Pabonya did not want to be late. This was his day.
From the very start, he'd been confident he could handle a woman nearly three times younger than himself. The witnesses he'd secured had delivered perfectly — not even Tesot detected a crack in their lies. That very evening, Pabonya had called them to commend their performance.
Two weeks had now passed since Becky had been cast out.
Today, her father had finally agreed to face the elders of Kapsoket clan and hear the case. Pabonya knew he'd need those same women to repeat their false testimony.
He arrived early at Rebecca's compound, where the trial would take place. His eyes scanned the yard, and satisfaction welled in him: chairs set in a semicircle under the grand Acacia tree, tables in front of each seat, and sofas at either end reserved for clan elders and important guests. The rest — common folk — would sit quietly on the grass, knowing their place.
As the morning sun dried the dew, people began streaming in, each claiming a spot befitting their status. Soon, the compound was bustling: men in heavy coats, women in bright lesos, curious children peeking through hedges. All had come to watch the final act of what had become the clan's drama.
Then Sigilai arrived in his car, and Pabonya's thin lips curled into a pleased smile.
Both front doors opened at once: father and daughter stepped out and walked side by side toward the gathering.
They were shown to a long sofa directly opposite the elders. Becky's gaze briefly caught Tesot's. He sat among the elders, stiff and unreadable.
Every person who had been at the first meeting was present again. Becky felt the weight of every stare.
---
Kurgat, chair of the council of elders, rose to open the meeting.
He welcomed all, thanked them for coming, and called on Sitonik to lead a prayer. Then Rebecca, as host, was asked to say a few words of welcome.
Without delay, Kurgat recounted the background: how allegations had arisen, how Becky had been sent away when Sigilai hadn't come as requested.
He then invited Pabonya to elaborate.
Pabonya stood, clearing his throat.
"Fellow elders, in-laws, and guests: Ochamgeitugul!" he greeted.
"Kichamegei missing," came the customary reply.
"We are honored today by the presence of our in-law Mr. Sigilai," Pabonya began. "Tesot's household is in crisis, and we gather to find a solution."
Calmly, he painted Becky as a woman of shocking disrespect and betrayal. He spoke of the day the elders had "reluctantly" suspended her, stressing that Sigilai's absence had forced them to act. And then, as if delivering the final blow, he reminded them there were eyewitnesses ready to confirm her "crimes."
No one objected.
Pabonya called the women forward. One by one, they spoke — rehearsed words falling into place like stones building a wall against Becky.
Becky listened in awe. The forum offered undeniable confirmation: Pabonya was the mastermind behind the web of lies that branded her a harlot. He had vowed to ruin her, and here he was, pressing his heel against her throat.
When he finished, Kurgat, the chair of the meeting, took over.
"Pabonya has made his case. Before the elders deliberate on this and give their verdict, I must invoke the principles of natural justice—one of which is that no one should be condemned unheard. Becky, what is your response to what you've heard here? We invite you to defend yourself."
Becky rose confidently. This was the moment she needed to come clean before everyone. Members of the clan had turned out in large numbers, eager to hear from her. She had known it won't be a walk in the park and had prepared herself adequately.
By the standards of the more liberal minds among them, she was smartly dressed. Her skirt, as always, barely brushed her knees. High-heeled shoes gave her a graceful height. Her coat left a hint of her chest visible, where a necklace rested above her cleavage. Her hair was impeccably styled and tied with a velvet ribbon, secured by a matching headband. She wore red lipstick.
To Pabonya—and others who shared his rigid outlook—she appeared a rebellious girl, deliberately mocking their code of tradition with every choice of clothing.
"My elders," she began, sweeping her gaze across the expectant faces. "I am sincerely greatful for the wisdom you've demonstrated by according me this chance to respond to the sordid allegations leveled against me. I have sat here and listened with flabbergastation to the slanderous accusations that led to my estrangment . It pained me that my own father-in-law is the author of this scheme, that he can churn out falsehood just to get even with me. If you allow me, I would share the origin of our differences.
"Everything arose from the personal differences between us. He was displeased with how I dressed, and he made his disapproval known at every turn. He lectured me, so many times, on how bad it was for me to dress like that. Am sorry to say that despite his constant reminders that I should change my ways, I did not yield. Then it became a habit that every time we met, all we did was engage in conversations that ended up in bristling arguments over nothing but clothes. He never tired of pointing out that I was an embarrassment to the clan."
