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Hosting a bigger portion of more than 2 million slum dwellers in Kenya’s capital city Nairobi, Kibera is the largest slum in the world. Kibera hides in it many intricate things that come with overpopulated areas.
With a maze of shanties made out of polythene papers and cartons, residents of this vast habitat of "more existing than living" Kenyans from all walks are known to be fierce when it comes to demanding their rights, and relatively lethal when they lose their tempers. They are well known for uprooting the railway line besides looting, a trademark they attained in the past post-election violence witnessed in Kenya in early 2008.
In my recent visit to Langata, this awfully attractive constituency of Kenya’s Prime Minister, I was moved particularly by the nongovernmental organizations that have sprung up to address socioeconomic hardships the residents herein are facing. It is apparent that among the hard hit parts of the capital city, Kibera slums had the biggest share of causalities from the post-election violence.
Tears Veiled in Smiles.
I was led here by a women’s group in charge of reconstructing the lives of women raped and abused during the skirmishes, a group that has slowly risen to recognition via their constant involvement in championing for the rights of disadvantaged women, who are socially and economically challenged within the locality.
In their ready cooperation, the officials of Kibera Phase Four Women’s Group allowed me to carry out an interview with one of their victims whose story humbled me to the virtue of seriously involving the second thought every time I am about to make decisions, whether I am incited by anger or passion.
Eighteen-year-old Josephine Mwende is a beautiful, delicately smiling young lady and a mother of a fourteen month old son. She earns her living from the meager payments she gets from washing her neighbours clothes from the adjacent Langata estate. Mwende gets as little as twenty shillings (less than a dollar) for an enormous heap of dirty wear. She shared the following with me:
“I dropped out of school when I was two years away from completing my high school education. My father had passed away and my mother was not able to support my studies. This, mingled with innocence of adolescence, which tempted me to get married to a young man who worked in Nairobi and had promised to open some business for me to assist my other siblings.
“I had moved from my new rural home in Makueni and settled with my husband in the Kibera slums. This was within the campaign period of the 2007 general elections. We never suspected that our neighbours, mostly Luos, could resort to what they did in the name of stolen elections.” She explained in scattered words. Then tears began forming at the edges of her eyes.
“I was in our little house that fateful evening when President Kibaki was announced the winner of the elections. Sudden wails and war songs rent the air and fear consequently reigned throughout the shanties. My husband was not in the house. I was so afraid. I locked the house.”
She broke into sobs. I said nothing but just encouraged her to go on with remorseful nods.
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“Some three men who were immediate neighbours broke into our house demanding to know where my husband was. They claimed that Kalonzo Musyoka’s admission that Kibaki had won the elections betrayed the respect they had for us and wanted to punish us for that. I tried to beg them not to do that and that’s when one of them grabbed me and tore my clothes then proceeded to rape me.” She went on, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I thought the others were going to object to their friend’s advances but… they all ended raping me in turn until I fainted.”
She burst into an audible cry. I sat there transfixed, touched but unwilling to interrupt her narration.
“When I regained consciousness, I found myself in Mbagathi district hospital, rescued by the Kenya Red Cross. The doctors attended to me and discharged me after two days. The hospital was crowded with patients so those of us who were not bad off were escorted to our relatives’ which were deemed safe by then. That’s the time I moved to Mukuru Kwa Njenga slums where a distant cousin of mine used to live.”
She paused, drying off the tears. I still couldn’t interrupt her.
“By that time the country was in total chaos and tribes had started to align themselves for protection and counter attacks. My cousin got involved in these skirmishes and got killed in the process.” She began to cry once again. I murmured a few words of encouragement and psyched her to go on.
“I was then chased out of the iron sheeted house by people who claimed they were actually hosting my cousin in that house. By this time I realized I was pregnant, probably from the rape since my husband and I had not planned to have a child soon.” She braved on, telling her story.
I stole a glance at her jovial son who looked unconcerned with this interview, though at first he was intrigued by my visit and calling me uncle. I gave him some sweets I had bought, as I was aware that my interviewee had a child as I was told by the women's group leaders. I let Mwende continue with the narration.
The Recovery
“Anyway, the chaos cooled down and the pain ebbed away so I returned to Kibera to look for my husband. Unfortunately for me, when he heard about my rape he decided to leave me. Nevertheless I decided to keep the pregnancy after confirming that I was not infected.”
“With the help of my new friends-in-the-rape ordeal, I learnt of this women group that was looking out for raped victims who were ready to share their experiences and decided to join it.”
She managed a convincing smile:
“It is through the help of this group that I have accepted what befell me in the largest historical disunity this country has ever seen. The group leaders here have exposed us to psychological counseling, but I don’t think they will make me forgive my abusers.” She remarks without flinching.
“This is Annan; I named him after the mediator who brought sanity back to this country. I don’t exactly know who his father is, but I love him anyway. He is the reason why I am looking at life from a positive angle; otherwise I wouldn’t be available for this interview. I could be dead, and buried.” She smiles as she concludes casually.
I sat for a while staring at the space, with the events of the post-election madness that transpired in the last general election spinning in my head. Even so, I applauded Mwende ’s successful adaptation to life after an act that occurred to many women in Kenya, as well as her courage to talk out the rather shameful torment. As she embraced the consequence of the act, which is Annan, it touched my heart a great deal.
I offered her a thousand shillings, the little I could do to cancel out the inhumanity my fellow men subjected this defenseless woman to.
Despite this effort, a cloud of guilt still bothers me, especially when I wonder what could overcome me enough to do such a beastly act as my neighbours did.
Excuses blame it on the loss of morals to drugs, unfounded anger, and/or other mental disorders, but rape still remains a traumatizing act to both the victim and every right thinking person. Other than the legal efforts to address this perennial crime, the society still has its role to bring up decent people who embrace respect for others and fear the consequences of such iniquities, at least as per the religious teachings. I cannot help but imagine a world without rape.
What a safe haven it would be!
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