This is the fourth 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.

General Kibali had all the reasons to admit that this was the worst day in his revered military career. He was quite convinced that the CS Interior and Coordination had failed him a big deal. If not enough, the council members had failed to grant him permission to probe into the Suiyan IDP Camp attack, even after receiving a directive from the president, thus twisting the knife in his wound. The council members believed that Kibali was on the verge of sabotaging the progress of every sector within the country which he was not even part of.

Besides, the CS Interior had termed the exercise an internal affair which was still at a premature stage, and claimed that bringing the matter to light would only help fan flames of malevolence from the rest of Kenyans. He reported that his men were still digging into the delicate issue with the intent of bringing to light the perpetrators in no time. Also, those responsible were still under the government's radar, and so the government would work around the clock to see to it that no stone remained unturned. The country was growing sick of bloodshed. The death toll from Suiyan IDP Camp massacre had risen to thirteen, while many continued to nurse life-threatening injuries.

To General Kibali, they were losing it. The country was sinking. He felt that something urgent had to be done if Mr President’s leadership was to see the light of the day. He has failed his president, his people and even himself.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Father John's contact. It did not go through. He tried Mr Leparsaiya's, still his did not. He continued nursing his wounds, in silence. He was enraged. The priest, for two days now, had been out of reach. He wondered what had befallen the man of God. His lamb needed spiritual nourishment and desperately wanted to see the face of its father.

Nevertheless, he wondered whether the man of God would accept his type of prayer. A man had to die for the sake of his peace and the survival of this regime. That man had a lot of secrets at his disposal. Some years ago, they had tried to show him some grace by pushing him back to the dusty countryside. They had asked him to keep his lips tight if he wanted to continue living. But now as it seems, this man had made good use of his chances. He had made great connections and escaped from his cage.

His rivalry with Bill had begun when the United States started heaping praises on the man over his shooting capabilities and success in the army. It was the advent of a real threat to his career progress back at home. Bill had to be tamed as early as possible. He decided to push his threat right in between the jaws of death.

Now, he was not only disturbed that Bill had survived that hurricane but also feared that he had known what he did to him and all the other issues which resulted in the death of over a hundred and forty soldiers in Somalia.

He was divorced and so lived all alone. A court verdict had annulled his marriage. His ex-wife, Christine, was only permitted to see him once a month, to collect monthly dues from him for the purpose of raising their two children. He had totally absconded his marital roles and his wife could not take it anymore.

There she was, reading the day's briefing. She was a senior news anchor at the renowned Kenya National Television—KNT. “Tension continues to rise at Suiyan IDP Camp as the death toll rises to fifteen. A twelve year-old girl is the latest to succumb to the attack,” she reported.

"Well, as you can see from the live pictures behind me, there is still a lot of tension here. The police are trying to hold back angry locals," the reporter said. “Most of the deaths were as a result of gunshots… The girl… had sustained three gunshot wounds… shot at a close range.”

He instantly switched it off. He knew those were just fabricated lies. Someone was determined to bring him down. He was convinced that the CS Interior was the one pulling him down.

His phone rang. It was Mr Leparsaiya. “I’m going to destroy all the evidence he has and bring him to you like a lamb,” he said. The connection was instantly cut off. Something was utterly wrong.

Bill and Menyei patiently sat in the waiting section of Samburu County Referral Hospital. For two hours, the doctor had been asking them to hold on. They were losing their patience.

"What happened, Menyei? What happened?" Bill desperately asked.

"I found her on the floor. She was silent. I don't know what had happened to her," Menyei replied.

"And where's Saret?"

"I don't know."

"We were not together last night… She… didn't come back."

"And the shootings?"

"It was past midnight… Four armed men stood before us… They said that they had come for only one reason: to pick Bill."

"They told us that if they wouldn't get you, we'd regret it."

Menyei's parents later walked in. Her mother was grief-stricken. Her husband… only watched the news in silence. He cast a scornful glance at Bill. He held a conviction that the strange man was the mastermind behind his agonies.

They looked like complete strangers. Each tucked a daunting tale in their heart. They were restless and eager to hear the doctor’s report.

"Who amongst you is Bill Odhiambo?" the nurse asked.

"I am the one."

"Are you the father?"

"No. There he is."

He eventually came back, wearing a sombre face. The trio could easily read from the sad face the news he carried. Mother and daughter were inconsolable. They wailed.

