The bus jolted to a stop at the crowded Eldoret bus terminal. The air was thick with the mingling smells of roasted maize, exhaust fumes, and sweat. Eunice clutched her suitcase tightly, her heart pounding as she looked out at the unfamiliar chaos. Hawkers wove through the crowd, shouting out their wares, and matatu drivers competed for passengers with booming voices and relentless honking.
For a moment, she felt overwhelmed. The quiet, predictable rhythm of her village life seemed like a distant memory. But she reminded herself why she was here: for her mother, for a better future.
"Ni Eldoret hapa, sister! Shuka!" shouted the bus conductor, startling her from her thoughts.
Eunice stepped down onto the cracked pavement, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. She glanced at the piece of paper in her hand. Joyce, her distant cousin, had written down directions to a small guesthouse where she could stay until she found her footing.
"Beba bag, sister?" a young boy offered, already reaching for her suitcase.
"No, asante," she said firmly, pulling it closer to her side.
Navigating the bustling streets, she finally found the guesthouse, a modest building with peeling paint and a sagging roof. The receptionist, a bored-looking woman, barely glanced at Eunice as she handed over her payment for two nights.
The room was small but clean, with a single bed, a wooden chair, and a curtain that did little to block the light streaming through the window. Eunice sat on the bed, her legs trembling from exhaustion.
"This is just the beginning," she whispered to herself.
The next morning, Eunice woke with a sense of purpose. Dressed in her best blouse and skirt, she set out to look for a job. Joyce had mentioned a bakery not far from the guesthouse, and Eunice decided to start there.
The bakery was tucked at the corner of a busy street, its glass display filled with golden-brown bread, pastries, and cakes that made Eunice's stomach growl. She stood outside for a moment, summoning her courage, before pushing the door open.
A bell jingled above her head as she stepped inside. Behind the counter stood a tall woman in her late thirties, wearing a crisp white apron and an air of authority. Her sharp eyes scanned Eunice from head to toe.
"Can I help you?" the woman asked, her tone brisk.
"Yes," Eunice said, her voice steady despite her nerves. "My name is Eunice, and I'm looking for work. I can clean, bake, or do anything you need."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Do you have experience?"
"I've baked chapati and mandazi at home," Eunice said honestly. "I learn quickly and work hard."
The woman studied her for a moment, then sighed. "We've been looking for someone to help with cleaning and stocking. It's not much, but it's a start. Can you start today?"
"Yes, yes, I can!" Eunice exclaimed, her face lighting up.
"Good. I'm Mercy, the owner. Don't disappoint me."
The first few days were grueling. Eunice scrubbed floors, cleaned ovens, and carried heavy sacks of flour from the storeroom. Mercy was strict and rarely smiled, but Eunice admired her efficiency and attention to detail.
One afternoon, as Eunice wiped down the counter, a man walked into the bakery. He was tall, with a charming smile and a confident stride.
"Hey, Mercy!" he called out.
Mercy's face softened into a rare smile. "Peter! What brings you here?"
"Just thought I'd check on my favorite baker," Peter said, leaning casually against the counter. His eyes flickered to Eunice, who quickly looked away.
"This is Eunice," Mercy said, gesturing toward her. "My new assistant."
Peter extended his hand. "Welcome, Eunice."
Eunice hesitated before shaking his hand, her gaze fixed on the floor. Something about his smile unsettled her, though she couldn't quite place it.
Over the next few weeks, Eunice settled into a routine. She worked long hours and rarely complained, grateful for the opportunity. She even began to enjoy the work, learning to knead dough and pipe icing under Mercy's watchful eye.
But Peter's visits became more frequent. Each time, he found a reason to linger near Eunice, asking her questions and flashing his charming smile.
"You're doing a great job," he said one evening as she swept the floor. "Mercy's lucky to have you."
"Thank you," Eunice said, keeping her responses short and polite.
Still, his presence left her uneasy. She tried to focus on her work, but a nagging voice in her head warned her to be careful.
One evening, as Eunice was locking up the bakery, Peter appeared at the door.
"Heading home?" he asked, his voice casual.
"Yes," Eunice replied, clutching her bag tightly.
"Can I walk you?"
"No, thank you," she said firmly.
Peter chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Just being friendly."
Eunice watched him walk away, her heart racing. She couldn't shake the feeling that his friendliness was anything but innocent.