The cooperative hall was full before Karanja arrived.
People had not come because they suddenly loved governance. They had come because Crown Ember's advance had already paid school fees, fertilizer bills and wages, and the proposed seven-year washing-station agreement was supposed to keep cash moving.
Karanja stood at the front with the contract. “We cannot run a cooperative on suspicion.”
A farmer near the door answered, “We also cannot sign seven years because we are afraid of Friday.”
Baraka sat beside Muthoni instead of taking the front table.
The Crown Ember representative expected him to present the entire Kifaru case. He did not.
“Three clauses,” Baraka said when members asked him to speak. “That is all I am asking you to read before you vote.”
The first gave Crown Ember control over sample preparation for contracted lots. The second restricted buyer access through the exporter. The third bundled washing-station support with exclusivity that extended beyond one harvest.
“Those clauses can have commercial reasons,” Baraka said. “They can also make it difficult to independently verify the very problem we are reviewing. You decide whether the cash is worth that control.”
The representative accused him of frightening farmers with technical language.
Muthoni stood. “Then explain the clauses in simpler language than he did.”
The representative tried. The room became noisier, not quieter.
Some members wanted to sign immediately. One woman said she did not care who prepared a sample if her payment arrived on time. Another man asked who would replace the advance if Crown Ember walked away. A third warned that buyers talking about traceability often disappeared when market prices fell.
Those objections were real. Baraka wrote them on the board instead of answering them with slogans.
A finance adviser who had been invited by the committee outlined an emergency bridge option: smaller, more expensive, and limited to one month. It was not a miracle. It would buy time at a cost.
Muthoni proposed delaying the vote for twenty-four hours.
“Not canceling,” she said. “Reading.”
Karanja resisted. “The exporter can withdraw the offer.”
“Then that is also information,” she replied.
A procedural vote was called. The delay passed by a narrow margin.
For the first time in years, Karanja did not have an automatic mandate to sign a major supply agreement once the committee had approved it.
After the meeting, he asked Baraka to remain.
“You think I am selling them,” he said.
“I think you are trying to keep the cooperative alive.”
“Then why are you making it harder?”
“Because survival can also be a bad contract signed at the right moment.”
Karanja stared at the emptying hall. “You live in Nairobi. You can afford principles.”
Baraka did not answer with the school-fee story from Muthoni's kitchen. That history was not a weapon. Instead he asked to see the advance schedule.
Karanja hesitated.
That hesitation changed the room.
The money was not simply an advance against current deliveries. A side letter pledged part of the next harvest as security if the cooperative rejected the long-term agreement after drawing the funds.
“Did the members vote on this?” Baraka asked.
“The committee approved the facility.”
“That is not the same question.”
Karanja rubbed his forehead. “We needed payroll.”
Baraka did not call the payment a bribe. The advance had entered the cooperative's books. The problem was disclosure and leverage: members were being asked to vote on a contract without knowing that rejecting it could trigger repayment tied to coffee that had not yet been harvested.
Muthoni returned for her scarf and found them still there.
“What is it?” she asked.
Karanja answered before Baraka could.
“The next harvest is already pledged.”