20/09/2025
Dinner by River Gucha
It was a calm evening along the banks of River Gucha, the waters whispering as they rushed past the tall reeds. Three men sat at a long wooden table under a lantern light, their wives by their side. They had come together not just for dinner, but to celebrate friendship that had stretched over many years.
Makori, tall and soft-spoken, poured the first calabash of muratina. Justine, always cheerful, carved slices of roasted tilapia caught fresh from the river that very morning. Momanyi, thoughtful and wise, raised a clay pot of ugali, steaming and fragrant, setting it at the center of the table.
Their wives joined in the laughter, sharing stories of the day. Children’s laughter echoed in the distance where they played near the riverbank, their shadows dancing against the flickering lanterns.
But the river was not just a background. It was a character in itself. River Gucha carried secrets—old stories passed from generation to generation. The elders often said its waters could bless those who honored it, but it could also curse those who disrespected its flow.
As the meal went on, a sudden silence fell. From across the river, a strange melody drifted in the wind—soft, almost like a flute. The three men turned, their wives tightening their shawls.
“Who plays music at this hour?” Justine whispered.
Momanyi’s eyes narrowed. “That is not a man’s flute. That is the river spirit calling.”
Makori, ever brave, stood and walked to the edge of the river. The water shimmered in the moonlight, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw a figure of a woman clothed in white, gliding above the waves.
“Makori, come back!” his wife called.
But the figure vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Only the sound of rushing water remained.
The men sat back down, uneasy, but instead of fear, they felt a bond grow stronger among them. They made a silent vow: every year, they would gather by River Gucha with their wives, share food, and honor both friendship an