She paused, scanning the crowd. Faces softened; others stayed cold.
"Esteemed elders, allow me to remind the congregation that I had dressed that way all my life—from when I was a small kid, when I met my husband, when he proposed to me, when I accepted to marry him. Many of you listening to me came to the Koito that betrothed me to your son. You all saw how I was dressed. The marriage proposal was approved, and the wedding planned. I came to live among you for about three years without adopting a new style. I was conservative as far as my dress code was concerned. Still, everybody was comfortable with me. My husband always praised my choice of clothes. He always acknowledged that I was very beautiful in them, which made him proud of me; that encouraged me. Whenever I went far, he never shied to point it out. And I followed his guidance.
" So, when my father-in-law saw me differently, called me a failure, an embarrassment, and a disappointment to the clan, I thought he was accusing me of being myself—the self that your son fell in love with, the self that you paid the bride price for. I thought he was wrong to berate me for being what I have always been. That is what made me to answer him back the way I answered."
Murmurs rippled through the gathering.
"Having said that, " she continued. "I want to admit before this congregation that I take a bit of blame for what has befallen me. It was thoughtless and insensitive of me to argue with him. And for that, I ask your forgiveness. But to exploit that and twist our quarrel into an accusation of adultery… that is unjust."
She looked up, tears brightening her eyes.
"And for the record," she said, voice cracking, "I have been loyal. I loved Tesot deeply. My heart has never wandered. I know many men admired me — but I never crossed the line."
She turned, locking eyes with Tesot. His face betrayed a flicker of something — regret? Longing? Even love?
"I swear before the living God," Becky declared, "I have never lain with any man but my husband. Ask him: he is the one who took my innocence. If I am lying, may the Almighty strike me dead."
A hush fell over the gathering. Some elders nodded soberly; others looked away.
Then Sitonik rose.
"It is rare," he began, "to see such courage and honesty. But Becky, there remains the grave charge: that you brought another man into Tesot's own bed. Speak to this."
Becky's heart thundered. She scanned the crowd again — searching, pleading.
Tesot's eyes stayed locked on hers, his expression torn.
She drew a shaky breath. "Those are lies planted to destroy me — born of anger over my refusal to be controlled. I swear again: I have been faithful."
Her words rang out, raw and defiant.
She sat down, shoulders trembling. Tears spilled freely now.
Sigilai, her father, rose next. His voice was heavy with sorrow.
"My heart is heavy," he said. "This is my daughter. I know her flaws: she is proud, sometimes stubborn. But she is genuine. Elders, I beg you: search for the truth — do not let malice triumph."
He paused, voice shaking.
"And if you judge she cannot remain, know this: I will take my daughter home and return the bride price. Even a rotting rat belongs to its household."
The old Kalenjin proverb settled over the crowd like a dark mist.
It was now upon the elders to make a ruling. Becky and her father were requested to step aside, to allow the council to deliberate. Tesot too was excused, no longer to sit as judge over his own wife's fate.
Kurgat cleared his throat. "How about Pabonya steps out too, so we can freely scrutinize what he has presented?" he proposed, his voice calm but resolute.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then, like dry grass catching fire, the meeting flared into heated argument.
"What?" Pabonya, clearly pierced, was the first to shoot up from his seat, his face darkened. "Are you out of your mind?" His voice dripped scorn as he glared at Kurgat. "You've been leaning towards Becky ever since this matter began!"
"Your assumption is wrong," Kurgat countered, still steady. "For the sake of fairness, you shouldn't be among the judges. You're the one pressing charges, and it is against the spirit of justice for an accuser to sit in judgment. There is clearly a conflict of interest. Step aside and let impartial elders decide."
Pabonya's nostrils flared. "So now I'm unfair?" he barked. "Don't hide behind your polished words, Kurgat. You think we don't see you've chosen side? Maybe you should step down yourself!"
Kurgat kept his gaze firm, earnestly studying Pabonya. His mind turned over the peculiar manner in which Becky seemed to provoke such immense negativity in him—as though Pabonya had suddenly discovered a grotesque deformity that had long lain hidden in the body of her married life.
Aloud, he said, "The fact that the charge of infidelity arose immediately after your dispute with Becky over her dress code—something you never mentioned to us until she brought it up—raises troubling questions. Isn't that a striking coincidence? Are we certain this isn't a personal vendetta disguised as justice?"
