They Split My Property Before My Funeral, Yet I Was Still Alive!

When I woke up in a hospital bed in Kisii, the first thing I saw was the look of shock on the nurse’s face.

“You’re awake?” she whispered, as if unsure I should be.

I was confused. My body felt heavy. I had no memory of how I got there. But one thing was clear, I had come back from something dark. Very dark.

My name is Peter. I’m 42 years old. And last year, my own family planned my death to inherit my land, cars, and business.

I ran a successful agri-business in Kericho. It had taken me nearly 15 years to build it from scratch. I employed over 40 people, and had recently expanded into dairy farming. My siblings used to call me “the boss,” but behind the smiles, I now realize jealousy had been growing like a quiet disease.

It started subtly land disputes, cold silences at family gatherings, my brother claiming “we should all benefit from your success.” I brushed it off, thinking it was just sibling rivalry.

I was wrong. To continue reading, click here.