Out Of The Cell
Niss walked out of the police station feeling angry, guilty, and embarrassed.
Grrrr. Her stomach rumbled. Hunger joined the list of things gnawing at her.
The Cafe That Took Everything
It was a long way home, so she slipped into a small café and ordered quickly. It had been ages since she last ate in a restaurant, and the thought itself felt strange. After what seemed like hours to the waiter, she finally settled on ugali skuma. The plate hit her table in five minutes, and by the seventh it was gone.
She stared at the empty plate, stunned. That small food for seventy shillings? Rage burned hotter. This president will kill us all.
Fumbling through her leso for coins, she came up empty. That’s when a man who had been watching her closely stood, paid her bill without a word, and left her more embarrassed than grateful.
The Stranger With Promises
She walked home, bracing herself for her children. She hadn’t seen them since yesterday, when she had left with her colleagues to riot against the merchants.
But the riot hadn’t started there.
It had started a few weeks back, in her own compound. She was seated with her kids one evening when a young man appeared. He looked sharp—probably a gym type, shoulders squared, the kind who seemed to know exactly what he was doing in life. Definitely not like my husband when he was young, she thought.
He introduced himself as part of an NGO empowering women. His words dripped with promise. Twenty minutes later, he walked away with a KSh 20,000 commitment from her, paid in three installments. In her hands he left a bundle of seedlings. Rosemary.
A Marvelous Scam
Plant them, he said. In a month, they’d mature. His NGO would come for them and pay KSh 60,000. A three-times return. Marvelous, wasn’t it?
True enough, the rosemary grew and matured right on time. But on the promised harvest day, no one came. One week passed. Two. Three. Nothing.
The man had vanished. The NGO had never existed. And her money—gone.
Chicken Don’t Wait
That was the money Niss had set aside for her first batch of layers. Her chicks were now four weeks old. In another four, they would need growers mash. She thought she could “invest” the feed money, flip it fast, and come out with plenty. But the plan crumbled.
Desperation turned to fury. She joined neighbors—victims of the same scam—and they stormed the streets, shouting, demanding answers. That night, they slept in a police cell.
The Lesson In The Dark
Sitting on the cold floor, Niss finally admitted the truth: it was her fault.
She had ignored the one principle she’d read before: Go deep first, then go wide. The Secret Layers guide had always said it. Focus on one venture. Master it before chasing others. But she wanted shortcuts. Easy money. And now her birds were hungry.
Rosemary Fed Chicken
That afternoon, walking back toward her house, the lesson burned in her mind.
Well, she thought, glancing at the stack of rosemary in the corner of her yard, at least I still have this. Is it edible? Maybe. But what if—
Her lips curled into a sly smile.
Rosemary-fed chickens. Eggs with a twist. Maybe people will pay for that. Maybe this is how I begin again.
Register for our regular Layer Chicken Digest Tips below.
See you on the blog!
secretlayerske@gmail.com
carlosdeche4040@gmail.com
Leave a Reply