DAD STORIES: Remembering my adorable son Bravin whose life was cruelly ended

When dusk fell over Kakamega town one rainy evening, the sky blanketed with dark clouds, I may have missed the ominous message coming my way. The day was June 14, 2016. I had had a hectic, yet eventful day in Kisumu on official assignment, and had to travel to Kakamega in the evening for further formal engagements.

On the short journey to Kakamega, we had to contend with a sudden heavy downpour that included hailstones around Majengo in Vihiga County. A few kilometres to Kakamega, at Khayega, I received an unnerving call from my wife, Prisca, that our son, Bravin Kiplagat Kimutai, had been missing for more than an hour from our Eldoret home.

The news hit me hard and I found myself yelling several questions without giving her a chance to answer: Where was he seen last? Had she checked at the neighbours’? Who was he with? Where was she? A cold chill ran down my spine as I visualised a worst-case scenario.

I quickly recollected myself and promised to call male neighbours to launch a search.

A routine day was quickly turning into a nightmare: the child — who was on a short break from school — was in good spirits after receiving news of his good performance in the mid-term test.

Before I made calls to two neighbours, I determined that the only possible danger to my son could be the nearby unsecured, flooded quarry abandoned by the Uasin Gishu County government. And, true to my instincts, the lifeless body of Bravin was pulled from nine foot-deep muddy killer pool three hours later.

HAUNTING IMAGES OF MY FAMILY'S TRAGEDY

To date, three haunting images remain of my family’s tragedy occasioned by county officers pursuing wealth at any cost. First is the innocent face of my son, feet and fingers covered in red mud, lying in a cold iron cage at the Moi Teaching and Referral Hospital morgue at 12.24am, June 15, 2016, when I was allowed to view it on arrival from Kakamega.

Second is the image of Angela, Bravin’s elder sister. I couldn’t stand the sight of her sense of guilt and withdrawal because she was the last person the deceased had been with when she went to get the cows from their grazing paddock.

The third image is that of a father who couldn’t face his children. I had my cousin, Benjamin, accompany me to pick up Kenneth and Caren from their boarding primary school in Kapsabet on Friday, June 17, 2016. For the first time, I could neither look them in the eyes nor say much. I let my cousin lie about the reason we were going home.

We were silent from Kapsabet to Eldoret. Once they confronted a mourning multitude at home, the chaos I had anticipated broke. They dashed into the house and kitchen asking where ‘Kipla,’ short for Kiplagat, was. They berated the hapless Angela, asking why she had abandoned him. The torment on the suffering Angela is a sight I would not wish to see of anybody. Amidst the searing mournful screams, I disappeared into the maize maze and eased my tear glands.

In Marakwet cultural wisdom, our elders hold that young men and boys only die during times of war whereas the old die during peace time. Over the years, cattle rustlers have been spilling innocent blood in my ancestral Kerio Valley home.

To affirm the cold and ravenous nature of the county thieving elites, two nursery school children about the same age as my son, drowned in mid-February this year a few kilometres from my home in similar circumstances: quarries dug up, flooded and left unfenced.

But those who dug up the killer quarries got paid millions and are now busy enjoying the rewards of their ‘hard work’ with their loved ones. Yet others could be using the proceeds to get into elective positions in the upcoming elections.

Bravin Kiplagat Kimutai — adorable, humble, energetic, centre of attention of the family — had his bright start to life cruelly snuffed, 45 days to his fifth birthday.

The writer is a communications practitioner based in Nairobi

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