The next morning, Amina saw a white van carrying the Mwangaza Centre logo turn off the Nakuru–Naivasha road and take a route that did not lead toward the address printed in Ruth's brochure.
Ruth looked up from her phone. “That's not the road to the centre.”
“Which is why we're not jumping to conclusions,” Amina said. “We stay on public roads. If the van enters private property, we stop.”
For two seconds Amina thought she saw Timo through the rear window, a boy in a grey hoodie sitting on the left side. She refused to call it confirmation. Ruth wanted so badly to see her son that every glimpse could become certainty.
They followed at a distance for several kilometres until the van pulled into a public petrol station. The driver stepped out to refuel.
Amina approached without blocking him.
“Excuse me. I'm looking for Mwangaza Centre. I thought it was in the other direction.”
“The main centre is,” the driver said.
“Where is this van dropping off?”
“We don't give children's routes to strangers.”
“I'm not asking for names. The parent is in that car. We were given only this address.”
The driver studied her, then glanced toward Ruth.
“I only get a transport order.”
“Can I see the destination line without the roster?”
After a pause, he took a clipboard from the van and covered most of the sheet with his hand. One line remained visible:
**ROUTE: KJN-2.**
Amina wrote the code on paper. She did not photograph the form.
“Is KJN-2 an address?”
“A route code.”
“For where?”
“That's all I can give you.”
Ruth had come closer, holding up the transport receipt on her phone.
“This is what I paid for. It says Main Campus Transfer. It doesn't say KJN-2.”
The driver shrugged uneasily. “I'm not billing.”
“Is my son in that van?” Ruth asked.
“I can't confirm the roster.”
Amina stopped the argument before it became pressure on a worker who did not control the system. They returned to the car and followed only as long as the van remained on public roads, noting time, road names and landmarks.
Eventually the paved road narrowed. A small sign appeared ahead:
**KIJANI — PRIVATE ACCESS.**
The van turned onto the gravel road.
Amina pulled over before the private entrance.
“Keep going,” Ruth said. “We're already here.”
“No.”
“Timo could be in there.”
“And if we trespass, tomorrow the whole dispute becomes about us breaching their security.”
Ruth reached for the door handle.
Amina did not grab her. “If you go, I won't physically stop you. But decide what you want ten minutes from now: one glimpse, or an answer to why children are being moved without the address being disclosed.”
Ruth sat still, then closed the door again.
From the public roadside, Amina recorded the gate sign, van plate, time and route. She called Neema Ochieng.
“Have you entered the property?” Neema asked first.
“No.”
“Good. Do not conduct your own site inspection.”
“I have a route code, KJN-2, a family transport receipt that doesn't mention it, the vehicle plate and the gate location.”
“Send facts only. I'll check provider registration and the site's authority.”
Amina sent the information.
Two minutes later movement appeared beyond the gate. Ruth leaned forward.
“Is that the same van?”
“No.”
A second program vehicle, grey and less visibly branded, came out from Kijani. Through the tinted windows Ruth could make out several heads. There was no displayed destination, no roster and no information showing who had authorized the trip.
“You can follow it,” Ruth said.
“We don't know where it's going, and we don't know who's inside.”
“That is exactly the problem.”
The van disappeared around a bend.
Amina wrote down the time. They still did not know where every child had been taken, but now there was a second route for the county officer to trace lawfully. The first van had connected Mwangaza to KJN-2; the second showed movement continuing through a site the family had never been told about.
A second van leaves without a list.
#