To lovers of village stories.
Introduction
They called me mwana wa Gitithia—the child of this village. Not because I was different, but because I watched. I listened. I remembered. I saw Gitithia in its fullness and in its fading. I sat beneath the trees where elders once told stories that rooted us in truth. And through it all, I have remained: The Villager.
This book is not about me. It is about us. About the unspoken pride in a villager’s cracked hands, the quiet faith of villagers who sang as they tilled the land, the silent grief of change creeping in like dusk shadows.
What you read here is a tapestry woven from memory and loss, from belonging and exile, from soil and spirit. And if you, too, have ever looked back and wondered whether the place you left still remembers you, then this story is yours as well.
The Villager
David Waithera
© 2025