No Justice For Baby Ryan as Police Fail To Arrest Suspect
No Justice for Baby Ryan Yet: Part 3: Suspect spotted building her house as Baby Ryan stays in Orphanage
Read Part One and Two of this Story on the Home Page and on My Blog Go Women Go. “Who did this to Baby Ryan” and “Who Will Save Baby Ryan”?
Yesterday, we paid a visit to the Saidia Orphanage in Gilgil to follow up on Baby Ryan’s story. We had agreed to leave at 6 am so we could meet the Children’s office before he left for a Wedding Ceremony. But Dorine and her stepsister Teresa showed up at Kencom Stage at 8 am. Dorine, Baby Ryan teenage mother and Teresa could not raise the Sh40 (half a dollar) from Kaloleni Estate to town. I had agreed to take care of the Day’s travel expenses and do a little shopping for Baby Ryan. Well, a neighbour finally lent them Sh40 and Dorine, Teresa, I and Transworld Journalist Mary Mwendwa took a Matatu at Nyama Kima and set off for Gilgil. Mary Mwendwa is a young Professional Media Woman under mentorship at the Media Liaison and Advocacy Centre Consultants’ Programme. We arrived at the Home at 10.45 am.
From Right: Baby Ryan, Trans World Journalist Mary Mwendwa, Dorine Odipo and her Stepsister Teresa Odipo at the Saidia Orphanage.
The handlers at the Saidia Orphanage were friendly and welcomed us warmly. We had lunch and tea and met hundreds of abandoned, neglected, sick and needy children. Baby Ryan ran and danced towards us when he saw his mother Dorine and so did the other children.
The woman who allegedly abused Baby Ryan, Evalyn Achieng’ Ouma, is at her husband’s Boniface Odipo’s home in Kajimbo Village, Nyakach. Evalyn surfaced there last week. She had gone underground after an irate mob tried to lynch her, frog-matched her to the Gilgil Police Station and handed her over to the Police. Evalyn who has been spotted at Kajimbo turned up with a lot of building materials and is doing final touches to her permanent house. Relatives suspect her husband may be around or may have sent her money for their family project.
Despite a call to a police officer in Gilgil and to the Gilgil Volunteer Children’s Officer Mr Henry Wamae, no action has been taken. Evalyn is free and on the loose as the traumatised Baby Ryan finds temporary shelter at Saidia Children’s Home.
Mr Henry Wamae, Volunteer Children’s Officer at Gilgil Children’s Department and Jane Kinuthia, Co-Founder Saidia Orphanage during the visit.
“I called my mother the moment a neighbour alerted me that my sister-in-law Evalyn was at our home. But my mother (read stepmother), said Evalyn was a new bride in her home and she could not chase her away. I called the police officer, Ms Nafula who is handling the case. I called the children’s officer Mr Henry Wamae. But nothing has happened,” says a teary Dorine Odipo.
Dorine Odipo’s story is heart-rending. It is the story of a teenage mother who had a baby at 15 while in Form Three. The family took her back to School at Tieng’re Secondary School Boarding in Kisumu County. Dorine claims she was sent home from School because she failed to clear an outstanding balance of Sh27, 000. She missed the Kenya National Examination (KNEC) Registration as a Form Four candidate. Not one to lose hope on her education, Dorine registered as a Private Candidate at the nearby District Commissioner’s Office in her Village.
Lunch hour: Dorine cries as she feeds Baby Ryan at Saidia Orphanage.
While still chasing her School fess issues at home, she got a call from Gilgil Police Station asking her to go and identify her son Baby Ryan who was a victim of child abuse. Baby Ryan had allegedly been bitten, scratched, knifed and burnt with hot oil and matchsticks and starved by Dorine’s sister-in-law Evalyn Achieng’ Ouma. The suspect had bitten Baby Ryan’s private parts and he was oozing pus and blood upon admission at Gilgil District Hospital. The P3 Form signed by a Dr Sang, Medical Officer of Health indicated the details.
Dorine comes from a large polygamous home, next to Kodingo Police Camp in Kusa, Nyakach County. Dorine’s late father had two wives. Dorine has only one brother from her mother’s house. This brother, Boniface Odipo, a KDF soldier in Somalia is Evalyn (the suspect)’s husband). The other house has 12 children. Dorine’s parents both died leaving Dorine to be raised by her stepmother. It is the same stepmother who has been taking care of Baby Ryan.
Asked why the culprit has not been apprehended, Saidia co-founder Jane Kinuthia says Evalyn needs counselling and not police arrest. “There must be something in her past that may have triggered her action, “says Kinuthia. She however admits that it is sad and unfortunate that Evalyn is at home with Dorine’s stepmother.
The Children’s Officer handling Baby Ryan’s case is said to be on leave for the last one month and will return to work on May 9th, next month. A Volunteer Children’s Officer, Mr Henry Wamae told the writer that we have to wait for the Children’s Officer to return to work. “We cannot release Ryan Brownstead from the home as he is still healing. Both mother and child are vulnerable and have no proper place to go to. But we will release Baby Ryan to his mother as soon as she is settled and can support the child.”
Although Media Liaison and Advocacy Consultants had offered Dorine a job, Wamae says this is not enough. “We must follow protocol and ensure Baby Ryan is stable. The interest of the child comes before the interest of the mother or the relatives,” a firm Wamae says.
Baby Ryan (Front Row in Navy Blue Sweater) and Mum Dorine pose for a group photo with some of his Saidia Family.
Meanwhile, Dorine has been allowed to visit her baby as often as she wants, despite the fact that she cannot raise money to travel to Gilgil.
