One Year Later...

It's September... Again. I once told a friend of mine that September was my least favourite month of the year. So much used to happen in September... Most of which I cannot remember now but at the time, I just didn't like the month. It was seldom a happy month. The year I told her that, she told me September was her favourite month.... That changed for her the same year. I suppose my bad streak rubbed off on her. I now know for a fact it is her least favourite month.

It therefore came as no surprise when I had a September from hell, literally speaking, last year. I think it is probably the reason I don't remember what ever happened in the years before. In a couple of days - three to be precise - it will be exactly one year since The M. family i.e. us had their own version of 9/11. Read here.

I don't even know why I am blogging about this. Here is the thing... For starters, I cannot believe it has been one year - 365 days - since some sic bastard decided we didn't need our home anymore as we had known it for 23 years. Time really does fly. Time is also grossly overrated when it comes to healing wounds and such stuff. I can tell you that for free. You see, there is not a single day - not a single day - that has ever gone by that I don't think about what happened - yes, I know that is messed up on many levels but its the truth - and though my siblings or folks, especially folks, don't say it I know the same thing applies to them.

I think about all the planning that went into making sure that our house was demolished. I think about that sic sic bastard who camouflaged himself as a good neighbor, a man I served breakfast numerous times on Sunday mornings, I think about his evil twisted mind. I think about the cops at Kasarani Police Station and I still want to throw up. I think about City Council and Al-Shabaab like thoughts fill my mind... Literally! I think about that sic bastards crazy wife and I shiver. That lady is the equivalent of King Ahab's wife (read 1Kings 21). I think about my momma's tears and my dad's reaction, my brother's words and the look on my sister's face as we resigned ourselves to fate and to the reality that we would sit through the demolition till 1:00 a.m. I think about the overwhelming support we got from friends and some relatives and the words THANK YOU seem inadequate and gifts of appreciation seem somewhat lacking. 

But the thought that inevitably comes to my mind when I think about all this is always Anthony Nahashon(A.N.)Ngunjiri. I think about how he was beaten and eventually murdered in cold blood by someone we had once welcomed into our home... And my heart cries for his family, his daughter especially. I think about his daughter. When I think about A.N. Ngunjiri, I find myself asking God time and time again if this was how he was supposed to die... It is said that when God created us, He already knew how we would die... and I wonder if this is how God saw his death the day he created him. Was this  really how it was supposed to happen? He died a brutal death, a painful and undeserving death on 21st September 2011.

The thing about the Macharia's is that they thought money is everything and that it could buy freedom and justice. His wife actually once told us that: "If you think you have money, or you know people, then we will show you just how much money we have and the powerful people we know.If it means we shed blood for this land, then we shall..." True to her words they did it all. 

On September 9th 2011, they showed us they had money and contacts of powerful people... I actually still believe there was no one who could help us. But on the day they murdered Ngunjiri in cold blood, on that day they realized money isn't everything and neither are the telephone numbers they had been flaunting in our faces on 9th. I say this because I know for a fact, Mr. Macharia and his puppet brother never thought they would be in jail (remand) for this long... They knew they would pay their way through the justice system. He once appeared in court on a wheelchair to seek sympathy from the judge so that they could get bail...  Disgust doesn't even begin to describe what I felt. It didn't work. 

But here is the thing, even if it did work - I know deep down that that man, his wife and the nut-heads attached to her hips, his brother, the police at Kasarani(I wish I could name names) and his workers, will never know peace and they will pay for everything they did - especially killing Ngunjiri. 

It's been a year of court cases, bail applications from their end which would always send us on our knees for prayer, of constant hurtful memories, of painful conversations and flashbacks, of prayers and mostly of seeing God's favor through the justice system in our country. I said in the last post about this whole drama (read here) that I hope the justice system will restore my patriotism... Well, its not fully restored, but its not as bad as it was one year ago.

P.s. Justice delayed is not always justice denied. I can tell you that no matter how long it will take to have Macharia convicted for murder, on the day the ruling will be made(God willing), I know I will cry tears of joy because justice will have been done. 

I pray this September will be good to me and my folks and siblings.

Have a blessed month y'all.