Kamande feebly tried to latch the door behind him. It was a routine he had done for the last several decades. He barely remembered for how long he has lived in this house. The door could not close. Mud had hardened on the wooden door frame. It was the rainy season and this happened every year. He would faithfully get his panga and scrape off the mud from the door frame and would then proceed to close the door.

Today was different. He felt weak and tired as he had being feeling for the last several months since Mukami died. He did not have the willpower to bend and scrape off the mud. “Why bother”, he wondered as the latch fell on the floor, giving way to years of neglect and lack of maintenance.

As Kamande turned to go to bed, his torch flickered on the mud walls of his house. A house he built immediately he came out of the forest. There was jubilation in the whole country after years of fighting the white man who had taken their land, freedom and dignity. Kamande chose the hillside overlooking the plains and from a far, his family will always be overshadowed by the serenity of majestic and sacred Kirinyaga mountain. His home was close to the lush Nyandarua forest where his tenacity, endurance and survival tactics have been tested to the limits. He was a war hero, a veteran, a general who led the Nyamacaki troupe to victory. He was celebrated and revered in the whole of Nyamacaki valley.

You did not have to look closely to see the gaping holes between the doorframe and chipping mud walls of Kamande’s house. So were the wooden window frames. No wonder, he felt no urge to struggle closing the door. The frame could fall any time. He felt sad that he was unable to move Mukami to a timber-built house with a cemented floor in good time. Mugeria the lawyer had kept his hope alive that he would be paid his compensation any time soon.

“What will you do with such a large sum?”, his fellow wazees taunted him. They would then get to a day-dream escapade of how they will spend and indulge. Kamande always smiled at the thought of approaching Mwalimu with an envelope full of cash. Mwalimu owned the neighbouring undeveloped farm. Kamande had an attachment with the farm as it was his ‘ fort during the emergency era where they hid from Kamatimu, the fellow kinsmen turned Kenya Armed Rifles(KAR) soldiers who were dead bent on eliminating the MauMau. He knew the coordinates of the farm like the back of his palm. It had seven man-made holes that looked like porcupine hideouts that protected them from the brutish British grenades. It had a spring that quenched their thirst and waning hearts and gave them an urge to fight on. It was a treasure that Mwalimu had not realized and he was determined to develop it, plant tea and a few coffee bushes that will make him rich.

As Kamande dragged himself to bed, he wished and longed that things were different. He missed Mukami who was always early to go to bed. It was raining heavily outside and a chilling breeze blew in from the gapes in the wall. It worsened his sickly body and heart. He was lonely. He slumped on the bed as he gave in to a prolonged cough that made his chest ache terribly. He had not had medicine for days and his condition was worsening. Today, he was too weak to venture into Mwalimu’s farm and dig out some roots to boil and drink to ease the chest pains. Mwalimu son had passed by and gave him two hundred shillings. Now that he had money, he longed for daybreak when he will go see Dagitari who owned a clinic at the Nyamacaki shopping center. He could do with shopping for a few household items.

Clinging tightly to the cold tattered blanket for warmth, Kamande longed for Mukami who had kept him warm during the rainy season. Her warmth reverberated from her humble soul even as her health deteriorated. She always ensured that there was food for her husband and always woke up to warm it for him, however late he came home. She would faithfully wake up and endure the firewood smoke to make sure her husband slept warm. Kamande wished he had treated her much better. He wished she was alive to give him hope of living another day.

Today he was sleeping hungry. He could not remember the last time he had a decent meal. He had expected Kihia, his son, will be home early enough to prepare him some porridge. Kihia had promised to get a casual job today to earn some money to buy uji flour. Otherwise there was nothing else in the house for him to eat. Kihia had resorted to drinking heavily after the death of his mother came barely a year after he lost his wife Jane during childbirth.

Kamande coughed his heart out as drops of ice-cold rain water started soaking his blanket and the mattress. He wished he would wake up and move the bed to a safer location. He tried to move his limbs with no success. The chest pain was getting worse, his body was getting numb from the cold. He tried crying out for help. The sound of the heavy rain drowned his weak voice. Was this the end? Kamande was a general and was determined to fight like a general to the end. He would rather die fighting.

Kamande did not know how long he had been fighting the forces of nature, when Mwega stormed his house. Mwega was the only person in the world who cared for General Kamande. He had just moved in two years ago after inheriting the neighbouring farm to the East from his father. He was well built and strong and reminded Kamande of the day he joined the MauMau. He regularly checked on Kamande and assisted him a lot. Mwega went straight to where the general lay and lifted him up in his strong arms like a mother does to her baby. He called out mzee’s name once, twice, thrice and started crying out loudly.