Who will save Baby Ryan? Who will take Dorine back to School? When will justice be done so Baby Ryan’s abuser it prosecuted? Why did the police release her when she was already in their custody?
Baby Ryan in his new warm Jacket and Baby cap, poses with Saidia Manager Teresa Wahito in the Dormitory.
It was a tearful departure for both mother and child yesterday, with Dorine crying outside the gate and Baby Ryan crying inside the home. So I gave Baby Ryan a sweet as his house mother Risper carried him away. I gave Dorine a sweet too, to distract her from the sad scene. The rains pounded heavily on us as we left Gilgil and jumped into a speeding Nissan Matatu, back to Nairobi.
Marry Me
Margaret Jane was feeling very lonely. She wanted to die rather than live in this cruel, heartless, unlucky world. Both her female and male friends had rejected her. Every man she had dated had abandoned her. It was true she had gone overboard. Once she had dated a man for one week, she would ask them to marry her. Her married friends were cold to her since she had asked their husbands to marry her as a second or third wife . Men gossiped as much as women and word had gone round. She had become the laughing stock of Nairobi City, with men teasing each other with the words, “will you marry me?” and laughing loudly wherever she passed. They kept telling her they would get back to her after the proposal. But she never heard from them again. Most of their phones were either switched off or diverted to a woman, laughing cheekily at the other end. Friends and family no longer invited her for functions. Her visits to Pastor Ogjibani prayers at Nyayo Stadium had not yielded any fruits. She was frustrated to a point of no return. What did a man want?
What did they want her to do? She wished they could fit into her shoes to know how she felt. At 50, an MBA degree holder and a financial analyst with a leading bank in the country, she had reached the peak of her career. Yet her posh huge home in Gigiri, her Imprezza, her DSTv and every luxurious item in her home had not filled the yearning in her heart. To have a man to love and to hold. She had met Dan Mara, a young pilot with an international airline while attending a world conferences in the Netherlands. He had shown an interest in her, raising her hopes for a big wedding. The relationship had gone well that week and he had promised to buy her an aeroplane. Dan Mara had promised to come to Kenya in one month. They would take the new found relationship to the next level.
She looked at her four German Shepherd dogs and six Persian cats playing lovingly around her. She had bought them rather expensively and their meals cost her upto Kshs150,000 a month. But this was nothing compared to the Kshs 1.5 million she earned every month.
Initially she had loved her pets and talked to them daily, took them for a walk and ensured they visited the Veterinary Clinic next to the UN offices regularly. But none of her boyfriends had loved her pets and one had complained that she loved one of her cat Doughnut more than she loved him. Doughnut seemed jealous of her boyfriends and would sit on her laps, everytime she had a male guest. Margaret Jane walked around her huge quiet house, desolate. She went into her shoe room and stared at her 200 pairs of shoes. She often went to the shoe room and tried one pair of shoe after the other. It excited her. But today not even trying her new pair of high heels she had bought in the Netherlands brought her any joy. Netherlands had sad memories. She had lost her chance to get a husband at the Schippol Airport. Dan Mara had seen her off to the Departures Lounge and kissed her goodbye, promising to be with her in Kenya after a month. But after the kiss, she raised her voice at Dan Mara and asked him, “will you marry me?” “What?” Dan Mara had stopped dead in his track, surprised at this sudden proposal. “We have only known each other for a week. It would be inappropriate at this point.” Margaret Jane knew she was behaving badly, but something seemed to drive her on. She insisted, her voice getting louder. “Haven’t you heard of love at first sight?” She taunted him. “Why do you need time? Marry me now. Marry me!” Her desperate high pitched voice seemed to attract other passengers who milled around. He had suddenly turned and walked away, never turning back.
Two months had passed since her trip from the Netherlands and not a word from Dan Mara. It was as if he had changed his telephone lines. She had made several inquiries through various agents at the KLM and Kenya Airways offices but no one seemed to have even heard the name. Dan Mara, she had loved him very much, even if she had known him for only one week. Why had he refused to marry her? When Doughnut walked into the room and rubbed herself against her feet, Margaret Jane kicked her so hard that she mewed loudly in a terrified, surprised voice and ran out. After a few minutes, her cat donut was back in the room. She looked at Dan Mara sadly then rubbed her feet against her mistress. Feeling guilty and unfair to the cat, Margaret Jane picked the cat, stroked it lovingly and told Doughnut,” marry me, pussy cat. Humans don’t love me. Marry me!” “Meow.” Doughnut replied, snugging closer to her new ‘husband’ Margaret Jane.
Happy Comes Home tra la la la la
Happy came home last night. I am just so excited I do not know how to tell this story. One minute please, I need to breathe slowly. In…out…in…out. Phew! I have screamed and danced and cried till I cannot dance any more. I am happy once more. Happy is back home. He sniffed his way back after he disappeared from home three weeks ago. It has been a torturous time, with sleepless nights and nightmares. I have heard neighbourhood dogs bark and ran to the window, thinking, hoping that it was Happy Dog, but no.
Happy came home looking dirty and starved. He had been bitten all over the body by some stray dogs, I guess. Someone had taken away his collar and chain. He sneaked in at 3 am and came to my bedroom window. He did not bark, but kept scratching the window sill. It was as if his return was a secret between us and he did not want anybody to know about it. I was fast asleep and I thought I had been attacked by thugs. It was Happy. Oh, how we hugged in joy. If he could talk, Happy could have told me what happened. It does not matter, though. The important thing is that Happy is back home, safe and sound. Happy gobbled all the milk and all the food it could get hold of. For one moment I though Happy had turned into a greedy Hyena.