They left the hospital around midnight. Everyone was brooding, imagining how life would look like without their beloved daughter, Lenguris.

At home, the news about Lenguris’ demise was received with reproach and denial. They mourned for two days, the loss of Lenguris and the disappearance of Saret. They laid Lenguris to rest a week later, in the absence of Saret.

"What next? Are you going to stay with them or go back to the camp?" Bill asked.

"I'll go with you. You know I can't sit here. Very soon, Papaa and Yeiyoo will get me on the line."

"I don't want to get married. I'm sure that's their plan."

"But you're too young to be called a wife."

"In their eyes, a young girl is one who has just been born."

"But, how's this happening in the twenty-first century?"

"It's happening because we're all blind… Both shall fall into a ditch."

"Why can't you go back to school then?"

"I was forced to drop out in form one."

Bill’s phone started ringing. “Mr Leparsaiya… I didn’t intend to do that, but you forced me… I had to test your loyalty… I’m glad to have you back… I’ll be ready…”

"Well… would you wish to go back?"

"Of course, but only to an art or music school."

"Okay. Your wish will be granted someday."

"Let's go find Saret."

"Selep IDP Camp… two kilometres away from Suiyan IDP Camp."

"We shall go but not today… I’ll come to pick you up."

Bill was picked up the same day.

***

Honourable Mudogo met Mr Leparsaiya and Father John the following morning. They had remotely deliberated to convene a meeting, which they all felt was very crucial. The lawmaker had suggested that the meeting be done virtually as they were all in different locations. Besides, they were not willing to take risks, thus the need to go on with their business far from the limelight. Father John would send them the joining link and initiate the virtual conference at 9 a.m.

At exactly 9 a.m., Father John opened the virtual conference. “Thank you all for coming in, comrades. I hope you can all hear me,” he started. They exchanged greetings. Honourable Mudogo grabbed the chance and pitched the day’s main agenda.

"Comrades," he began, "I'm in touch with the ICC head office. They’ve assured me that they're doing everything possible to bring these scoffers of justice behind bars.”

"That's too fast," Father John said.

“They acted forthwith when I tabled my issue… I believe they're at the final stages.”

“Final stages!” asked Mr Leparsaiya. “I think we should slow matters down…”

"No, I think that's better,” Father John cut him off.

"What about your religious system?” Mr Leparsaiya interjected.

"What are you saying?... I know tens and thousands of Kenyans who may end up rotting… You're just a shrewd department!”

“Father John… your fifty thousand loan scandal?”

"My brother… I was only hired to put it into effect… I was just following orders.”

“Of extorting Kenyans?”

“Mr Leparsaiya, please watch your tongue… I'm clean.”

"I'm saying the truth…”

"Order! Order, gentlemen!” Honourable Mudogo cried out. “We're here… to come up with better ideas… Are we together?”

"Noted, sir.”

“Yes we are, sir.”

“Excellent… let's meet in the afternoon… at exactly 2 p.m.”

“And sir… Shouldn’t Bill join us too? Where is he?”

“Ask Father John.”

“What sort of question is that?... Do you expect miracles?” Father John replied.

The meeting ended in tension.

“I have brought you here for a purpose,” Honourable Mudogo began as they sat on a wooden bench inside a zoo. Bill was no longer on the wheelchair. He had a new pair of prosthetic legs.

“I have a feeling those men cannot be trusted anymore,” the lawmaker stated. “They couldn’t even set aside their differences… You can’t work with a man whose palms are dirty.”

He placed a tiny object in Bill’s palm. “That’s an audio recorder… Your enemies have been listening to your conversations.”

“Where exactly did you find this?”

“Beneath the chair… stuck to the metal plate.”

“Is it still working?”

“No… it’s off… Probably one of the reasons Mr Leparsaiya wanted to know whether you still use the wheelchair.”

“Thank God you found it… what do we do?”

“Let’s give them that plan… and hatch a quick overhead strategy… After all, having a plan is not the problem; using or destroying that plan is.”

“Delay tactics?”

“Yes… tell me everything… I’ll write it all down and send it to the ICC prosecutor.”

“Alright. Listen. Before my task force was sent… Kenyan soldiers… had been carrying out some atrocious activities… Two women… shared with me the bleeding pictures… They are willing to testify.”

