Part 2: Mtwapa Edition

After visiting the male prisoners, we find time to offer legal aid to women prisoners. A young woman barely in her twenties approaches me and speaks perfect Swahili. She is a Luhya but the way she speaks her Swahili is music to my ears. Sample this:

“ Ninatatizika kidogo. NImeshinda huku karibu miezi tisa bila kesi yangu kusikizwa. Kila mara kiongozi wa mashtaka atatoa sababu na kufanya kesi ihahirishwe. Wakili wangu sijamtia machoni. Yuwaja kortini na kujiendea bila ya kuzungumza nami..”

“ I am in a fix. I have been in remand for close to nine months yet my case hasn’t been heard. Every time, the prosecution will give excuses to seek adjournment of the case. I have not yet met my advocate. He does come to court but disappears after court sessions without talking to me.”

Swahili aside, the most depressing indictment of our court system in Kenya is the backlog of cases. One in remand could stay there for more than a year without his case being heard and as if that is not ‘torture’ enough, every other time the case would be adjourned. I heard from a couple of prisoners the common problem of them not being given an opportunity to address the court especially when they are representing themselves. They are conveniently ignored, they say. Two issues: One, how adequate is free legal representation in Kenya? Two, are there instances of blatant disregard of an accused’s right to legal representation? If so, what are their recourse in case of breach?

There was an interesting case of a woman whose sentence was erroneously computed. Instead of doing it concurrently, the sentence was made to run cumulatively! As such, the prisoner ( according to this error) was to be out of prison in 2017 yet in real sense she was to be free three months ago! So grave was this issue that our supervisors had to intervene and explain this anomaly to the prison authorities.

I met another case of a woman who had paid an advocate some sum so that she could be represented but the advocate went missing. That was embarrassing especially as I set out to explain the role of the Advocates Complaints Commission and how she could lodge her complaint.

I notice that a tree we sit close by has most of its lower branches chopped off. My imagination goes on a stampede. Is it to prevent a prisoner from running and hiding on top of this tree?

We handle a couple of other clients and by almost 4 p.m. we are done. Later in the evening, as we walk in the streets of Mtwapa, a friend admires a pair of shoes going for 450 shillings. On saying that she had 250 shillings, our good Mombasa businessman summarily dismisses us saying, “Jaribu kesho”. You see, these Mombasa businessmen don’t get it. We, the bara people know how to bargain. You say a pair of shoes goes for 1000 shillings and we divide that figure with 2 and minus 100 shillings and start bargaining from there. But again, Mtwapa is not Muthurwa and Abdulrahman is not Kamau.

Next day we visit the beach. At least with the consolation that I can swim, I secure a boat ride with my friends. It is a wholesome experience seeing the coral reefs under the glass in our boat. Our driver calls his wife and tells her that he is on a boat “in the high seas”, in the “middle of nowhere” and that “the problem is that he hasn’t signed a will”. We burst out laughing. After the boat ride, I get myself madafu, pose for some photos while wearing a palm-frond hat so that in case some of my haters decide to say that I never went to the beach at least I would have some proof. Plus I made sure that the cameraman captured the coconut trees and the boats. You can’t be sure with some of these things nowadays.

Then we are off to Nairobi. One positive thing is that I no longer talk fast, thanks to the coast.

Trip to Shimo La Tewa Prison, Mombasa (Part 1)

Finally, I am travelling to Mombasa. As a herdsboy who has been raised in 'bara', you see, what Coast has to offer-- the beaches, the coral reefs, the boat rides, the sluggish and easy walks-- all of them are so inviting. We are on a school trip to Shimo La Tewa Prison to give legal aid to the remandees and prisoners.

Friday 19th-- the D-Day

We check into the bus at around 9. We are off by around 9.30. I carry a small bag containing a few clothes, Patrick Kiage's Essentials of Criminal Procedure, The Constitution ( Well, let me admit it is the Proposed New Constitution but hey it is the real thing nonetheless), a small notebook and my favourite copy of Nuyorican Poets Cafe ( to take care of my poetry cravings, you know).