Happy is sick. I took him to the Veterinary doctor down the road, next to Donna. The doctor knows Happy’s history and Happy knows him too so he will be happy to be near someone he knows. He vaccinated Happy against rabbies a while back. So Happy will stay at the clinic for a few days as he undergoes treatment. But I will be visiting him. I have to take some time off work. Lucky has bad wounds so I will not take his pictures. It would be violation of his privacy and a little cruel and insensitive on my part. So the pictures I have posted above are older ones of Happy’s taken in January and February 2012. I showed him the pictures and he liked them, well at least he licked the laptop.
Happy is a great grandchild of the group of police sniffer dogs. He came home five years ago when he was only one week old. A lady family friend brought him to give me company as I could not get over my father’s death long after he was gone. We were talking about my father, who died in a car crash in 1998, when I burst into tears and everyone realised how raw the pain still was to me. Happy became my constant companion, always there for me, always so faithful and true. Through all life’s ups and downs, Happy stayed on. It hurt me deeply when he went missing. Happy knows how to climb high walls too and I believe he must have inherited this trait from his parents. So he climbed his way up the walls and into his kennel.
What a happy day. The sun seems much brighter today, the coffee tastes sweeter and everything seems happy. Thanks to all friends and family who gave me their support through phone calls, text messages, posts. Welcome Home Happy Dog. Welcome Home. I love you!
Dumped for her thin mosquito legs
Sarah had always had thin legs but she had never thought her man would dump her for her legs. She was aware that her legs were very thin but she loved them and had never equated them with a mosquito. So it came as a shock to her that Freddie, her love did not love her legs at all. They had dated for the last six months and he had never mentioned her beloved legs at all. How could a man claim to love you and hate some parts of your body? She was slim and tall and had a small frame when she met him, yet that had not stopped her from loving him. Now she was expecting his baby. What was she going to do? Deep down in her heart, she knew he still loved her. Where had this ill wind come from and carried Freddie’s love for her in a totally different direction? Whirlwinds came fast and furious and carried everything along its path, left a wave of destruction behind. How come no one had ever told her that love was a whirlwind?
Sarah could not remember exactly when Freddie started hating her legs. But she did recall it had all started with the visit home to his parents in Saola Village up the mountains. Sarah was already 33 and still in search of a husband when she met Freddie, 47, a Banker at her friend Jerusa’s Birthday Party in Eastleigh Section Three. Freddie looked into her eyes during dinner and shouted in front of everybody, “I don’t know you much Lady Sarah, but I am going to marry you!” Everyone at the party had been embarassed for a minute. Then everyone burst out laughing. Sarah, a Secretary with a Law Firm was amused too and took it as a joke, bust she soon realised he was serious. He wanted her to meet his mother.
“I know mum. She loves weddings. She has been nagging me to marry, so she will be quite excited to meet you,” Freddie had said, his dark eyes shining in joy. No one had proposed to Sarah all her life and she decided to grasp this opportunity for a husband with both arms. Men had come and gone in her past but none had even joked about wanting to marry her.
The visit home had been pathetic. Freddie’s mother and her four huge, tall, plump sisters had burst out laughing, the moment she arrived. It was not the usual laughter, it was evil and taunting…laughter that did not come from the heart. “Is this the woman you want to marry?” Freddie’s mother had asked him sadly, contemptuously. “Yes, this is Sarah, a beautiful lady with a wonderful heart,” Freddie said happily.
Then Freddie’s aunt Rita had summed it all up. “No, no, no. What joke is this, Fred? This girl cannot fit into this home. Look at her mosquito legs. Her legs do not deserve to walk in this important home. You cannot marry her. You will have sickly children with very thin legs and you do know that our family is endowed with nice, plump, healthy bodies.” Sarah looked between Freddie’s aunts and his mother and back to Freddie. Freddie looked down, never saying a word as the aunts taunted her.
They had left immediately without even taking lunch. The six-hour journey back to the city was quiet with no one saying anything or eating any food along the way. Usually, they would have gone to his place. He dropped her at her house in Buru Buru Phase Four as he headed to his house in Fedha Estate. “I will call you!” Was all he said.
Three months later and he had not called. He did not pick her calls either. His friends had gone out of circulation. But she still hoped. That one day he would show up at her door, with the beautiful flowers he used to bring her. She knew he would show up with her favourite red wine. Love did not just disappear into the blues, without a reason. Surely, her mosquito legs could not kill the love between her and Freddie. She still loved him. She knew he loved her too…despite her small legs.
Love me, please
“Love me please,” she begged him as she hang on to his knee, tightly.”Love me, please darling, I beg you, love me.” Instead of the hug she expected from him, he roughly shoved her off , shouting, “get off me, leave me alone!”
What had happened that such a man who once loved her with all his heart and would have done anything for her, had suddenly changed and no longer wanted anything to do with her.
“I love you, darling, please don’t do this to me!” She begged, tears flowing endlessly down her face. He sneered at her, showing complete indifference and contempt. What was the world coming to? Jude, her Jude, the man who has once literally walked on the grounds she treaded on had become a complete stranger! She could no longer recognise him.
“There are so many men in the world. I don’t understand why you are clinging on me! I am giving you the freedom to go out and marry them. I do not love you anymore! You can even leave now if you want!”
The words hurt. “What have I done? What is it that is so unforgivable? I have been faithful to you. I have been submissive, I have never hurt you!”
“I don’t want to hear any of this!” He said as he put on his coat and walked out of the house.
What had happened? Was this her man Jude or this was someone else? Why was he doing this to her.
She got up from the floor and ran after him, begging him to love her. He ignored her, turned on the engine and drove off. She stood in the rain, numbed, feeling nothing but pain deep inside her heart. “He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t love me any more. As if the pounding rains agreed with her, they washed away her tears in sympathy at her plight. The plight of a love lost.
