The screams of the night still echo in Elgeyo Marakwet, where death and despair swept through villages after a devastating mudslide tore through homes, leaving dozens dead and others missing.
Among the survivors is Margaret Kiptoo, a mother who lived through what she calls “a conversation with death. “Her face still bears the marks of that dreadful night, but it is her voice, soft and breaking, that carries the true weight of the tragedy.
“I was asleep when the heavy rain began,” she began, holding back tears. “It was around 1 a.m. I turned to sleep again, but suddenly a huge rock landed on my chest. I screamed, but no one could hear me. The rain was too loud, and everything was collapsing around me.”
As the house crumbled, raging waters swept Margaret away. She remembers the sound, a thunderous mix of rain, rocks, and terror.
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“The water carried me down the hill. I couldn’t see my child. I cried to God to forgive me and take my soul to heaven,” she said.
Moments later, she found herself trapped beneath a boulder. Her hair was stuck under the rock, pinning her down as the cold water rose around her.
“It was heavy, and I couldn’t move,” she whispered. “My hair was caught, and I had to pull it out strand by strand. It was painful, but I had to choose between pain and death.”
The memory of that agony still brings tears to her eyes. “The mud filled my mouth, my nose, and my ears. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was gone,” she said.
When rescuers finally found her, Margaret was barely conscious. She was rushed to Moi Teaching and Referral Hospital in Eldoret, where she continues to recover, her body weak, her heart shattered.
She has not seen her children since that night. They are among the 21 people still missing in the Chesongoch area of Marakwet East, where at least 30 lives were lost after the hillside collapsed on the morning of November 1.
“Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces,” she said softly. “I keep praying they are alive. I can’t stop hoping.”
As rescue teams dig through the mud and debris, grief hangs heavy in the air. Families gather at makeshift shelters, calling out names that echo unanswered.
For Margaret Kiptoo, survival feels like both a blessing and a burden. She carries the scars of that night, physical and emotional, as a reminder of how fragile life can be when nature turns against you. “I thank God I am alive,” she whispered, “but I left a piece of my heart in that flood.”
