The sun settled slowly below the western horizon. From the cracks of the shack that served as our kitchen, I could see almost everything going about in the village. Pelana Market, which was closer to our home than any other homestead, was unusually lively that evening. People moved leisurely up and down, kids clinging tightly to their mothers, and fruit vendors keeping up with their endless streams of chatter.

My vision of Utopia was Pelana Market, where no one knew hatred or envy. It was an isolated space where people lived like one big family, oblivious of the fact that there was a vast, different world out there where selflessness was a little-known virtue. For this reason, I grew up with a deep regard for my village, especially the elderly women of Pelana, who held the village together with their charms.

I walked out of the kitchen just in time to catch my brother strolling into the compound. Despite a reasonable age gap between the two of us, he was a precocious young boy who could do anything with ease. His presence at that time was a great solace to me because all along, I was home alone. I pitied his looks and the jembe he was dragging on the ground. His shaggy, unkempt hair irked me, though a touch of his charming, crooked smile cheered me up.

I walked further a few meters from the kitchen door and stood there in awe, admiring the thick forest and beyond that, the grassy hummocks that spread all the way from the edge of our three-acre farm, deep into Ngoiwa forest a few kilometers east of our home. The sight was spectacular. I was excited by the vegetation, endemic to Pelana village. From a distance, I could hear our goats bleating in excitement, reminding me it was almost time to bring them home.

Next to where I stood sat my father's old Fiat Dino. The vehicle was headed for oblivion given its pitiable state. I remembered the rattling sound of its engine that absolved the serenity of the atmosphere the very first day our dad drove the vehicle home. Rumors had it that my dad had wangled his way into owning it, though he always affirmed that he had purchased it from an auctioneer yard in the city.

All of a sudden, I was awakened into my rightful senses by the steady pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the kitchen rooftop. I must have been deep in thought, such that I didn't realize the weather had already turned pale and dark. The people in the market started rushing pell-mell to cover themselves from the rain. It was rather shocking that my mother was nowhere to be seen. My brother confirmed that he had left her plucking some kales for dinner and had even promised she would be home as soon as possible.