"Hello, hello wakili, the baby is dead.’ ... A weak and somewhat tired female’s voice of a strange contact came in on a call this morning. This is that type of call that gets you pause for a few seconds trying to connect the voice to a name because bluntly asking a caller who they are in such a situation seems rude. So I had to quickly create a list of our clients who had come to the office with babies, claimed to have sick babies or just looked like they were mothers to toddlers. As I kept figuring out, I guess the caller realized that her wakili had developed a memory like that of a warthog and saved the day; "ni mke wa Kisala"..she broke the silence.
I have dealt with people who have lost family members but I didn't know how to reply to my client, Mrs. Kisala. I immediately felt as if I had failed her, or had had a chance to save the situation but didn't. Not knowing whether to be remorseful, apologetic, mourn with her or act emotionless.
Mr. and Mrs. Kisala came to my desk about four months ago. The couple was together with their five-year-old son and an eight month toddler. They sat, heads down, looking tired and discouraged. I knew they were battling something that needed attention. The Kisalas had spent the night in the cold after their landlord, without notice, locked them out of the house for delay in their rent paying for a week. They later had sought solace from a family friend who advised them to come to our office for legal aid and advise on how to file a suit with the Rent Restriction Tribunal in Nairobi.
The five-year-old boy kept on contesting a running nose loudly while shivering, the toddler crying and clearly bitten by mosquitoes while the mother kept trying to help the father narrate their ordeal between watery eyes, shaking hands and a sweaty face. Bitterness was evident on the face of Mr. Kisala judging every action and word from him, he was a God fearing man. I know how brethren express themselves even in trials. This is their story: The couple had arrived home at 8pm in the evening from a post-natal clinic only to find their older child seated at the door step, rained on and shivering.
The ‘cocomelon fan’ was so cold that his hands had turned white and legs numb. He could not even stand up. Mr. Kisala tried to open the door to his house only for the son to look up and whisper; "wamechomelea." That is when it dawned on him that the landlord had procured the services of a welder to permanently conceal everything in the house.
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WACHA NISHUKE MATATU KWANZA. I'LL BE BACK WITH PART II
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