You remember how we used to write our compositions? We went, went, we weeeeeee-eee-nnnnt, we weeeeeeeent and weeeeent. Yes. It was a long journey. At around 6 p.m, we had checked into Mombasa town. A colleague points to me Nyali Bridge. So this is Nyali Bridge after all? I think to myself. Then I see a board saying Kisauni, Mtwapa and Kongowea ( I am not very sure about Kongowea. You see I could create places in my mind). All I know is that I felt excited being at Mtwapa. I felt like to call my kinsmen and tell them " Nimetua Mtwapa mimi kwa raha zangu" ( I have landed at Mtwapa 'in my happiness'). I just sit, talk and observe.

We stop somewhere near Nakumatt Shopping Mall. We are given around 20 minutes. I walk purposefully to the mall, stroll checking what it has to offer. I make up my mind that I am not buying anything. Thoughts of being rich flood my mind. I think for a moment that I am the owner of Nakumatt ( more precisely, majority shareholder) but you see these thoughts are very depressing. So I stick to being the consumer, do several laps, check the price of a good bag as if I would eventually buy it and off I get out.

Twenty minutes are over. We get into the bus. Destination? Danpark Hotel and Apartments. We are allocated rooms. My friend Tom and I are allocated room no. 14. We get inside the rooms, shower, watch news briefly and get out to have our supper. What a meal from the buffet! ( I can bet I have added a kg from all this). There was this blind man ( not blind, I am sorry, that is not politically correct: A man who had lost his ability of eyesight) who was a comedian/singer/clown/pseudo-Moi/pseudo-Kibaki, a motorcycle and even a plane! He rocked our evening.

I scan the room later. We have a balcony outside. Inside, I see a bible written das neue testament, le nouveau testament, the new testament. I think: These people are considerate to feed the body and the soul. Another good thing is that their sandals are not of different colours and not disfigured.  That is a story for another day ( ha ha). No much event. I am tired. Tom is tired. We hit the bed at around 11 p.m. Day one over.

20th August.

Saturday Morning. Dan Park Hotel and Apartments. There are some kinds of breakfasts which are not breakfasts. They should be named something else ( may be early lunch or something close to that) for all I know of a break fast is that it consists of a cup of tea and may be a mandazi and that is it! Now, when we have cornflakes, milk, eggs, sweet potatoes, slices of bread, watermelons, bananas and some mandazis, I am at a loss my good people. Speaking of which, what is a nylon tea? I saw it somewhere along the queue of what we were supposed to take but I chose to ignore it. You see, they say better the tea you know than the nylon tea you don't know.

At around 9 a.m, we set off to Shimo La Tewa Prison. In the meantime, some chap is telling me that the acronym HAGUE ( pronounced HAGUE), stands for : H- Henry Kosgei, A-Arap Sang, G- General Ali, U- Uhuru Kenyatta, E- Eldoret North MP. How people can devise such beats me!

Inside the prison, we are addressed by Mr. Sawe who we were told was the officer- in- charge. He tells us that there are around 2,300 remandees inside there ( actually an excess of 1,300 because the capacity is for 1000 only). I think: Shouldn't we think more about rehabilitation than punitive punishment? What of out-of-court-settlements and ADRs?  As we are taken round, I see the usual board of the rights of the prisoners by KNCHR. We are also shown the MUHURI office and madrassa. This is commendable. But I have my doubts. Are these offices cosmetic, so to speak, or are they there to defend the rights of the prisoners? Because, there were common legal problems of prisoners' rights being infringed. I also notice that there are flowers and a beautiful garden. Wonderful, I think to myself. A nagging thought, though, : Pray, what does Shimo La Tewa mean? I note that their vision is to be a "correctional service of excellence in Africa and beyond". Not bad for a prison. Not bad at all. Another positive thing is their "karakana" where we saw charcoal jikos, beds, tables, stools and wonderful pieces of furniture made in prison.

We gather somewhere and start the business that really brought us. We offer our pieces of advice for about two hours. These interviews were really practical because you were dealing with a real person with a real problem. Not some abstract postulations. And you could feel how law operates as opposed to how it ought to operate. You meet a wide array of issues, look one accused of murder straight in the face and all this time you are thinking: Did he really kill? His eyes are so calm not to have stirred up violence? Why did he kill ( assuming that he killed) But you don't ask these questions.

