The Conclusion

The sight of Macharia disgusted me; it literally made me sick. My stomach hurt a little, my feet grew weak and my mind came up with 1001 ways to kill him. I wished death on him. I prayed that God would cause him as much pain as he had caused us. It was natural to feel this way anyway; so I let myself bask in my anger, my hatred and contempt for him and his entire family. 

The day was far from over. Minutes after I got home, my sister told me that Police Officers from Kasarani Police Station had come to stop the construction workers whom had been hired to put up a temporary fence from going on with their work. The Police Officers said they had received information that the construction workers were ARMED Mungiki youths. It really was unbelievable at the time that all this was happening! When we put the officers to task to produce the alleged weapons the construction workers had, they dismissed us. It was obvious who was responsible for this. What irked us more was the fact that the same Police Officers had been called by my cousin before the demolition began requesting for help because our property was about to be demolished illegally - we had not been served any notice by the court or City Council. That call had been made at midday. It was now 1600hrs. We live no more than seven minutes from Kasarani Police Station yet they showed up five hours later and NOT to help us but to attack us as the idiot who had lied and/or paid his way through City Council to have our homes demolished stood by watching.

The back and forth with the Police Officers turned into a heated argument. One officer, Mr. Abdi Elmoge thought we were being too emotional about the house being demolished. He was of the opinion that indulging us in a conversation was only making their throats dry. At some point, he roughed up and cuffed my brother for calling Macharia a fool... WOW!!! Was the bastard a god of sorts? Since when did Police Officers beat up and arrest someone for calling another person a fool? Effing fools! *Sigh* The sight of watching my brother getting cuffed drained all the strength I had left and I went to the house and broke down in front of my 2 year old nephew. I cried uncontrollably until he asked me: "Aunty ni nini mbaya?" *Sigh* I cried some more.

Finally, at around 1800hrs, the Police Officers left. The news of the demolition had reached most of our family and friends. They would begin arriving in a few minutes to console us... Tell us SORRY, again as though death had befallen our family... Fact is, ours was a loss, a loss which did not come with the finality of death.

It was 1900hrs when I saw a Police car driving towards our home. The vehicle parked outside my aunt's property. Armed Police Officers walked out of the vehicles. I was excited because I thought, in all my naivety, that they had come to help us (read arrest Macharia)... After all, the demolition was illegal right? WRONG! The next thing I heard was my brother (oh yeah, he wasn’t arrested after all… Abdi was all talk, hence a fool) on the phone asking a friend for help. Most of the guests rushed outside. All of a sudden, there were loud banging noises coming from the demolished area. It turns out the damage was not as bad as I had expected because the demolition was far from over... it was five hours from over.

This is how the demolition exercise was completed:

Macharia hired about 50-60 young men (Mungiki) to come and finish the demolition… As we sat in the house! I don’t know how to explain those five hours... The agony, the cries, the shock, the pain, the fear; it was a rollercoaster of emotions. For five hours, we sat in the house and listening to the walls of one end of the house crumble down with loud noises. We listened helplessly as the men hit stone by stone. We listened as our house was demolished. For five hours, everyone in the house was on their phone calling everyone and anyone… Media houses, Police Offices etc for help. Any kind of help would have been like a drop of water for someone burning in hell. For five hours we called for help and no one in Kenya could help us. It was by far the worst thing I have ever had to go through… It was the worst thing we went through. We were helplessly yet our house was full of help. We were desperate and we called strangers too. At some point, we stopped calling and sat in silence… The silence amplified the noise of our falling house... Our home for over two decades! 

The armed police officers, 8 of them, had not come to help us but to make sure that we do not interfere with the demolition at such ridiculous hours of the night. Eight armed police officers from Kasarani – one of them Abdi the fool! I cried at some point that night when I called a friend who works at a media house. I cried because I was scared, because I was angry, because I was hurting. I cried for my dad, for my mum and for my brother, because they seemed to be the most affected. I remember at some point my mum grew so weak, when she tried to stand up, her legs gave in and she fell back. A friend supported her. She couldn't seat. She couldn't stand. She held her chin and the sadness in her eyes was heart-breaking. I eventually holed myself up in my mom’s room with my sister to cry. My sister was stronger than I. I never saw her cry although I know she did – her eyes gave her away. She prayed when I was crying.

Eventually I "accepted" that we were helpless and that Macharia had won… He had had his way! But there are some things that you can never really accept. I hated Macharia and I cursed him. How would we live with this man as our next door neighbor? Love thy neighbor as you love yourself; the good book commands. How? Is it humanly possible?

One and a half weeks later, a lawyer, A.N. Ngunjiri (God rest his soul) was murdered – police say - shot dead (“mistaken identity”) as he tried to serve a court order to Mr. Macharia refraining him from using or trespassing on the land (read drive way) he had unlawfully acquired. The death of Ngunjiri was the coffee that woke us up. Was this ever about the land? Who was this man? A man who attended my graduation, who came home on more than one occasion and broke bread with the family? Why had he caused us so much pain? Why had he spent so much money to cause us so much grief?

Later that night, when my dad returned home I told him: “I can’t believe this has happened. I especially can’t believe that tomorrow the world will go on as if nothing happened…” I expected the world to stop. A part of me expected Obama to speak up against the level of impunity in this country. I laughed in my head for having such thoughts, but I was so desperate for help, any kind of help. *Sigh*

What happened to us was unbelievable, to say the very least. Writing about it doesn’t liberate me from the pain as I thought it would, it only opens wounds that are bandaged because they are far from healing. September 9^th 2011. It was such a painful experience… one I cannot wait for time to heal!

I suppose what is left of my patriotic juices hopes that the court will ensure justice is served to Mr. Macharia, Nairobi City Council and Kasarani Police Station… I used to be so proud to be Kenya but I was in a bubble and experience burst my bubble.