, then those responsible had simply decided to sleep on their job.

He knew this was the first policy on every political party’s manifesto. What else should the electorate be given if not something close to solving the water problem?

On education, they were well off. The children were able to sit on the dusty floor under a tree and spell their teachers’ names. The country was advancing.

"We're almost there!" Saret exclaimed.

"How many miles to go?"

"Not far, Mr lmang'antita," Lenguris replied.

They burst out laughing.

Suddenly, they turned. An astonishing all-wheel-drive stood behind them.

The front doors opened, and there he was—Mr Solomon Leparsaiya.

"We meet again!"

"As usual!"

"And where to? You never told me you had a family in Northern Kenya!"

"I'm taking them back to their Yieyoo."

He offered them a ride, which they quickly grabbed.

Bill could not hide his happiness inside the stylish four-wheeler.

"So, Bill... did you tell me that the news was true?"

"About what?"

"The lieutenant is after you... You need to change your mind, bud. Waging a battle... is a waste of time."

He whispered, "You are dancing with death, Bill... join them if you can't fight them."

He went silent.

"Bill... It's time you do yourself a favour... Let it go, Bill!"

The girls were welcomed by their mother, who was delighted. Their father appeared down in the dumps.

He sat broodingly under the lig'aboli tree.

"Good afternoon, Papaa."

"Who's he?"

"Our friend... He's a real culture vulture."

"Let him know that he's definitely at the right place."

Later, they departed for their grandmother's home.

The homestead was situated on the slopes of Oldoinyo Lalasai Hill. The landscape gave the region a sense of grandeur.

Their grandmother saw to it that everyone was happy. Bill was regarded as a God-sent visitor.

There were no boys. Those of Menyei's age were already established morans, the security force of the community.

However, Bill's heart still ached. The conversation with Mr Leparsaiya troubled his mind. Had he meant it? What were his motives?

Bill had known him for over thirty years. They had enrolled at Baraka High School the same day. Mr Leparsaiya was a smart boy. He topped nationally. Bill went to the US; Leparsaiya went to Amsterdam.

Later, he resurfaced as a billionaire.

When Bill met him again, he was a very different person. His identity remained as clear as mud.

That afternoon, Lenguris was not herself. She appeared anxious. Her father had informed her that her husband-to-be had flown out of the country. He would check on them two days later.

She had overheard that the man had been indicted for abuse of office and embezzlement of funds.

Lenguris could not tire meditating on it. She had a feeling that she was nowhere near safety.

Bill learned something unique about the young girls who remained at home. It was part of the Maa culture.

The girl-child beading meant that young girls were involuntarily booked by morans for sexual entanglement. The bead signified that the girl was given the mandate to have a sexual encounter with her moran.

The beaded girl would have the freedom to engage in sexual intercourse until she was to be circumcised and married off.

Pregnancy was forbidden. In case a girl conceived, the pregnancy had to be terminated through cruel abortion. Alternatively, the child had to be killed.

What was more shocking was the passive role of the girl. She had no role to play other than offering herself.

"Is it a just practice, Saret?"

"Not at all... the beaded girl is only exposed to mental and sexual violence."

"What about them, your cousins?"

"Their yieyio had fought for them, but nothing else was done."

"You mean the girls lacked someone to support them?"

"That's true..."

"But do you see this coming to an end someday?"

"It's nkishooroto e saen!"

"Let me call it the Morshan beast..."

"Maybe it's time we thought of ways of ending its life... we'll be saving the futures of many young ntoyie e Sampurr!")

A mobile phone rang in one of Mr Solomon Leparsaiya's offices at 10 a.m. His secretary hesitated answering it. Office rules strictly barred her from answering unknown calls. She ignored it, but when the caller persisted, she decided to take the risk.

"Michelle from DPP's office, may I know who is speaking?"

"Yes! John... Johnson Kibali."

"Is that the priest speaking?"

"Yes! Dr Father Johnson Kibali—of Busia Holy Cathedral."

"How may I help you, sir?"

"Your voice… kama ya ninga kiotani. What did you say your name is?”

