Months passed. Stressful, unpleasant months.
One morning, Becky sat under the shed of a tree outside the kitchen house. In her right hand, a knife; in her left, a half-peeled potato. She had meant to help prepare lunch, but the motion of peeling had stopped almost without her noticing. Her gaze was fixed on something unseen in the dusty yard ahead — or perhaps far beyond it.
Deep within her, an ache that refused to dull: a mother's longing for her only begotten son.
From the main house, her brother Jephta, home for the August holiday, watched her through the open window as he sipped his mid-morning tea. He noticed it had been nearly three minutes since Becky had last moved her hand. Her shoulders had fallen still; her mind clearly elsewhere. Jephta knew well enough what haunted her thoughts — the small boy now beyond her reach, living with the clan that had cast her out.
Finishing his tea, he set the cup on the table and stepped outside. His sandals stirred the dust on the path, pulling Becky back from her silent torment.
She startled slightly, then forced herself to look up. At the sight of her brother's gentle face, she swallowed the bitter words that had risen to her lips and lowered her gaze to the potato in her hand, resuming her task.
"Are you okay?" Jephta asked softly, his voice carrying more concern than question. "Yeah," she murmured, though the lie hung heavy between them.
"But the look on your face says otherwise."
For a moment, Becky's hands trembled. She clenched her jaw.
"I want to see my son," she admitted, her voice breaking around the edges.
It was only a few hours from Sagawaita to Tirita. But she knew her presence there would be as welcome as a storm on harvest day. Yet the yearning burned too fiercely to ignore. What if she could meet him quietly, just for a few minutes — somewhere away from the eyes of the clan?
What if she could discreetly meet the boy? That would require help from a third party. Someone close to the boy who could lead him to some place shielded from any view of the people of Kapsoket. He thought about his age-mate and cousin Roba who lived in Tirita.
Jephta seemed to read her thoughts. "You have your phone with you?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Why?"
"Give it to me."
She handed it over, her heart beating faster. Jephta scrolled through her contacts and tapped a number, then switched the call to loudspeaker.
"Hey bagule! How are you?" Jephta greeted, trying to sound casual.
"I'm fine," came Roba's familiar voice. "How's your holiday?"
"It's good."
"I want to ask you a favor."
"You don't need permission to do that. Ask anything," Roba replied.
"Do you ever get near Becky's son?"
"Kiplimo? Yeah, sometimes. He spends most of his time with the grandmother."
"Look botum," Jephta said, voice turning earnest. "My sister is desperately missing him. I need you to help her see him, even if just for a few minutes."
There was a pause. The quiet hum of the phone speaker seemed to stretch.
"How?" Roba asked at last.
"Figure it out, man. I know you can make it happen," Jephta urged.
"Okay," Roba sighed. "Let me think about it."
A couple of weeks later Roba reported that he had managed to befriend Kiplimo. He had told him about the mother and asked if he would like to meet her. The little boy who still remembered her mother and greatly missed her was very excited and eager to follow Roba to wherever place her mother would be. Roba reported to Jephta and Becky that all was set.
She hired a taxi and made the journey from Sagawaita to Tirita. All the way, her heart drummed against her ribs, her thoughts tangled in fear and yearning.
At the roadside just beyond the village, Roba waited with Kiplimo. The boy clung to his cousin's hand, wide-eyed but trusting. No one was watching — Roba had chosen the spot carefully, leading the child away from the grandmother's homestead without drawing notice.
Becky stepped out of the car, her breath caught in her throat at the sight of her son. Roba gave her a quick nod, eyes scanning the empty road once more. Then, gently, he handed Kiplimo over.
Safe in his mother's arms, the little boy melted against her chest, burying his face into her shoulder. Becky whispered broken words of love, pressing trembling kisses into his hair.
She turned to Roba, her voice hoarse. "Thank you. Thank you, Roba."
He only nodded.
Without wasting another moment, Becky climbed back into the taxi, cradling Kiplimo on her lap. The car pulled away, tires throwing up pale dust behind them. Roba watched until they were out of sight.
They drove for hours, the landscape changing from fields to dusty towns to the busier outskirts of Nakuru. Becky's plan was to hide at her sister Mary's house — a place where no one from Kapsoket would think to look. Along the way, she fed Kiplimo candy and chocolate she had brought, her heart swelling at the way his eyes brightened. I will never let you go again, she vowed silently.