She woke up with a start to find Jude embracing her, holding her tightly inside their warm bed. “You were screaming in your sleep. Had a nightmare?” He asked gently. “Just a bad dream, I guess!” She responded, still feeling dazed. “Do you want to discuss it?” “No, oh no. I don’t even remember anything,” she lied.
She hugged him ever so tightly as if she would never let go. She felt lucky that it was only a dream and he was right here with her, ever so warm, ever so loving. This charming sweet man lying next to her was the real Jude, the Jude she knew and loved. “I love you,” she whispered and bit his ear playfully. He kissed her back. Soon, she was fast asleep.
Surviving Crisis
Everyone has gone through one crisis or another. It is never easy. It is so difficult to face life when the worst happens, when your worst fears are confirmed.
Crisis comes when least expected. It sneaks into one’s life like a thief in the night. No warning, no preparation, no time to make amends. It could be the loss of a loved one, an accident that leaves one paralysed for life. You could just walk into hospital for a normal check up and there it is right on the screen, you have been diagnosed with cancer, diabetes, epilepsy, hypertension and God knows what else. You have been trying to get pregnant for the last ten years and when you finally succeed you lose your child in labour. Or you have tried to get a child for the last 20 years and your marriage is about to break up and women are being brought to your bed to give birth on your behalf. When someone you had really trusted and confided in betrays you or someone just creates a big lie about you and jeopardises your love, family and career. For someone else it could be such a simple thing but when crisis strikes my friends, it is never easy to deal with.
It is a crisis when your partner abandons you because you have been diagnosed with cancer, HIV or a mental illness, when you need a kidney transplant or a dialysis. When that brilliant child you thought would bring the prize home is caught up with a drug cartel and no amount of rehabilitation will change the situation. Then you get a call to go and pick his body.
Crisis, how does one survive? When you lose your job at a time you really need it, when you get retrenched yet it is not your fault, when you commit adultery and the only person you have ever truly loves abandons you or you commit a crime and have to go to to jail. When you look back at the poor relatives you brought up, educated and gave your best turn their back on you and talk ill of you now that they have made their wealth.
When you fail your exams abroad and you are expected back home and you have to move out of the University and play hide and seek with the police, washing cars, babysitting and then this College girl you fell in love with gets pregnant! When you look around and your love clock ticks but there is nobody to marry you or even ask you out for a drink.
Crisis happens my dear friends. Crisis visited me my friends when I got that call that changed my life forever. Dad and mum and sis involved in a car accident. They fell into the river. Dad died on the spot, mum was in a coma and we could not trace my sis anywhere. She was admitted in a hospital somewhere with broken ribs and legs. It was a crisis,. How could we bury dad without mum, her only love for 54 years?
But we survived the crisis, You can survive. We hang on to hope. Friends supported us. The Church prayed and visited. Relatives and neighbours condoled with us and consoled us. The bill was so high and we sold the property but we survived. You will survive my friends. Just hang in there. Take courage. Do not give up especially when it is too much. Troubles may gang up against you like the Dogs of Winter and maul you into unrecognisable pieces but you will survive. There is no night so long that the day will not break. And one day you will look back and wonder how you did it. You will survive. You will survive.
When love comes knocking, it is so sweet
When love comes knocking, it is often so sweet, so gentle, so yummy, like chocolate or candy, so super-duper-turvy but somewhere along the way something happens. Just somwewhere out of the blues, the smell, the colour, the taste of love suddenly changes, like a wind that has lost direction or affection, like unexpected rains that come without a warning; sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.
It all started with an innocent smile. Whoever thought that a small tiny sideways smile could turn into something so huge? Whoever thought that years later her love would follow him to the grave?
He had died loving, not loving her as she had hoped or expected but he had died, loving another woman. To make matters worse, he had died in the arms of another woman as she waited for him to come home for dinner.
That day, he had called from work telling her he would be home early. “Do not sleep before I get home, he commanded, “I have something important to discuss with you!”
They had not been on good terms of late. They had had frequent quarrels over his love mannerisms, his bad phone manners of always switching off his phone when she most needed him. Calls kept coming in when they were in bed and he would run to receive them in the bathroom. On one on occasion, at midnight, she had tiptoed after him to eavesdrop on his conversation. The sounds were not clear and she was forced to lie on the cold floor and place her ear next to the lower part of door. That was when she heard him say, “darling, don’t worry about her. My wife is harsh but that will not stop me from meeting you tomorrow. If she asks me about you, I will beat her up, send her back to her parents and demand my dowry back. I can even use the same dowry to marry you!” He said chuckling.
That was the day he had beaten her so badly she had thought she would die. By bad luck, he had suddenly walked out of the bathroom and found her sneaking up on him. Without even getting time to get up from the floor, he had stepped on her face several times as if he was killing a snake. “You stupid spy, why are you following me everywhere? Do you want to control me?” He shouted at her as he kicked and rained on her with slaps. He had then packed her things and thrown her out of the house.
She did not go to hospital. They would make her sign some P3 forms and charge him in court with sexual violence. She did not want him jailed. She still loved him so much. She did not want to involve her two young children, so happy with the world, with school. It would have been so fair to disrupt their lives. Thay adored their father and always spoke of him as if he were some super man.
She was still nursing her injuries at her sister’s house in the neighbourhood a week later when he came for her, so remorseful and gentle. Her sister had advised her not to go back to him or pay him any attention and she had sworn that she was through with him. He held her in his arms and apologised profusely as he looked gently into her eyes.
“I am so sorry,” he said as he kissed her and wiped a tear from his face.”I deeply love you. I don’t know what happens to me sometimes, what makes me so stupid. Forgive me for everything. You are the most important thing in my life. I cannot live without you.”