“According to these women… the locals… decided to offer the terrorists hiding places… to avenge… sexual sins… However… they unleashed their retribution on the wrong ones.”

“I remember sharing these photos… with General Kibali… but he told me, ‘Sod off… Those are my guys…’”

“That was a nasty response.”

“He told me… my days were numbered.”

“Quite damning…”

“Someone believed that I had to be sacrificed… rivalry… began… when I received that military scholarship to the US… When I was honoured… it worsened… He began issuing threats…”

“So… we stepped into the territory of death… Someone… sent me screenshots… of a conversation between the general and the leader of Al-shabaab militants.”

He broke down. “He… sacrificed his fellow citizens… for… his own selfish game!”

“It shall be alright… we’ll ensure justice is duly served.”

“Justice delayed is justice denied… he must pay.”

Mr Leparsaiya sat lonely in his office. The country had marked its sixtieth rebirth. Many were aware that it was only sixty years ago when their forefathers were tyrannized. Years later, change came. The white man capitulated. Kenya became a black-man state. At first, it worked. But as the years went by, the joy faded. The black leader was now even worse. He fed on anything and everything. The once happy kingdom transformed into a pitiable kingdom.

The sixty years was just a number. The situation had become direr.

He recalled declining the president’s invitation, claiming he was helping General Kibali on another undercover mission. He wanted to prove his allegiance to Honourable Mudogo’s side.

He thought about his plans: convince Honourable Mudogo to slow down the process, know the ICC officer, access the files, get in touch with witnesses, convince them or kill them, then capture and kill Bill and Mudogo.

The surveillance device he had planted had stopped transmitting. He wondered why.

He opened his emails. There were twenty-six unread emails. Half were spams. He deleted them. His son had written from Malaysia. His daughter asked for money. His wife was in Germany for childbirth.

The last email was from the ICC prosecutor. He opened it, scanned it, and resolved not to read it alone. He forwarded it to Honourable Mudogo and General Kibali. He was sure his plans were on the right trajectory.

"Welcome back, gentlemen," Honourable Mudogo said. "What do you understand by ‘political chicanery’?”

“As a man of God, I have no sound idea,” Father John replied.

“I think this is just deception by quibbling,” said Mr Leparsaiya.

“Political chicanery… refers to the use of sly or evasive language to trick or deceive… entails the manipulation of policies… for private gain.”

“We often see our leaders investing in unnecessary projects…”

“To blind the voters?” asked Mr Leparsaiya.

“You're right… manifests in… state capture… abuse of resources…”

“True,” Father John agreed.

“I want us to look at the El Adde tragedy… Who recalls that day?”

“I do.”

“I remember… I lost my nephew,” Father John said.

“I want us to center it on Bill Odhiambo… The country insists he perished… but international bodies insist there was a survivor.”

“The only way change will visit Kenya is through him.”

“Why?”

“Citizens will know how rogue this government is… Our onus is to protect and help Bill.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

“I gave the ICC prosecutor your email addresses.”

“Oh… I’ve received an email from her,” Mr Leparsaiya said.

“She has asked you to confirm that you will present your testimony… both in person and in writing.”

“Certainly it is,” Father John replied.

Mr Leparsaiya was unhappy, but he smiled. “We’re in it together.”

“Unless there’s any question…”

“None from me.”

“We’re doing all these for Bill; where is he?” Mr Leparsaiya asked.

“I only spoke to him on the phone…”

“Ask him whether his wheelchair is still in good shape…”

“Never mock a fellow human being…” Father John said.

“I’m not mocking him!” Mr Leparsaiya snapped and left.

“Man is so ballistic,” Father John said.

Honourable Mudogo returned to the living room. Bill was there, watching cartoon while sipping red wine.

“How has it been?” Bill asked.

“Oh, perfect… You can’t imagine they’ve fallen for it.”

“The email?”

“They agreed to testify… Mr Leparsaiya… showed interest… I’ll keep the conversation going.”

“You certainly got them. Let no one deceive himself…”

They laughed. Bill held his goblet up. “Cheers to the new ICC prosecutor in town!”

***

That day, Saret stood at the entrance of her small shack. This was her second week in Selep IDP Camp. For days, she could neither eat nor sleep. She wailed day and night. Her sisters’ whereabouts were incomprehensible and her heart could not let it go. It yearned for them. Each new day aroused hopes which would instantly succumb at nightfall. She was restless. Life alone was meaningless and she could not bear the loneliness.

