My brother said, “I’m going to ask you one more time, please go. Go get help. Go to the other camp and tell the warriors that we’ve found the two lions that have been terrorizing everyone, and we need to kill them today.”

And I said, “No, I’m not going.”

So he said, “Fine,” and sent the youngest boy, who was only about eight.

When daylight came, I took the little boy’s spear and walked out from the camp with the others. Barely 200 yards away were the two lions. One had its head right in the cow, eating from the inside. And one was just lying around: She was full. As we approached them, we sang a lion song: “We’re going to get the lion, it’s going to be a great day for all of us, all the warriors will be happy, we’ll save all our cows.”

As we got closer, the older man who was with us kept telling us to be careful. We should wait for help, he said. “This is dangerous. You have no idea what lions can do.” But no one would listen to him.

The other guys were saying, “We can do it. Be brave, everyone.” We were encouraging each other, hyping ourselves up.

My brother was so angry, so upset about our mother’s favorite cow that he was crying. “You killed Ngoneya,” he was saying. “You are going to pay for it.”

Everyone was in a trance. I felt that something inside me was about to burst, that my heart was about to come out. I was ready. Then we came face-to-face with the lions. The female lion walked away, but the male stayed. We formed a little semicircle around the male, with our long spears raised. We didn’t move. The lion had stopped eating and was now looking at us. It felt like he was looking right at me. He was big, really big. His tail was thumping the ground.

He gave one loud roar to warn us. Everything shook. The ground where I was standing started to tremble. I could see right into his throat, that’s how close we were. His mouth was huge and full of gore from the cow. I could count his teeth. His face and mane were red with blood. Blood was everywhere.