"You're so funny!" Pabonya, in a new ignition of anger spat back, sarcasm twisting his lips. "Always trying to lecture us with your university education. We're proud of our custom—you won't impose your worthless civilization on us!"
The mood grew restless, elders shifting in their seats, some nodding, others frowning.
Seeing tempers flaring, Sitonik interjected, voice calm but firm. "Fellow elders, let's not descend into insults. We're not here to shame each other. Kurgat has raised valid questions—but remember, it was Pabonya who initiated this inquiry. We owe it to truth to hear all sides fairly."
But at that moment, Kibomwai rose, broad-chested and booming. "Mr. Pabonya is going nowhere!" he declared, his tone commanding. "He stays with us until we reach a permanent solution. We are elders of Kapsoket clan—no one will sow division among us."
A murmur of agreement rippled across the panel. Pabonya straightened, emboldened by the support.
Kurgat realized the tide had turned. He had ruffled feathers, and now found himself outnumbered. The circle of elders closed ranks around Pabonya, shutting out his protest.
Kibomwai spoke again, voice steady, assuming authority. "Kurgat, your impartiality is now in question. I will chair this ruling."
There was little room left to object. Kurgat, though still seated among the elders, silently surrendered the chairmanship.
Kibomwai raised his hand for silence. "We will now sample opinions from each major household," he announced. "Arap Chepchilat's family will speak first, then Arap Koilegen, then Arap Turkut, and so on. Let every family send one voice."
Pabonya leaned back, relief and triumph barely hidden in his eyes. The council had chosen his side—or at least, kept him inside.
The deliberations began.
Kibomwai's voice rolled over the quiet gathering.
"Arap Chepchilat's family, let your spokesman step forward."
An elder rose, tall and wiry, his face marked by deep lines that spoke of age and authority. Chepchilat stood at the front, clasped his hands behind his back, and surveyed the circle with a sharp, appraising gaze.
"Oamu nee tugul!" he greeted.
"Kichamegei," the panel replied in chorus.
Chepchilat's voice was stern, his words deliberate.
"As the Kipsigis rightly say, 'Kitindo karik amakitindo konda' — one may lay down his weapons but never his eyes. I have watched, listened, and I must speak plainly. That woman shows a character that baffles me: indescribable arrogance wrapped in a disguise of elegance."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.
"Her grooming alone speaks louder than her tongue," he continued. "I could scarcely believe my eyes when she appeared in those ridiculous clothes — the painted lips, the exposed chest, the glitter meant to entice rather than honor. And she dares tell us she has dressed like this since childhood? Then she must have been a child who refused to learn respect. She may call it freedom; I call it defiance. And defiance must never contaminate our clan."
Chepchilat stepped back, his jaw set, as if sealing his judgment with silence.
Pabonya exhaled, satisfaction flickering in his eyes.
Next, Kibomwai turned to Sitonik. "Speak, brother."
Sitonik shifted, clearing his throat. His gaze softened as he spoke.
"Brothers, sisters — what we face is delicate. Becky has spoken with courage; rare for anyone to stand before elders and plead openly. If — and only if — she truly committed what she's accused of, my counsel is this: we warn her, and we forgive."
He paused, measuring his words.
"Our strength as elders lies not just in punishment, but in guiding the lost back to the fold. Let her see the clan's mercy, but also know our line is not to be crossed again."
Some heads nodded, others remained stone-faced.
Kibomwai turned next to Kurgat. The elder rose slowly, the burden of disappointment and stubborn hope upon his shoulders.
"I am yet to be convinced," Kurgat began, voice steady but tinged with sorrow.
"I have listened to testimony, and I see gaps. I see a quarrel between father-in-law and daughter-in-law explode into something greater. I see timing too convenient to ignore."
He lifted his eyes to the sky for a moment, then back to the elders.
"There is a Kalenjin proverb: 'Ng'ot kobuti teta nebo kelyek ang'wan, kotos maibuti chi?' — if a four-legged cow may stumble, wouldn't a human be even more vulnerable? If indeed Becky stumbled, should we not help her rise again?"
A hush settled around the circle.
