The day they told me to leave my father’s land is a day I will never erase from my memory. I was standing under the same mango tree I had played beneath as a child when my uncles looked at me and said, without shame, “Hii si mali yako. Wewe ni mwanamke. Utatafutiwa kwenu.”
I felt my chest tighten. That land was not just soil. It carried my father’s sweat, my mother’s prayers, my childhood laughter. I had watched him plough it season after season. I had helped harvest maize there.…CONTINUE READING