She had melted in his arms, accepted the apology like a good loving wife and sneaked back to their home without informing her sister.
But soon history repeated itself as it very often does and her husband started spending the night out again. So when he had called and said he was coming home early for dinner, she had felt a little excited. When was the last time he had eaten at home? She could not remember. She prepared his favourite dish of chicken stew in boiled potatoes and a huge ugali. She would serve him all the parts he loved; head neck, legs, intestines and his most favourite “Adhiambo S”. She then rushed and changed into an attractive yellow dress and put on some soft Lingala music by Franco. She was psyched for an evening of great romance.
But it was never to be. She sat up with the food until midnight, when the dreadful call came. It was a policeman from Central Police Station asking her to go and identify the body at Chiromo Mortuary. “Madam, are you the wife of Johnson Makutano? He was killed by a Commercial Sex Worker from Koinange Street after he refused to pay her his dues. He died in her arms at a Lodging down River Road. I am sorry!”
Why I did not propose to any man on Leap Year’s Day
Yesterday was Leap Year’s day, or Leap Day as it is officially known, the only day women are allowed to propose to men according to tradition. I was supposed to wear a scarlet petticoat or at least a silk dress. But I did not propose, friends. I looked around the whole day yesterday till midnight but there were no men around. Sorry, I mean no man worth my salt. It is not as if men were finished. Not at all. The man I should have actually proposed to, the one I love, was nowhere to be found. I cannot say I love him all that much, but at least he has a job and an old car and he is more intelligent than I , so I suspect he can make a good husband. I have not seen this man of mine for the last ten days or so and he has not been answering to my calls or smses. But even if I had found him and proposed, I did not have a scarlet petticoat and I was truly too broke to buy him flowers. So there went another golden chance to get me a husband.
The other man I could have proposed to is already married so I thought about it rather hard and long and I wondered how I could fit into the picture if I married a married man with a married wife. I wanted my own man anyway, my single but elusive man. Leap Day is a day of Romance for women the world over and the word “complicated” was not in my agenda so I dropped the whole idea like hot cake.
To be honest dears, I am a modern woman or rather I consider myself one. But I am not yet hard-eyed enough to propose to a man to marry him. I am an empowered woman, or so I believe but proposing to a man to marry him? Not yet, I think I would grow cold feet. Never mind anyway, let us wait for Leap Day 2016. I might have the courage to propose and my man might be around this time around to hear my proposal. By then, I probably will have saved enough money to buy me a scarlet petticoat. Then I will ask this lucky man whether he can be mine forever; to love, cherish and hold till death us to part! Happy Leap Day to all women who got the courage to propose. Whether you were rejected or not, at least you tried.
The Morning After Valentine.
It is the morning after. The morning after Valentine. Some have woken up on the right side of the bed. Others have woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Others are neither here nor there. Dazed, confused, ashamed of last night’s reckless actions. Yesterday, you wore red. Today you wear black. You are in mourning. But either way, love has left a mark.
Last evening the spirit of Valentine gave you the devil’s courage to propose to your man. But he scorned you, spurned you like hot charcoal, ridiculed you and disparaged you before his friends. And now this morning after you wake up having lost your pride and your self esteem. You are afraid to face the world.
It hurts doesn’t it, to learn that the man or woman you had entrusted your love with was fake and never loved you at all? You feel used and dumped after you bought your lover a Candle-lit dinner only for them to leave the restaurant with someone else. That the dinner that had started so well with lots of laughter ended up in a quarrel and resulted in the worst day of your life. The morning after when the morning pills are not available and your lover does not want to hear the truth…that you could be pregnant. So last night you waited at this restaurant for hours and ordered one glass of wine after another, but he never showed up. Last night she kept telling you on phone she was still at a meeting as you waited outside her office. And what a shock, when she walked out of the building with a bunch of red flowers in her hands and straight past you with her boss into his car. How so very very painful!
Yes it does hurt deeply that your husband did not show up at home last night and his phone was off the entire evening. That he went to Koinange Street and picked a Commercial Sex Worker but did not use a condom. How depressing when he arrived home in a woman’s red underwear, how disgusting! Many wake up today to the fact that last night love flew out of the window and today is a new beginning. That starting afresh is not always easy but it is possible.
Yes, it does hurt deeply when you got mail in your inbox from your lover’s other woman giving you details of their love notes, some with the very wordings that he has been sending you. So you thought it was the end of the world, threw tantrums like the terrible twos, cried yourself to sleep late last night and now the morning after, you wake up with red swollen eyes, afraid to go to work, afraid to be the source of all office rumour mongering. Cheer up. Everything will be okay. You will survive. You will forget.
The morning after you bought yourself red flowers and a red card, signed it with your left hand and sent it to yourself by securicor courier to impress your friends and colleagues. And now, the loneliness sets in as you wake up in your cold bed alone. With a headache and a terrible hangover. And you feeel fake and dishonest. It is okay. Cheer up, drink some cold water and take a good laugh at yourself. After all you are not the only one in such a mess. You have twin brothers and sisters all over the world sharing your fate in this morning after Valentine’s Day.
Yet for many, the morning after is sweet. Some wear their shiny engagement rings and smile with sweet memories of last night, of a marriage proposal and a wedding in the offing. You are strutting along like a peacock, making wedding plans already, soon to appear in the popular wedding show. How lovely it is to have experienced love last night. The morning after, you wake up with a nostalgic smile of an evening well cherished, of a dream come true.
For some, what a lovely surprise it was last night when the wandering and philandering husband came home out of the blues and asked for forgiveness and a second chance. It was a great re-union and the sweet aftermaths live on the morning after.