"And more," Kurgat added, his voice softening. "There is a child at stake — a little boy who needs both his father and mother. If we cast her away, what damage do we do that cannot be undone? For the sake of peace, for the sake of the innocent, let us reprimand her. Let her feel the weight of our disapproval, but let us not destroy her life completely."
He sank back into his seat, shoulders heavy with the choice he knew would soon follow.
All eyes turned to Kibomwai again, waiting for him to call the next speaker.
Rebecca was the only woman in that panel. Tabutany had been around, but Pabonya had issued a clear warning against her showing her face in that meeting. "Do the cooking, if you want to make yourself useful," he had told her when they left their house in the morning.
Pabonya would not risk someone adding divergent opinion in the midst of the decision makers. He even wished Rebecca too could be barred from speaking. But unlike with his wife, his powers were inadequate to extend that far.
So far, Rebecca had only sat and listened. But he knew she was about to be invited to speak. And when she stood, Pabonya held his breath.
"First, let me say thank you for coming," Rebecca began. "I am sure you all had other assignments to attend, but you chose to be here. And I know that it was because of the love for the family left in my hands by my late husband. I also know that you do this with goodwill and good intention."
"As to the matter at hand," she continued, her eyelashes lowering as she pondered what she was about to say. "I never imagined we would end up like this." She hardly held back her tears. "I have keenly listened and thoroughly considered all the views of the earlier speakers. And am particularly concerned with the testimonies of those women. Is what they told us the absolute truth? Maybe, maybe not. But whatever the case allow me to disagree with the idea of separation."
Her final statement elicited murmurs from her audience.
"When I first met Becky, I found in her an incredible lady: charming, polite, and hardworking. She was kind and generous to everyone. I loved her. I loved the great spirit in her, but above all, I loved the way they got along so well with my son. I had a feeling that their love was true. And I knew that together they were going to lead a happy life. And so far they have. Nothing pleased me more than the happiness of my children. Little has changed about her dressing, as you heard her say. I don't want to deny it. I overlooked that then. But she can change. Though at times she is wild, she has a good heart. I am sure she has now learned her lesson. At least, for this marriage, we should give her a second chance."
"Do you mean a second, second chance?" Pabonya had to interrupt, hoping to discourage her from speaking too much.
"I believe we all want the same thing," she ignored him and continued. "To take the right course of action. But separation is not the way towards it. It is going overboard. She now understands the cost. About infidelity, I strongly believe that it is a false accusation. I cannot bear any testimony against her on that matter. I was shocked at what the witnesses here said about her. But assuming it is true, we should still be merciful. Everybody makes mistakes. And no sin is too big to be forgiven. You elders should inspire our son to reconcile with his wife. And put their past behind them." Rebecca finished her submission.
Pabonya did not expect her to be so brief. But he knew, in that brief decisive speech, was a great influence that could change everything.
There was a division; a great division. The elders disagreed on what to do with Becky.
"This will be decided by a vote," Kibomwai said. "Every member of the clan in this meeting has to make a choice. The options are two: Becky stay or Becky leaves. If you want her in the clan, come to my left. If you want her gone, come to my right."
Pabonya was the first to move to the left side of Kibomwai – now in charge of the voting exercise. He was joined by Chepchilat and soon their numbers ballooned.
Arap Kurgat stood on the right and was followed by Rebecca. Those who had not made up their minds, upon realizing that many of the clan members had joined Pabonya, not wanting to be left out in the cold, decided to join the winning team. There was no need for counting. Pabonya had carried the day. There were only a handful of them that had joined Kurgat.
Those who had not been part of the voting exercise were called back to hear the verdict. And Becky kept her fingers crossed.
When all had gathered and settled, Kibomwai made the declaration. "The elders have resolved that Becky's case will be a lesson to the other women of the clan. To deter future similar cases, Becky would be freed from her marriage bounds. Given that this is an unprecedented crisis that the clan is facing, we intend to send a clear message that the clan will not be inclined to show mercy where norms and customs are trampled on."
Becky felt her whole body weaken and was afraid she would collapse and faint. None of of what she said did anything to save her impugned name. The Kapsoket clan had been duped to believe a lie and had made a wrong choice.
She got into her father's car and together they drove home.
Later on the crowd dispersed and Pabonya returned to Kures.
His wife was eager to know the outcome . "How did it go?" She asked.
Pabonya resisted the urge to perform a victory dance before his wife. "She is now scurrying back to wherever sh