"I am Michelle... How may I help you?"

"Oh, Michelle! What a lovely name! How old are you... Mind if we could catch up... have some coffee?"

"Sir, I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss such matters in the office."

"Business first... get Mr Leparsaiya on the line."

"He's not yet in, sir."

"No-no-no! I'll call him... It's urgent. But, what about my request?"

"I’m sorry I can’t help you with that, sir."

"Mine is 07-22-90..."

She hanged up.

Moments later, the door swung open and her boss stormed in.

"Michelle!... Why should you be rude to my colleagues?"

"I've not been rude to anyone."

"Do you understand that I had to accept soiling my reputation for you to be here?... you landed here without any document... you never sat an interview..."

"I'm truly sorry, boss... My aim was to uphold your office's integrity."

"Integrity! What will you teach me about integrity?"

"Sir...?"

"You are fired Michelle!... pack... and vamoose!"

He banged the glass table. It disintegrated. Michelle had been fired.

General Kibali sat on the verandah of his one-storeyed mansion, glancing at his wrist-watch.

"3:30pm yet no one seems to be coming!... Everyone, two hours late!"

A procession of cars flowed into his compound.

"Here we go!"

Dr Miles' Rolls-Royce Ghost led. Behind it were other cars belonging to parliamentarians. Last was the DPP, Mr Solomon Leparsaiya, in his Range Rover Sport. He appeared to be in a resentful mood.

He had been looking for a way of retrenching Michelle. She had turned down his marriage proposal. She claimed she was not comfortable being the second wife. This meant she would be forced to bury her dream of enrolling at the University of Nairobi.

"Welcome all! Please have your seats, viongozi!"

The meeting kicked off. At first, each dignitary was buoyant till Bill's name was introduced.

"Are we at our wits end, delegates?" Dr Miles asked.

"What!" bellowed Mr Leparsaiya. "Get your proposals on the table."

"Fighting Bill directly would only jeopardize Mr President’s administration," the anti-corruption CEO said. "Let's give him a position in the government."

"What if he declines?"

"Raise the levies... In a month, he'll have no choice but to crawl into our arms!"

"Do you buy this, comrades?" Dr Miles asked.

General Kibali cried out, "I'm just fed up... you mean you're ready to have this old man ache our nerves forever?"

"What's your suggestion?" Dr Miles asked.

"What did the wise say about a child who cries for a razor?"

"You give it to him!"

"My boys are ready. I'll professionally handle it."

Mr Leparsaiya was astounded.

"Yes! It's time... Bill needs to know that I don’t care."

He walked out.

"This meeting is adjourned."

Mr Leparsaiya left first. He had heard of such cases—people who ended up losing their lives. Bill would not be reprieved.

He crawled back into his car.

"Sir, you seem to be unwell today."

"I'm not sick... Just musing on what lies ahead."

"I'm going home."

He later resurfaced with a classified envelope. He was now the owner of a half-acre piece of land. It was his reward.

He wished that Bill could also go that way.

"We're going to the market. Would you like to go with us?" Saret asked.

"No problem."

"Kisima Market. There is a nkiguana there... Everyone will be present."

"Let me know when you'll be ready."

Bill wore his derby hat and sunglasses.

They found Kisima Market already flooded. Zealous locals poured in from all directions. Leaders were present.

The urgency of the baraza had stemmed from the rising uncertainties. The region had been termed a hotbed of terror. There was an upsurge in banditry cases.

Thus, the reason behind the barazas was to revoke the approval of guns ownership.

General Kibali was the last to arrive. The convoy flowed into the VIP square.

On seeing him again, Bill felt a lump in his throat. This was the person responsible for his miseries.

The meeting kicked off. After a prayer, the entertainment programme followed. The Congolese orchestra artist ran the show.

A whooping amount was reserved for food and water. Later, a kilo of salt, a matchbox and a fifty-shilling note would be given to everyone.

"How I wish I’d be part of the entertainers!" Menyei observed.

"But I can!" she insisted.

"I'm going to ask for permission from the MC."

"I can sing. I want to sing!"