For some how great to learn that someone actually appreciated you enough to give you a call, to send those sweet smses and to just say how nice you are as a friend. These are the little warm gestures that make the morning after feel wonderful!
But for all it was worth, for all the recklessness and disappointment last evening brought, it is not the end of the world. It is time to take the morning after in its stride and move on. Yesterday remains just that, history. Today is the day, shiny and bright and life gives you an opportunity to live and love again. As the wise men of old say, “Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
Valentine’s: musicians take credit for keeping love alive
If there is anyone who deserves a Valentine’s Day’s glowing tribute, it is the musicians. From the rural musicians in the dingy busaa clubs to those of International fame in the glowing lights of Hollywood. They have kept the fire of love glowing over time with their endless creativity, hope and inspiring songs. They have kept love so strong and given lovers a chance to believe, a reason to live and a pillar of love to hold on to. Indeed they have made the world go round. Love music has surpassed the test of time expressing love in its deepest, tenderest and most delicate of ways.
From my favourite Dolly Parton’s “Just Because I am a Woman” to Roger Whittaker, Kenny Rogers, Millie Jackson, Al Green, Late Whitney Houston, Osogo Winyo, Tony Nyadundo, Lady Maureen, Queen Jane, Wa Maria, Samba Mapangala, Late D. O. Owino Misiani, Katitu Boys, late Daudi Kabaka, Dola Kabari, Iddi Achieng, George Ramogi, Osito Kalle, late Michael Jackson, Jacob Luseno, Okach Biggy, Olova Makadem, Bana Sungusa, Gogo Simu, Jacob Luseno, Nana Moskouri, Khadija Omar Kopa, Malika Mohamed, Franco, Shala Mwana, Sam Mangwana, Fally Ipupa, Musa Juma, Yvonne Chaka Chaka, Mbilia Bel, Jackie Akinyi, Orchestre Mangelepa and the awesome Lionel Richie…the list is endless but let’s just say everyone has their favourite musician and their favourite love songs.
Dolly Parton made us bond in College as women especially when we went through our first heartbreaks. It was the days of Coackroaches (nickname for male students in Campus who would sneak into the female hostels into as many rooms as possible at night for their sexual escapades only to go talking about it outside the slabs of Jomo Kenyatta Library). As one walked past them into the lecture rooms they would say how cheap and useless you were and they would burst out laughing. Many women students would console their misery by playing Dolly Parton’s “Just Because I am a Woman.” The song sunk deep into the abyss of a broken heart.”So when you look at me, don’t feel sorry for yourself. I was just a victim of a man who let me down. So let me tell you this, so we both know where we stand. My mistakes are no worse than yours, just because I am a Woman”. ‘ Nana Moskouri’s “I never will Marry” was another great hit for broken souls. Her high pitched descant mellow voice was quite consoling especially for women who despite all attempts at love could not get a handsome young man to marry them. “They say that love is a gentle thing. To me it brought only pain. Since the only man I have ever loved. Has gone in the morning train. I never will marry. I’ll be no man’s wife. I will remain single for the rest of my life.” Still remains a hit with elderly spinsters.
Love has disappointed many but musicians always came up with the right lyrics to console, encorage and ensure that love was never thrown into the dustbins of forgotten history.
I don’t know who sang this song, but in my world of Romance it rocked. And among my friends we could not remember all the words so we fitted in the gaps with our own words as long as it made meaning in our lives. “‘I’ve been lonesome, I’ve an etching. I’ve got an aching. Deep down inside. I need someone. Someone to hold me. Take off your shoes turn off the lights and love me tonight.’ (Lol). Climax. ‘Don’t think about tomorrow it don’t matter any more. We can lock our feet and close the world outside the door. I need you so now. Come on and hold me. Switch off the lights. Let’s lock the door and love me tonight.” (There was no U-tube to give you the original words.) We did not have CDs and casettes apart from the privileged few and once it played in John Obongo’s Sundowner at 6pm every evening, you just had to wait another day or two to hear the word again.
“And then we just fell in love with the coffee song. Soon after the song hit the airwaves, True love meant drinking a cup of coffee. It was a show of class and a loving soul in love and ready to be loved. “There’s a storm running over the hills, the willow trees are moaning. I am standing here staring at the window safe and warm. Oh I’ve got a good woman and we got a good fire burning. So let it rain, let the rain fall…the rain…’ And we would all wait for the part that sang, “coffee coming from the kitchen”and that simple phrase would just make one’s day.
Lionel Ritchie just made the Romantic juices flow like a sweet wild dream. ‘I am a lonely stranger lost and all alone. I am a million miles away! I know you are waiting for me to come home again. But I am searching for an answer. Please try to understand, I love you. You love me. Someday we could make it together. Just you and me!” And the you and me would just be those reckless classmates of yours who attended classes in slippers and faded jeans and Tee-shirt.
Of course tribute goes to the musicians like Okach Biggy and Otieno Rachar who went out of their way to create special lyrics in praise of women with fat bums. Otieno Rachar’s original composition “Adhiambo Sianda (Adhiambo’s Buttocks) was such a great hit in Kenya until the Government banned it on the airwives.
Musicians like Owino Misiani experienced true love and risked their lives while singing praises for the women and men they loved.
