The journey to her rural Maasai home felt like a funeral.
The land stretched wide and proud. The wind carried culture, tradition, unbending pride.
Her mother cried when she saw her belly.
Her father’s jaw tightened like stone.
“Entoki Muren?” he demanded. “Is it true?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
A heavy silence.
“You have brought shame to us,” he growled.
“Mama… Baba please—”
A slap cut through the air.
“You were raised as a daughter of dignity!” her mother cried. “Na sasa? Look at you!”
She fell to her knees.
“I’m sorry…”
Women gathered. Whispers spread.
“University corrupted her.”
“She slept around.”
“She forgot who she is.”
“No dowry. No honor.”
Her father turned away.
“From today… you are not my daughter.”
Her mother sobbed.
“Mama, please…”
Her father lifted his chin.
“Pack. Leave. Go to the man responsible.”
The sky felt heavier.
The land mourned her.
But tradition had spoken.
And so… Nasieku was exiled from her own blood.