She sat down, her eyes cast on the crooked gate made up of old clothes fastened on bamboo sticks. To her, it looked like the entrance to a shrine. The place looked horrible and she craved home. She wondered what she would tell Yeiyoo and Papaa on the whereabouts of Menyei and Lenguris. They would slam her for carelessness and selfishness. Sisters were meant to stick together. She gave up in the end.

The sun was immersed in clouds. The pregnant clouds promised light showers, but she wondered whether that was necessary. If God truly cared, it was better to show her any sign which would drag her into their arms. Rain meant nothing; finding her sisters meant everything. She hoped this would be her last day of waiting, but as hours peeled out, her hopes grew dim.

Many times, she thought about going back to the woman who had helped her in the wilds. They were going days without meals. The relief food could hardly sustain ten people, yet they were one hundred and twenty-six. She had lost significant weight. These miseries forced her to admit that life in Suiyan IDP Camp was somehow better than in Selep. They were helpless, yet no one seemed to care.

She strolled around the compound. A deafening silence had blanketed it. It was dead, with no sign of life, except half-starved human beings locked in miserable shacks, nursing bitter wounds. Their hearts were swollen with tears, their voices broken and their visions blurred. All they could count was their dim hopes.

She took the market road and walked towards the market. She had a strong faith that she would still come face to face with her sisters. She would kneel at their feet and beg for forgiveness. She had lied to them and left them on their own.

A sleek hatchback cruised past her. It made her recall the encounter with two men. One was a rangy man in a three-piece suit and brown wingtips; the other looked like his junior colleague. They asked if she resided at the camp and later informed her they were looking for someone called Bill. She told them she knew him. She learned that Bill was a wanted man, and the person who would help locate him would walk away with a good prize.

She continued regretting her actions. Because of that blind move, she was now mourning the loss of many innocent lives. Opening gunfire was uncalled for. For days, she had been sighting phantasmal bodies of women and children lying in pools of blood. She could feel screams fill the air, loud, sharp and shrill, silenced by powerful rifles. Bodies dropped and yells intensified. They were not going to back down till they found their prey.

Saret found herself yelling too, but in silence. She regretted meeting the murderers and wished she could avert the mess.

After wiping her tears, she stood up, ready for the day’s challenge. She would not bother waiting for them. If they cared, they would come. As she made her first step, she felt an urgent tap on her back. She turned and came face to face with Menyei. Behind her, Bill stood. At last, they were back.

The reunion was not jubilant. She asked, “And where is Lenguris?” No response came. Menyei finally said in a shaky voice, “Lenguris left us two weeks ago. We laid her to rest the other week.”

“What! What do you mean?”

“Lenguris is no longer with us. We waited for you but you never showed up.”

Upon gathering the news, Saret broke into tears. She wailed like a starving infant. After some minutes, she pulled herself together and led them into the dilapidated hut. It was tiny, with a muddy floor and shaky walls. They sat on the muddy floor, shared grief and misfortunes, and drank from a tin of water.

Bill began, “I think it’s time you should consider going home.”

“Which home?” Saret asked.

“Your home in Merty Village.”

“That’s not my home. Home is a place of care and love, not a chaotic place like Merty Village.”

Menyei added, “I can’t get married to that incubus. I better die than be with him.”

Bill insisted they must leave. Saret countered, “What about those kids crying out there? Are they the ones who deserve such a life?”

Menyei said riots had erupted during Jamhuri Day and residents were demanding answers. Bill said demonstrations were one of the best languages for the oppressed.

“A flea can trouble a lion more than a lion can trouble a flea,” he said.

“Okay. Let’s see,” Saret replied.

Bill left to meet Mr Leparsaiya at Selep Market. He walked northwards, determined to use his new prosthetic legs. After a short distance, a black Prado trailed him. Two men bundled him into the car, handcuffed him, and wrapped a black rag around his face. He could not tell their intentions.

General Kibali stood at the edge of the glided table. After giving the order for Bill’s abduction, he was uneasy. He waited for a report. At last, the phone rang.

“It’s done, sir. The exercise was smooth.”

“Did you take him to Mwisho Wako Warehouse or Kilio?”

“Kilio, sir.”

“I hope he’s breathing. Keep him alive.”