Yet some artists have sang praises for women, describing their wide big eyes, their thready long hair, their tantalising lips and kisses, their gentle walking styles. Some beg their lovers just to send them their beautiful pictures and some can simply not fall asleep as they dream of good times shared with their lovers. And where love is elusive musicians have traveled the journey in their music searching for their loved ones. Ohangla Sensation Lady Maureen the daughter of Alego laments and mourns for her lover Opiyo. It is a personal experience and only she knows why she cannot forget Opiyo. Benga Artist Dola Kabbary son of Adhiambo searches for his lover-girl Adundo Mum from Busia, to Kakamega, to Bomet, to Nakuru, down to the Coast and far away in Tanzania yet he cannot find her. “Adundo Mum, what’s wrong my love, please tell me. If I have sinned please forgive me and take me back into your love life.” He sings as he dies of a broken heart. Loneliness, the pain of not having one’s love returned. The frustrations and desperations of being alone when you could be two. For Osogo Winyo, it is Two by two…in the table of love, three is a boring crowd. Two, Two Two. You and I love. Only Two.
Whatever the song: Sexual Healing is Good For You, Amanda Light of My Life, Love Me Is The Feeling Now, Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough, Caro Nyamwaya, Embakasi Mi Nakwenda oo Moraa. Whatever song, whatever the love theme, whatever the love lyric…we owe it to our musicians. Love, so weet when it happens, so bitter when it walks away. Love, so permanent yet so temporary. Happy Valentine’s Day with your favourite musician.
Husband disappeared on Valentine’s Day
Jane Vandli is not excited about Valentine’s Day this year. As everyone goes about in excitement buying chocolate and red flowers and making chicken wings in sweet and sour source for dinner, she remains aloof and pessimistic.
Last Valentine’s her husband disappeared from home wearing a red Tee-shirt and only showed up after two days, drunk and arrogant.
On February 14, 2011 Jane Vandli woke up on Saturday morning, cleaned her house and fed her three children breakfast.
She then warmed her husband’s bathing water and called him to the bathroom. He seemed sulky but got up grudgingly and took a bath. Meanwhile, Jane Vandli dressed in red, wore red shoes, prepared a red handbag she had budgeted for ahead of the D-day. She had secretly hoped her ten-year husband would take her out for a date and they would relive their wedding vows. She had also bought him a Valentine watch , a Rolex watch he had often admired.
When Jane Vandli saw her husband wearing a red Tee-shirt she was encouraged. But after breakfast, her husband, who had kept quiet throughout the meal got up abruptly and said,”I will be back shortly”. He got into his car wearing his red bathroom slippers and she assumed he had gone to buy her flowers or a surprise gift.
The surprise gift was not flowers but her husband’s two day absence from home. Jane Vandli tried to call him desperately but his phone was off. She started hating the woman on phone who kept telling her, “Sorry, the mobile subscriber cannot be reached.”
Jane Vandli waited the whole day, fell asleep on the armchair as she waited for her husband.
“It was one of the most disappointing days of her life. I looked everywhere for him, thinking he had had an accident or been admitted to hospital. When he came back, he did not care. He said it was not my business to look for him, but to cook for the children. That was what he had married me for and stalking him was not part of the deal.” He warned her. Jane Vandli felt so unloved, so uncared for, so humiliated.
For Jane Vandli, Valentine’s Day holds painful memories. But on second thoughts, rather than have a miserable day, she says the past will not stop her from buying chocolate and dancing to nice nursery rhymes with the children at home. Happy Valentine’s Day to you and your children, Jane Vandli.
Daughter vs father, brothers.
An old family picture of Sophia Mwihaki and her mum Monica Nyambura in happier days.
Where everyone has supportive documents: daughter fights father, brothers over her mother’s property
On this chilly July morning, an emotional Ms Sophia Mwihaki walks into the office carrying hundreds of pictures of heart wrenching destruction of property. Among the pictures are demolished houses, posho mill, a palatial home, shops – such serious destruction of property.
She also carries with her heaps of letters comprising the Power of Attorney authorising her to manage her ailing mother’s property, a title deed of the demolished property and very sad letters including one written by her own father through the Commissioner of Police asking her to keep away from his wife ( her mother) and from their property).
Written at the back of the pictures are bitter words. One picture reads: “Our 40-year-old home demolished in Lanet on 14/09/09. We do not know whether we shall ever regain our land, but we are looking forward in hope that a better life awaits us in abundance. Amen.”
I look at another picture and read more bitter words written at the back by Sophia Mwihaki.
“We can only forgive the buyer and those who demolished our home so that God can open his gates of blessing upon us. Even the blessings of Abraham for we are a covenant people. 29/9/07”.
From Far Right: Mama Nyambura is visted by her sisters-law Rahab Wanjema and Monica Nyambura (her namesake) in Ndenderu.
Sophia Mwihaki told the writer that after her mother became too ill to manage her farm due to memory loss triggered by her mental illness, she went to court and obtained a power of attorney to ensure the property was not abused. Her father, she alleges, had denied her access to her mother’s farm and wrote a letter to the Commissioner of Police accusing her of trespass. The letter says in part:
The Commissioner of Police, P O Box Nairobi.
DC, Kiambu East District, Kiambu East.
Re: unlawful interference/trespass by one Sophia Mwihaki.
In this letter Mwihaki’s father warns his daughter to keep off from her mother Nyambura, who is in fact his wife and Sophia’ Mwihaki’s mother.
Power of attorney
A case at the High Court in Nakuru dated February 20, 2006 MISC Civil Application No 96 of 2006 in the matters of Sections 26, 27, 28 of the Mental Act mentions Caps 248 of the Laws of Kenya in the matter of Monica Nyambura Watitu (Subject) and Sophia Mwihaki Watitu.
The court ordered that Sophia Mwihaki be temporarily appointed to be the manager of the Estate of Monica Nyambura who had been certified to be suffering from mental illness.
