My name is Ruth, and I live in Kitale, near Milimani. The house everyone keeps talking about belongs to my elderly parents.
It is an old bungalow built by my father in the early 90s. Wide compound. Tall cypress trees lining the fence. A veranda that catches the cool Trans Nzoia breeze every evening.
That house is our foundation.
But to my younger brother Patrick, it was an opportunity. Patrick has always chased fast money.
He claimed property prices in Kitale were rising quickly and insisted it was “wise” to sell while the demand was high. My father firmly refused.
He said that house carried our sweat, our childhood, and his retirement peace. But Patrick did not stop. He began secretly inviting agents.
What most people didn’t know is that months before the drama began, my parents had sensed something was coming. ...CONTINUE READING