In our trip, we visit the cells. I notice a soap stuck on a wall. The place is clean and from the fact that we are shown only two rooms I am led to think that this could have been a PR exercise.

( There are a couple of events subsequent to this. Watch out for part 2).

Quotes on Hope

I share with you random quotes I had previously shared on my facebook wall. They were scattered. Here, I lay them systematically.

1.We had a man-to-man talk with sorrow a long time ago. I sat him down, talked with him for two hours. He was decrepit, shallow, sunken. As I talked to him about the rays of the sun and the exciting beaches and the mystery of the human voice, I realized that I was in the wrong company. We are not in talking terms ever since. 

2. I overheard somebody say that I am 'annoyingly happy'. I thought about it and I confess that I hold the earth with a candlestick and as it flickers rays of hope who am I, Lorot Son of the Hills, not to share with you its light? 

3. Child of Hope, as you end up this week always know that your efforts count a lot. Push yourself to the limit, be at the edge. You have all that it takes to accomplish what you want to do. Work on your to-do list, Child of Hope. The clock is ticking.

4. Child of Hope, with all the uncertainties- the soaring food prices, the debilitating news of Somali refugees, the selfishness- these should not depress you. In your own small little ways you could help the world. Forge on, Child of Hope. Put a smile on somebody’s face today.

5. When you rise up to speak, Child of Hope, guard your tongue. What will invectives, insults and chest-thumping yield? Where is wisdom in stirring wrath? If need be, be silent but when you stand up to speak, speak in the wisdom of our people. If your words be measured by their weight, let them break the weighing machines, not some empty chatter . 

6. Many ask me what keeps me keeping on. When I tell them that this life is exciting, they don’t believe me. Listen to Marangi’s Dura Coat adverts, watch the GalSheet advert of our dude being chased out, watch the Blue Band woman ride a small bike and stopping a moving bus. In these small things we find humour. 

7. Until and unless Kenyans stop following the sideshows of our politicians, we might never discover the prank they play on us. Our politicians have mastered the art of distraction. If a politician breaks into a song in a press conference, we should not be distracted by the hoarseness of his voice. Rather, we should ask whether that is the same voice we gave him to articulate our issues.

8. And what do our youths of today have to offer? It is sad that in Kenya today, we find old minds trapped in young bodies. Bestraddling our political landscape today, we see them everywhere. Of ‘Youth MPs’ who think like 70 year olds or 80 year olds or 90 year olds. Their claim to fame is that they are young yet in their minds they carry the baggage of tired ideas.

9. It will be a tragedy of our times if we fall into the same trap again. Let us never lose sight of what we need as a country. These nonsensical outfits we call political parties are the gravy trains that have halted our leap into the future. I have no problem if a clever politician comes up with a name like Vigeugeu Hapana Tena. Problem will be if he will take my country to different level.

10. Coupled with hope, keep humour close with you. If you see ‘blind’ men begging only to run when they see the City Council askaris, laugh at this. There is always humour around you, of people talking to themselves in the streets, of our politicians, of the best of life’s comedies.

11. And you might forget all else, Child of Hope, but always keep this with you. Hope is the last thing you can lose. You can replace wealth, you can replenish knowledge, you can fix a broken tooth but you can’t fix a shattered hope. Hope is the spring in your feet, the urge in your voice, the dream that keeps you going.

12. Keep on, Child of Hope, Keep on. Whatever the affliction, whatever the difficulty. Children of Hope live with the stars and the moon and the galaxies. They are not ruffled by whirlwinds for what are they but confused chaos with no purpose? Keep on, Child of Hope, Keep on.

13. Child of Hope, never let the month of July chilling cold shake your bones. Didn’t they say that after cold there’s warmth and that sorrow invites surprises? August will be here. Soon, whatever chilly sensations that have been numbing you will be gone, inviting the warmth that will light up your dreams.

14. Child of Hope, never ever despair. You have walked in the searing sun of the day, why should the fickle light of the moon discourage you. You are a Child of Hope, always remember that. 

C) Lorot Salem 2011