"Ntito ai," an elderly woman cut her short.

"Wish to sing?... if it's a cultural song, that’s better... but anything more than that... do not waste your time."

Menyei did not respond.

General Kibali took hold of the programme. He singled out names on the government’s radar.

He mentioned a manhunt for fugitive criminals, including one Bill. A prize of Ksh10,000 would be handed to anyone who would help unmask him.

This tormented Bill.

"Saret, are we really going to grow up?" Menyei asked.

"To hell with them... I feel like my time is over in this desert of land!"

"A man who hangs around a beautiful girl without saying a word ends up fetching water at her wedding," Bill said. "We took our own lives at the booths."

"They are our leaders... Maybe it's their day, ours is on the way."

Later that evening, Bill received news that Jefferson had been arrested again.

"We should leave before they come back," Hossana cried.

"Let them come!" Jefferson said. "I’ll be here fighting for them."

"They might harm you... Think about Naomi and the boys."

"I, Lieutenant Colonel Jefferson Nguombili... will be here fighting."

He collapsed on the makeshift bed.

"He's deranged again!" Hossana wondered.

He moved outside. The officers were along the road, sipping and extracting money.

One approached. Hossana rushed back.

"They're coming!"

Jefferson did not move.

"When roots are deep, there is no need to fear the wind," he said.

"I'm off Jefferson."

"You better go, child."

At the station, an officer said, "I've tried my best to make him escape."

"You mean he's still stuffed in that grave?"

"Don't you think he's innocent?"

"I have no idea... I think he's now also on hunger strike."

"Don't you think it's time we informed boss?"

"You and I."

"Sssh... they're coming."

The following day, Hossana and Naomi came at 7 a.m.

"Good morning, sir!"

"What do you want?"

"I'm here to see my husband."

"What's your name?"

"I am Naomi, Jefferson's only legitimate wife."

"Are you talking about that old sot?"

"Sir, please reserve some respect."

"He'll be arraigned in court tomorrow. He was transferred to Busia Prison."

"Thank you."

They walked in silence.

"Will you go after him?" Hossana asked.

"I don't think so."

"This is his third arrest... I don't understand why he should be the target."

"Then we should go to the courts tomorrow."

"And the boys?"

"I'll ask someone to help out."

"It's fine then."

"Deal?"

"Deal."

Bill sat at the furthest corner of the public gallery in Busia Magistrate Court, his derby hat and pair of glasses on. In front of him sat Saret, broodingly. They exchanged glances that revealed their nervousness.

"I wish I would have not come! Are we going to sit here forever?" Saret groaned.

"But, aren't you the one who insisted that we had to come?" Bill said.

"I didn't travel all the way from Morshan... my aim was to see this man... whom the government says is a threat."

"I didn't know it'd be this serious... I can't hesitate to believe that it's the product of a choreographed jobbery."

"I don't believe what they wrote. This man is clean."

"I also hope so."

Naomi and Hossana entered at half past nine and took seats. Naomi donned a floor-length African dress. She appeared calm.

At ten, proceedings began.

“Mr Jefferson Nguombili… do you accept that… you disrupted the annual general meeting… and injured several people?”

“Yes, your honour.”

“Do you agree… you were arrested… being over-drunk and disorderly?”

“Yes, your honour.”

“Do you agree… you broke out of your cell?”

“No, your honour. I was freed.”

“Do you agree… you were again arrested… vandalising public rubbish bins and unlawful handling of heroine?”

“No, your honour. I was just walking home calmly.”

“Because the defendant has denied some of the charges… I hereby schedule the hearing… The defendant is denied bail.”

The bailiff marched away with Jefferson as Naomi and Hossana embraced, tears rolling down their faces.

Bill and Saret held onto each other's hand. As they left, Bill ran into the police officer who had rescued him from jail. He turned his face away. The man did not recognize him.

A week later, Naomi heard someone shout her name.

"Naomi! Naomi!"

She turned and met the officer who had harassed them.

"I've come to say sorry Naomi."

"Is that apology necessary for now?"

"I'm aware that you're facing a lot... How I wish I could be of help."

