ISSUE IV: Mirror of Society

PROSE
hey walked through the
T
noise and crowd to the
noise and crowd in the
yard behind. The turnkey
again tussled with the
keys against chains and
lock. Inside the gate, the second
burly cop read aloud from a slip.
‘Our Duka.’
A not very good-looking
man stepped from the crowd.
‘Stand aside. Gerald Sando.”
Gerald Sando was a tall,
strongly built man in his early fifties.
He had a mischievous smile upon his
slick, pleasant face.
“Step aside.”
“Kyalo Kazu.”
Finally, the cop folded the
paper and lit a cigarette. His partner
walked up to the three mentioned.
“Get your possessions and
follow us. Better hurry or you’ll have
to resume your time.”
Ten minutes later at the
reception Gerald Sando, among the
four, was seen to smile, a small holdall
hugged under his armpit.
“What you gonna do now,
Sando?” the female cop asked. “
Resume crime?”
“No. I’ll start farming in the
valley.”
“You’re said to still regularly
correspond with your old gangs. Is
that true?”
“No.”
He was handed a form and
shown where to sign.
A quarter of an hour later, he
was seen to emerge outside the Gate.
To the press that accosted him owing
to the infamy of his youthful days
he told curtly he would have a word
with them not very long. He would
expose the rot in the security organs.
The two burly warders watched him
get into a waiting Toyota RAV4 which
sped once it gained the highway. Bet
lowered the window.
“Where are you driving me,
Bet?”
“To The Pearl. On Lake
Turkana. The guys are waiting.
There’ll be a warm bath and a change
of clothes and breakfast. And a bottle
of wine.”
The free convict stared
at the landscape. It had changed
greatly. Twenty-five years was
an eternity. The road was a dual
carriageway now, and down in the
beautiful valley, he saw a new yellow
tiled resort surrounded with ivy and
bougainvillea from a new bridge over
the rill. There were cars in the yard
and tourists. In the distance, the lake
lay wide and glossy like a leviathan
mirror.
They were silent for
the five miles, and Bet was quiet
to allow his friend to take in the
breathtaking scenes and change
that time and social ventures had
wrought. Sometimes, they slowed
down to give way to great herds of
cattle that belonged to the pastoralist
residents. The Pearl was a sprawling
granite edifice overlooking the lake,
standing on nine acres of land.
The land was arid and the dust
drank deeply the heat of the sun,
prompting tourists to seek the cool
of the lake. As their car left the road
they spied tourists and locals along
the lake. There were boats on shore,
and more offshore. Some of the men
rowed, while others were engine
vehicles that parted the waters with
their prows in their speed. Along the
shore, some fishermen mended or
prepared fishing nets. Annabelle was
among a party of tourists who got in
a boat excitedly headed for a remote
island with guides to see animals.
She now ran La Emeralda. Her resort
shared a lot with The Pearl. Her only
child with Maconi, a blonde, blueeyed
man of twenty-four named
Mike, was among the party with his
Swedish girlfriend, Judy, of the same
age. She was the daughter of the
Swedish Ambassador. She was very
pretty with long cascades of red hair.
Mike had just joined UNHCR and
drove one of the organization’s relief
supply trucks.
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By FER MORENO