The general smiled contentedly. The mission was done. He poured white wine and began sipping, ready to announce that the impending storm had been halted.

The meeting of dignitaries kicked off at 3 p.m. General Kibali arrived late in a Ferrari Purosangue. Dr Miles opened the meeting. Delegates discussed demonstrations and unrest.

Mr Wanyama suggested identifying those behind unrests and bribing them. The IG said water cannons had landed and asked for an update on Bill. Father John gave a prayer. Mr Leparsaiya began, “We’re the cause of the rot in Kenya,” but was cut short.

At last, General Kibali stood. “As I’m speaking, the charlatan known as Bill Odhiambo is in my custody.”

“What!” the dignitaries exclaimed. They praised him as a hero. Only Mr Leparsaiya and Father John sat untroubled. The meeting ended with plans to celebrate.

Bill lay calmly in a cubicle, counting a day inside the freezing room. He found fruits, food, milk and water and ate. The door was locked. His phone was gone. He sat contemplatively.

He heard footsteps, then loud music. Later, news played. The reporter mentioned an arrest warrant issued against General Kibali and the president for war crimes and crimes against humanity. Bill was thrilled. The next story was about ongoing demonstrations. The country was in chaos and people were calling for change. The leaders were nowhere to be seen.

The TV was shut down, and silence blanketed the room.

***

Honourable Mudogo calmly sat in a sofa in his living room. He directed his eyes on the television set which aired live scenes from the day’s protests. He had wished to join the leaders who had sided with the citizens, but he had to attend a serious meeting. Mr Leparsaiya and Father John were on their way.

He continued sipping tea in silence. In one scene, protestors had subdued the police, who watched from a safer distance. He was loving it. His forces were on the verge of winning.

The hooting of a car announced the arrival of his guests. Mr Leparsaiya checked in, beset with anxiety and gloom. Honourable Mudogo liked him despite his secret allegiance to the general. His PA received and directed him to the conference room.

“Is your boss around or am I to wait here for infinity?” Mr Leparsaiya asked.

“He’s around and will be here soon, sir.”

Moments later, Father John arrived, delayed as expected. He surveyed the compound before being directed into the room.

“Good morning, my friends,” Honourable Mudogo greeted.

“There’s nothing good about this morning,” Mr Leparsaiya responded.

“Certainly there isn’t,” asserted Father John.

“I disagree. We have plenty to rejoice about. The ICC has issued an arrest warrant against Mr President and General Kibali.”

“Sir, do you know that Bill has been kidnapped?” Mr Leparsaiya interrupted.

“Yes. And you should be happy about that,” Mudogo said. “Aren’t you the one who wanted him arrested?”

“Not you, him. He is the one who’s been secretly working for the general. For your information, I am that ICC prosecutor you wanted to bribe.”

Mr Leparsaiya’s head drooped. Father John stared in shock.

“I’m sorry,” Mr Leparsaiya said. “I was only upset with Bill after he disgraced me in public.”

“Oh, on that day when you planted a surveillance device underneath his chair?”

“He placed an audio recorder and transmitter below Bill’s chair, but I found and stopped it,” Mudogo added.

“I didn’t want to do that. General Kibali had me do it.”

“Enough!” Mudogo retorted. “You’ll apologise to Bill when this is over. Do your part now.”

Father John sighed. “How do we save Bill?”

“Worry not. We placed a tracker on him. My security team has located him and dispatched men to bring him back. Keep yourselves away from the Miles.”

The meeting ended. Mudogo returned to watching the protests. International agencies were following closely. Fatalities had been recorded. A scene showed youths blocking a police van on Ngong’ Highway. A water cannon dispersed them.

The President called Dr Miles to convene another meeting. He watched the chaos in silence. Dr Miles was unreachable. He dialled General Kibali.

“Hello, Mr President.”

“Where have you been?”

“I was talking to the guys manning the warehouse. They’ve suggested to have him transferred to the city.”

“Who?”

“The criminal. The charlatan is now in my custody.”

“Oh, I’d forgotten about him. Take care of it.”

“Kibali will never disappoint.”

“Are you close to your TV? Where do you get the guts to watch a movie when the situation is unpleasant?”

“The IG and the CS Interior are on the ground. This wave is dying down.”

“Are you in your senses? The ICC has issued an arrest warrant against you and me.”