Loss of memory
Sophia Mwihaki’s Library of letters also reveals a letter from Medicare Clinic dated February 6, 2006 signed by a Dr AT Feksi MD, Consultant Psychiatrist gives a medical report on Monica Nyambura. It says, “At examination, she appeared restless and unable to hold attention. She exhibited a profound loss of memory for recent past and immediate presence. This condition shall continue to deteriorate even with treatment.
“The loss of memory has affected her thinking process in that she is not able to identify the type and extent of her estate. In this regard, her testimony capacity is compromised.”
Mwihaki’s story
I lived with my mother in Lanet from June 30, 2003 to June 26, 2010. We lived in the family home since 1965. She was running her posho mill. She had a family farm, goats, cows.
In 1974 she stood for councillor Nakuru. Her sign was a lamp. She was second among seven candidates. All was well until auctioneers came one day and demolished the property and threw their things out. This, despite a Caveat Emptor placed on Page 51 on Classifies Pages of Daily Nation dated Thursday November 19, 2009. The Caveat Emptor Read, ‘(Buyer Beware) The Number Nyandarua/ melangine 2310. Take Notice That This Property Belong To Monica Nyambura Watitu And The Same Is Subject Of a Court Order Case Nakuru HCCC No.44 of 2008 Sophia Mwihaki (Suing on Behalf Of The Estate Of Monica Nyambura Watitu vs Amos Watitu and 3 Others). Any Purchaser Shall Be Buying At Their Own Risk. Be Accordingly Advised. For Further Information Call 051-2210926. By Hari Gakinya and Co Advocates. Arcade House, 1st Floor Kenyatta Avenue, Rm 17. P.O.Box 2275-20100, Nakuru.
But one of the bitter notes behind Mwihaki’s pictures says the property was demolished on September 29, 2009. She claims over 100 youth, accompanied by auctioneers demolished the property and she and her mother had to move into the neighbours’ home for four months.
According to Sophia Mwihaki, her mother‘s health started deteriorating when her memory loss set in. She would put a kettle of tea on the fire and forget all about it. But she would visit the Post Office and collect her letters at P.O.Box 1624 Nakuru, Kenya, East Africa, a number she had memorised most of her life.
“My mother had good health and had never been admitted in hospital and she had never stayed with my father – she was at the time staying with me in a neighbour’s shop. Despite efforts to reconcile the family members, they have only grown wider apart.
Gitau Watitu, Sophia Mwihaki’s brother shows the writer “legal” documents at his home in Ndenderu.
On arrival at Mr Gitau Watitu’s home in Ndenderu on Tuesday afternoon to get his side of the story, the writer found Monica Nyambura in a wheelchair relaxing outside her one-bedroom self-contained house sitting with relatives who had come to visit. Among the relatives were Rahab Wanjema, a sister-in-law and Monica Nyambura her cousin and namesake.
Gitau, who was with his aunties dismissed his sister Sophia’s allegations and produced documents to support his side of the story. In a twist of events, Gitau, Sophia’s first born brother produced photographs of destroyed property and alleged that Sophia had used auctioneers to destroy her own father’s house in Ndunduri.
“She obtained a court order from Nakuru to evict her father and myself from the farm,” says Gitau producing documents to prove that the property was his.
Watitu alleges that his daughter sold his 25-acre farm, his tractor and posho mill and is now holding his wife’s original documents including her identity card. “Why is she holding my wife’s documents, when I am still alive and of sound mind? Let her keep as far away from my wife’s property as possible,” says Watitu, a former forester. “
In a telephone interview with the writer from Nakuru, Watitu demands that his daughter pay him back all the school fees he invested in her, especially after taking her to Kianda an exclusive secretarial college in Lavington/Kangemi. Watitu says his daughter Sophia Mwihaki owes him millions for the money he spent bringing her up as a parent and he is going to ask the court to order that she refunds him all his money.
In an interview with Reverend George Wanjema of Kimende, who is the late Monica Nyambura’s real brother, Wanjema said he is too pained to discuss what has happened to his sister and continues praying about the whole situation. But he concurs with his brother-in-law that Sophia Mwihaki has become a bad child and efforts to rehabilitate her back into the family has been fruitless. “Let her leave my sister alone so we can take care of her. She kept my sister away from me for ten years and brought her back in bad shape.” Says Rev. Wanjema.
What is amazing about the whole story is that everybody has supportive documents to from the law courts, Powers of Attorney, title deeds, the auctioneers, different hospitals in different parts of the country including Kenyatta National Hospital, receipts of hospital bills, each showing it was the other party taking care of the mother and deserved to keep her property. Although Mama Monica Nyambura died several months ago, the battle for her property continues.
Sophia Mwihaki alleges that her brothers and her father denied her access to her mother while she was alive and the chance to take good care of her mother in her last days. At one point, Sophia Mwihaki had to get police escort to visit her ailing mother at her brother Gitau’s house. “I would have bathed her wounds, soothed her bed sores, massaged her, encouraged her and made her her favourite meals. I would have prayed with her as she prepared for her death.” Says a weeping Sophia Mwihaki. Gitau dismisses this as untrue. “It is Sophia Mwihaki who hid the mother from the family for many years and denied the entire family access to Mama Nyambura. When Sophia Mwihaki, took away mother without our knowledege, mother was well and could walk and talk. But when she brought back mother, eight years later, mother was in shambles and in an unbelievable poor state of health!” Sophia Mwihaki’s younger brothers, Njenga and Muiruri who live in Nakuru refused to be drawn into the story but reluctantly admitted that there had been serious family problems. Sophia Mwihaki is an only daughter among four siblings.
Mwihaki says she hopes justice will prevail and that she will get a fair share of her mother’s estate. Meanwhile she mourns what she terms “my mother’s preventable and unnecessary early death”. And she vows to fight to the bitter end.
omwaombara 