She wrote
My husband Sam, I signed the divorce papers finally, though my heart had refused when I thought of the good moments and the good old days. I was not with you for a day nor a month, I have been with you for years numbering 26.
I remember those days, barefoot together we had scaled the hills of Marakwet, we had huddled together in the valleys of Chepkorio and danced to the rhythmic chimes of the cowbells as the cows graze and goats foraged the juicy shrubs. I had chimerical feelings of my husband to be, a fantasy of sorts, A brave warrior from my people, my Sam was indeed a real man who had scaled the sprouting hills of Marakwet with agility and strength; my Sam was a real man whose strength had managed the typical Kalenjin shy girl to bloom.
I was in love, I had felt his strength when his face was smooth with tiny strands of hair scattered like black dots around the chin .
We were young graduates then; we were proud the be among the lucky intellectuals among our people. I was good in my field of law while Sam was equally very competent in his field.
Traditional Koito was finally convened by the elders. Everything was set and I was given out to my man to start a new family journey with high hopes of a happy ending.
We started from scratch, we moulded a home and raised up beautiful children.
All was well all the years. Our children went to school, my Sam had a well paying job in the Standard Group.
I was well paid too in the Judiciary before I went to politics,
My lifestyle did not change with politics, I was the wife of my Sam, I did not change my hair wig, I still wore the same long dress, I still went home on time.
My Sam had drifted away. He used to call that his work was cumbersome, that he will spend the nights out.
I thought it was true. My intellectual mind finally joined the pieces: My Sam had fallen to the charm of his employee almost the age of my children.
My Sam was snatched away just like that. My 26 years of marital bliss finally took in the fatal blow of infidelity.
I will not say much about my rival. I will nurse my wounds bravely and think of the good old times when my man was a real man.
I pity my rival, I know the hour clock is short and weary as it drifts towards the sunset.
I know the flow in the river may not be powerful to drive the watermill. I’m not worried I had my time by the river when the watermill grinded the maize flour non stop till my sacks were full.
I’m happy and contented, my store is full and my children are happy.
I wish my husband a new marital bliss,
Gladys is waiting to cuddle her grandchildren.
I hope all shall be well with the man who had snatched my youth away.