“Won’t you give me the pleasure of having this man’s life in my hands? I’ll even cut off his head—”

“Damn! You can’t do that. Take him to Parklands Police Station. Inform Dr Miles to convene a special meeting. All dignitaries must be present.”

“What should I tell him the agenda is?”

“Anything and everything.”

The president hanged up, musing and cursing. He condemned the opposition but doubted they were behind it.

Dr Miles called later, tipsy.

“Siiir, a meeting?”

“Convene a special meeting. All dignitaries must be present.”

He hanged up.

Moments later, the phone rang again.

“It’s Bill. He’s been taken. Armed officers broke into the building and took him away.”

“Armed officers? That’s serious. See you at the meeting.”

The president met dignitaries at Dr Miles’ offices. Many were inebriated. General Kibali delivered a brief speech, cut short by a loud bang. Voices outside chanted, “We Want Bill. We Want Change. We Want Freedom.”

The president took the stage. “The meeting is called off.”

General Kibali jumped through a window. Others attempted, but the main door flew open. Armed officers stormed in and clapped the president and dignitaries in irons.

The assistant IG Police, Eleanor Pendo, entered with Mr Leparsaiya, Father John and Honourable Mudogo.

“Your Excellency Cheupe Mwozo Miles, you’re under arrest for committing war crimes and crimes against humanity. A plane is waiting to fly you to The Hague.”

She added, “All of you, too, are under arrest for committing economic crimes.”

They were dragged out. The crowd outside intensified.

A car stopped behind the crowd. Bill stepped out. The crowd shuddered with exhilaration, shouting his name.

“We have to see him too,” Mudogo said.

“Let’s go get him,” they insisted.

They turned back.

Meanwhile, journalists gathered around Bill. He began:

“It’s with profound gratitude that I stand here alive and strong. It’s been a painful long journey, seven years since that incident in Somalia. I’ve been living in the shadows… But today I’m happy to say the perpetrators have been arrested for trial at The Hague.”

As he spoke, a man in a bucket hat pushed forward, pulled out a pistol and shot him in the head. Screams erupted. An officer tackled the shooter and handcuffed him.

The van arrived. When they saw Bill, they nearly ran mad. An air ambulance landed. Medics rushed him in and left.

“Who made that shot?” Mudogo asked.

“This ruffian here,” the officer said.

Mudogo removed the hat and spectacles. They stepped back in horror. It was General Kibali.

“You… how dare you!” Father John exclaimed.

“He is a liar, a backstabber,” Mr Leparsaiya said.

“If he dies…” Mudogo broke into tears. “Take him to the van.”

The crowd began pelting offices, mourning.

A month later, visitors sat in a private hospital in Massachusetts: Jefferson, Hossana, Naomi, Mudogo, Father John, Mr Leparsaiya, and a young African woman.

A nurse led them upstairs. They saw Bill lying awake, with a bandage on his head. He smiled, then broke into tears when he saw the young woman.

“Dad, I’ve missed you!” she said, kissing him.

“He can’t talk. His brain was shocked. He survived because the bullet didn’t go through his brain,” the nurse explained.

“In about two weeks, he should be ready for discharge.”

Bill beckoned the nurse, wrote a message, and she said, “He’d like to say something to Hossana.”

Bill held Hossana’s hand, wrote “Love you so much, son.” Hossana replied, “I love you too, papa.”

“Jefferson,” the nurse called.

Jefferson sat, conflicted. Bill wrote something. Jefferson wrote back: “Yes, I am your father, Bill. I’m sorry… Please forgive me.”

Bill read it, tears cascading. He smiled, wrote something, and gave Jefferson a note. Jefferson smiled and returned to the group.

Bill wrote another message. The nurse handed it to Mudogo, who read: “All—thanks. Hon Mudogo—case. Jefferson, Hossana, Naomi, Leah—family. Mr Leparsaiya—Saret, Menyei, school. Fr John, Mr Leparsaiya—Jefferson’s land.”

Naomi said, “He has assigned each of us roles.”

The nurse asked them to leave.

As they walked downstairs, Hossana noticed Jefferson smiling.

“What did he tell you?”

“When people are leaving earth, they make peace. I’m happy he accepted me as a father. And he has fought for justice… I don’t fear that Bill is dying.”

They all turned and looked at him, unable to understand.

Dennis Odhiambo’s The Perpetual Sunrise will be published by Mvua Press later this year.

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