For a brief while, it felt like the universe had given her back what it had so cruelly taken.
When the taxi finally pulled up at Mary's compound, the sun was already leaning toward the western horizon, casting long shadows across the yard. Mary, who had been waiting anxiously by the veranda, rushed forward the moment she saw them step out.
Becky held Kiplimo's small hand in hers as they walked toward the house. His dusty shoes and shy gaze spoke of the long journey and the uncertainty he felt.
"Mary," Becky called softly, her voice caught halfway between relief and exhaustion.
Mary's eyes fell on the boy beside her sister, and for a heartbeat, words failed her. Then, pushing aside her surprise, she stepped closer, her expression a mix of wonder and concern.
"Oh, Becky…" she whispered, her gaze darting from Kiplimo's face to Becky's tear-reddened eyes. "Is this—?"
Becky nodded, unable to speak for a moment. Her hand tightened around the boy's.
Mary's gaze softened, but a flicker of worry clouded her face. "You did it. You really did it…" She reached out, gently brushing the boy's hair with her palm. "Come inside, both of you. You must be so tired."
Inside, as Kiplimo shyly explored the room, Mary turned to her sister, her voice low and urgent. "Becky, do you realize what this could mean if they find out?"
"I know," Becky whispered, her voice barely audible. "But I couldn't bear it any longer, Mary. I had to see him. Just hold him again, even if for a day."
Mary swallowed hard, glancing toward the boy. "And what now? What's the plan?"
"I don't know," Becky admitted, her eyes brimming again. "I only knew I couldn't let him go back. Not yet."
Mary stepped closer, wrapping her arms around her sister. Becky leaned into the embrace, the tightness in her chest loosening slightly.
"Whatever happens," Mary murmured into her ear, "you won't face it alone. We'll find a way. For his sake."
Becky pulled back, blinking away tears, and managed a faint smile. "Thank you, Mary."
Mary smiled sadly, her eyes shining with both love and fear. "He's your son, Becky. And you are still his mother. Nothing can change that."
Mary felt a sense of terror.
"We are investigating kidnapping. It has to do with some boy named Ismael Kiplimo. Does that ring a bell?"
Her eyes widened, and she was as lost for words as a child caught stealing a pinch of sugar. She knew they had seen the boy. She had to let Becky know. One of the guests – Jacob, buried his right hand in the inner pocket of his blazer and took out a photograph and showed it to Mary. "This is the boy we are looking for. We have information from a very reliable source that he is here. We are here to take him back to his father. We shall not press any charges against you if you cooperate with us." "But this boy is here because his mother wants him here," Mary said, flustered. "Can't you let a mother have her own son?" Her voice slightly trembled. "Mary! Don't complicate matters. You and your sister will be charged in court with kidnapping. But if you let us leave with the boy now, none of that will happen. You know as much as we do, this boy's father is a powerful man in the army. He has a lot of influence on a lot of people. Tell your sister that competing with him is an exercise in futility." While he talked, Mary was busy texting Becky.
They moved out of the room soon after emptying their cups to where Kiplimo was playing with the other kids. They both took their gazes to the playing kids, trying to point out who Kiplimo was from among them. They saw him. "Hey! Boys, won't you come and shake hands with the guests?" The boys stopped the game and inquisitively looked at the strangers. "Come on boys. Just come and shake my hand." They still had not moved an inch when detective Jacob made towards them. There was a small opening on the side of the fence. As the lawman moved closer to them, they all, led by Kiplimo, squeezed their little bodies through to the other side of the fence as detectives watched in awe. It was not until the whole neighborhood was involved that the boy was found. He was taken back to his father. Shadows of disbelief and hurt came upon Becky's face as Mary told her that Kiplimo was gone? "You have not read my messages. Have you?" Mary asked, noticing her reaction. "No!" Becky responded, her hand reaching into her purse and taking out her cellphone. It had been three hours since the message was received. She had been too busy to hear the alert ring. She listened in tense silence as Mary narrated to her how the ordeal played out. For the second time, she was beaten in the struggle to live with her son and she could do nothing. Tears appeared in her eyes. Tears of agony. The tumultuous emotions had returned.