"I have to go now."

"I need us to..."

"To what?"

"I'm interested in you, Naomi."

"What! That sounds weird and stupid."

"I mean it. I love you!"

"Me? A woman your mother's age? A mother of twelve?... You fat mongoose... Are you blind to see girls your age?"

"Let's talk about our love, mon amour."

"God, they're all innocent! Hahaha. Who took him in?"

"Chèri?"

"If you call me that name again..."

He held her hand and pulled her close. She struggled to free herself. He clutched her firmly.

She smelled his cologne. She imagined.

Then she shouted:

"Leave me alone! You fat mongoose! Go find a girl of your age!"

He let her go and handed her a bundle.

"What's this for?"

"It's for you... I know you need some money."

"At least my children will eat something good tonight."

She took it.

"That's my phone number. Give me a call."

She left, wondering whether to heed to such a call. It had been two weeks since Simon last showed up.

"He's on the way. Papaa has confirmed it!" Saret declared.

"What! Today?" Menyei asked.

"Should we flee to the camp?" Saret suggested.

"Which IDP camp?"

"Suiyian IDP camp... Most of my friends reside there."

"Going there will be too risky... What shall we tell them?"

"We are all unsafe here!"

"Have you informed Lelesiit and Lempeii?"

"Why should we?... If we're going, we'll set out on Thursday afternoon. Bill has promised to facilitate us."

"It's fine... hope he'll accompany us."

"Definitely!"

That evening, Bill and Saret went to Kisima Market. They entered a cyber café.

“I have my own gadget... I need an Internet connection,” Bill said.

He opened his laptop.

“I have some files in my Drive I need to send.”

The owner looked at him closely, pulled out a photograph, glanced at Bill, then left with his phone.

“That man seems to be obsessed with something,” Saret observed.

“Yes, I know... I know what he’s up to.”

“Is that lady in the photo... being raped?” Saret asked.

“Keep your eyes closed... You shouldn’t be snooping.”

“I’m building a tight case against some reprobates. Let’s go.”

He paid and left.

Shortly afterwards, the owner returned with two police officers.

“Where’s that old man?”

“He left... a minute ago.”

“And my money?”

“There. He placed some money on your desk.”

The officers grabbed him, handcuffed and dragged him away.

A week passed. Naomi could not forget the officer. Yet her husband’s name had ceased crossing her mind.

She pulled out her phone. She wanted to call him.

"Hello," she began.

"Hello! Who's this?"

She shrunk. She was not ready.

"Hello! Is someone on the line?"

She hanged up.

Saret flipped through Angaza Newspaper.

"Would you please put that thing down? We should be going," Menyei pleaded.

"We agreed to set out at 3 p.m."

"I know," Saret replied.

"Menyei. See. The Perpetual Sunrise!"

"What?"

"The Perpetual Sunrise... do you recall what we learnt in Social History and Government?"

"They sent him back to jail... the man is useless."

"Do you mean you're contented with the present state?... What about education? peace? equality?"

"They're only dreams."

"Change is us... This is the perpetual sunrise... a new dawn."

"What does that mean?"

"It explains the causes and effects of poor leadership... we must fight together."

"What about our dreams?"

"Everything is catered for."

"This is promising! But we have to go."

"Bill, you said that you don't know anything about Jefferson. Did you mean that?" Saret asked.

"I only said I don't know much about him."

"He was my teacher... Do you recall The Perpetual Sunrise?"

"Where did you get all this?"

"Go through your copy of the Angaza Newspaper."

Bill fell into doubt. How had she identified him with Jefferson?

His mind roamed further and fell on Naomi and Hossana. He yearned to see them.

When the vehicle came to a halt, he woke from the reverie.

"Lenguris, help me here," said Saret.

They helped Bill alight.

The vehicle sped off.

They hurried towards Suiyan IDP Camp. Darkness was creeping in.

"What next from here?" Bill asked.

"Taanyuaki," Saret said. "Kalotu ashukunye."

She disappeared into the camp and returned with a middle-aged woman.

Without objection, they followed her.

They made their way into their new home.

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