My Story – Part 1 I am Minage Kabaka, born on 25th May 1989 in Nairobi. I am the last-born child and only daughter of Solomon Kabaka. I have a loving brother, Ken Karani Kabaka, the firstborn in our family, who has been my companion through many seasons of life. Due to unavoidable circumstances, my parents separated when we were still young. I was only a little girl, and my brother was about four years old. As a result, my brother and I relocated to Lanet, Nakuru County, where our grandparents opened their home and hearts to us. From what I remember, my father loved me very much. He used to visit us in Nakuru regularly. Then, at some point, he stopped coming. To this day, I do not know exactly what happened, though I sometimes believe my grandparents may have discouraged him from visiting. Despite the separation, my father's love for us never faded. Whenever we visited Nairobi during school holidays, he would secretly take us to spend time with him at his home. My mother did not approve of this, and eventually she stopped bringing us to Nairobi during school breaks. Together with our cousins, Dan and Wairimu, we grew up as one family, sharing both life's joys and its challenges. Lanet became our home. It was there that we began our education and remained until we completed Form Four. Our grandparents were not only our guardians but also our role models. They taught us discipline, respect, and the importance of faith. They faithfully took us to ACK Church, where we were later baptized and confirmed. One of the greatest losses of my childhood came in October 2001 when my grandfather passed away. He had been a father figure, teacher, and mentor to us all. His wisdom, guidance, and love shaped the people we became. I still remember him with love and gratitude. Rest in Peace, Mwalimu Muiruri. After completing Form Four, I relocated to Nairobi to pursue further studies while living with my Aunt Martha. My mother was also living in Nairobi at the time, and being closer to her gave me strength as I worked toward my dreams. In 2008, I was fortunate to secure employment. With my first steps into adulthood came two important missions that I carried deep within my heart: To find my father. To build a home for my mother. For years, the question of my father remained unanswered. Despite his absence, I always believed that one day I would meet him. I imagined the conversations we would have and the opportunity to finally know the man whose name I carried. In 2011, my brother began the journey of searching for our father. He approached our mother and asked about him. Mum directed him to Aunt Phyllis, my father's sister. One Sunday in 2011, my brother met Aunt Phyllis. What was supposed to be a search for answers turned into a moment that would change our lives forever. That afternoon, I was in a matatu heading to Ngara when my phone rang. "Mambo?" my brother asked. "Poa," I replied. There was a brief silence. Then he said words that shattered a dream I had carried for many years: "Unajua dad alikufa mwaka wa 2006..." I froze. My heart broke into pieces. For my entire life, I had held onto the hope that one day I would meet my father alive. In a single moment, that hope disappeared. The dream I had nurtured since childhood suddenly felt impossible. As the matatu continued moving through the busy streets of Nairobi, my mind stood still. Questions flooded my heart: When did he die? How did he die? Why had we never known? What kind of man was he? The search for my father had finally brought us an answer—but not the one I had prayed for. That day marked the beginning of a different journey: a journey to discover who my father was, the life he lived, and the family connections that had been lost for so many years. My Story – Part 2 The news of my father's death left a deep wound in my heart. After finishing what had taken me to Ngara that day, I returned to the place where I was living with my friend, Penina. She had become the sister I never had. Our friendship had begun back in 2004 when we were in Form One, and it has remained strong to this day. When I told Penina what I had discovered about my father, I broke down and cried. The pain was overwhelming. She listened patiently, comforted me, and stood by my side during one of the most difficult moments of my life. One Sunday afternoon, my Aunt Martha asked me to accompany her to Ongata Rongai to visit a friend. On our way, I shared the painful news with her. "Do you know that my dad died a long time ago?" I asked. She was shocked. Aunt Martha knew my father very well because during school holidays she often visited us whenever we came to Nairobi. She could hardly believe that we had only just learned about his death. Aunt Martha informed my Aunt Charity, who is my mother's sister. Because Aunt Charity and I were very close, she invited me to her home the following weekend. We talked at length about my father, and she comforted me greatly. She w

Chapter 4

Echoes of Loss

Returning to Nairobi, Minage learns the tragic details of her father's murder and the reasons she and Ken couldn't attend his funeral. She also confronts confusion about her identity and name.

12 min read

The journey back to Nairobi was a stark contrast to the hopeful, albeit emotional, pilgrimage to Vihiga. The familiar hum of the bus engine, once a symbol of progress, now felt like a slow, heavy drumbeat accompanying the weight of new, painful revelations. As the landscape blurred outside the window, Minage found her thoughts replaying the conversations, the quiet moments of understanding, and the crushing truths that had been unveiled. The peace she had found at her father’s gravesite was now tempered by a gnawing sorrow, a deep ache for the life unlived, the questions unanswered, and the fundamental unfairness of it all.

Her friend Penina was the first person she confided in upon her return. Penina’s small apartment in Nairobi, once a sanctuary of shared laughter and whispered dreams, now became a space for tears and raw grief. Minage recounted the details of her father’s death, the brutal, senseless violence that had claimed his life. “They attacked him,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. “And nothing was stolen. Nothing. Imagine, Penina, just… nothing.” The senselessness of it all was a fresh wound. Her father, a man remembered for his kindness and generosity, had been taken from the world in such a violent, meaningless act. It was a tragedy compounded by the fact that he had been killed not for material gain, but for reasons that remained shrouded in mystery, leaving a void of understanding that was almost as painful as the loss itself.

Penina, her eyes brimming with empathy, held Minage’s hand tightly. “Oh, Minage,” she murmured, her voice a soft balm. “That’s… unimaginable. It’s so unfair.” She offered comfort, a steady presence in the storm of Minage’s emotions. She listened as Minage grappled with the unanswered questions, the “whys” that echoed in the silence of their shared space. The pain was a physical entity, a heavy stone in Minage’s chest, and Penina’s quiet strength was a lifeline.

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