Field Notes: The mysterious Antique African Statue

From the journal of Agent Hempstead

I must have looked exhausted, though my steps still felt light. I had been walking for almost two days beneath the hot Kenyan sun, making my way toward the coastal city of Malindi. A kind family waved me over from the roadside, offering shade and a cup of cool water from a nearby well.

My inability to refuse generosity led me to their home. A small, humble place, but one they had made their own.

We exchanged a few pleasantries, though their dialect was unfamiliar to me. There were two parents, four children, and a grandmother and now me,

a weary, dusty traveler taking up space in their doorway. Inside, it wasn’t much cooler, but the break from the sun was a godsend.

The mother, Durah, sat with me at a small table while the children darted about the room. Every so often she’d raise her voice, and in an instant the chaos stopped.

From what I could gather, the family had been homeless for some time. They were looking for work and had recently come across this abandoned house. They’d moved in only months ago, still cleaning it up and hoping to grow crops to sell to nearby villages.

As I drank my coffee, my eyes caught something in the corner. It was a small bookshelf, just a foot or two high, covered in a film of dust. I walked over and lifted a small figurine from its surface. Durah gave a shrug when I held it up, so through a few gestures and smiles, I offered to buy it. She nodded, and the exchange was made.

Then something unexpected happened. The grandmother, who had been sitting quietly by the table, stood and gestured toward the door. “Come,” she said.

I was too surprised to question it. I followed her outside, where two plastic chairs sat beneath the shade of a tree.

Her English was fluent! I couldn’t help but laugh at the thought that she’d been silent inside while I struggled to communicate. She explained that she preferred not to let on that she spoke English. It was a painful subject for her; she had been forced to learn it under British occupation as a child.

Then she nodded toward the figurine in my hand, her eyes narrowing with purpose. “That one,” she said. “It has a story.”

She told me it was an antique African statue of a warrior named Oleitiko, from the Maasai tribe of Kenya. Born in the 1830s, the son of a nomadic leader, Oleitiko’s name spread across the land. By his teenage years, the Iloikop Wars also known as the old Maasai wars, were raging. They were battles born of power, territory, and

survival.

As she spoke, the breeze shifted through the acacia trees, and the weight of the figure in my hand changed. It was no longer just carved wood, but a fragment of history. A relic carrying the story of a people who had endured, adapted, and remembered.

Own this Relic and learn about the divine power of Oleitiko available now!

Like all short stories on The Storied Relic website, this is a work of fiction.