2005

Otieno was a huge man. He was taller than Jordan and weighed almost as much as a small car.A former rugby champion. He would have been intimidating were it not for the warmth in his light brown eyes and the smile that often lit up his square dark face.

He walked into his sitting room, anxious to hurry through whatever urgent matter he had been called for. He needed to be on his way to Eldoret together with his wife but being a pastor meant he attended to impromptu visitors even when he had other plans.

The man was dressed in a black suit and tie like Will Smith from MIB without any of the swagger. He sat stiffly, unbothered by the dozens of boxes around him, or the house boy fussily carrying them out into the moving truck outside. If he was sorry for his timing, he didn't show it.

He looked up when Otieno walked into the room. "Habari yako," he greeted Otieno then stretched out his hand for a mighty firm handshake. "Have a seat," the host offered, careful not to portray his sarcasm as he added, "make yourself at home." The way the guest crossed his legs, Otieno realised this would take a while.

"Reverend, forgive me for not making an appointment. I called your office and they told me you were leaving the city for a while, I had to get a hold of you before you go," the man explained. Looking at him closely he seemed to be in his late forties. His English betrayed a slight coastal accent. His hair was silky and greasy, his complexion would have been very light were it not for the patches of sun burn.

"I don't mind at all, in God's business, all hours are working hours. How may I assist you Mr..."

"Noor, Ahmed Noor. I am a Human Rights advocate. This is about my client, a survivor actually of domestic violence. I have heard about you and your wife, and the good work you do for such people. My client and I are desperate for your assistance." He talked with several pauses which he filled with throaty ahhmms that made him sound very thoughtful.

Otieno was surprised, he was a little wary of Noor. Even though he said otherwise, nothing about the man was desperate. "Our shelter is crowded for the moment, we barely have enough room for the women in there. We may not be able to offer your client much at the moment, just counselling and our prayers. Why don't you make temporary arrangements for her, and as soon as there's space, I'll inform you?"

Noor shook his head vigorously in protest. Otieno had a bad feeling about him. He asked God to show him what to do.

"Reverend, that won't be necessary. We were more interested in your legal assistance."

Otieno became even more puzzled. "What do I have to do with a legal issue?"

Noor unfolded his legs and shifted in his seat so that he was leaning towards Otieno. A solemn cloud marred his features, only increasing Otieno's anxiety.

"My client was tortured, beaten, stabbed a couple of times, burned with hot water and cigarettes, starved, locked in the bedroom for weeks, humiliated, forced into degrading sexual acts with the abuser, their children and even their pets. The condition my client is in is horrific, scared, alone, left with nothing, just a shell of a person, paranoid and vulnerable. You're the only one who can help." Noor was quite the effective narrator, he had Otieno almost in tears.

The preacher's heart broke in half. He had heard dreadful tales like this one over and over, but there was no getting used to them. Each new story was a new victim, another woman going through hell.

It was terrible what some men did to the women they promised to love and protect, to cherish, in sickness and in health. How easily they turned into monsters. Damaged people taking advantage of the weak. What hurt him most about this particular case was that the children were involved too.

"I can't do anything for her, but there's nothing God cannot do."

"We really hope that God can intervene here, it would be unfair that after suffering through years of torture, that my client should end up in prison."

"Why?" Otieno held his breathe, waiting to hear the worst and just prayed to God silently. These type of scenarios had a tendency to be hauntingly dramatic.

He would never forget a young mother of four, the wife of a land's commissioner. Her husband had mistreated her and tormented their children for years. Tired of watching them suffer, one day before going to bed, she locked all the doors and flushed the keys, then she let the gas on for a while. She had already diluted sleeping pills in the family's dinner so nobody woke up when she set the house ablaze, with herself inside. Imagine her disappointment when she woke up in the morning with massive third degree burns, saved just in time by the fire fighters who hadn't been able to do the same for her children or the man.

A high Court judge had put her in for manslaughter. Handed her a lenient fifteen year sentence under strict supervision, deprived of any object or substance she could use to harm her person at a facility for the criminally insane where she finally managed to end her life by chewing through her own wrists.

Otieno had once visited the facility, he remembered her burnt face, the way you couldn't tell if she was smiling or frowning, all her hair, eyebrows, eyelashes, lips, completely burnt off. She had closed her eyes when he sang amazing grace to her, a single tear making its way down what was left of her left cheek. She wouldn't respond to anything else. A year later he had returned to the facility and heard about her terrible death.

"Reverend... Reverend... Are you listening?" Noor's voice brought him back to the present. "Sorry, what did you say?"  He managed to croak, his voice painfully pushing past the lump in his throat.

"When the life of the children was put at risk by the most recent ruckus..." another painful pause in which Otieno begged God that his fears would not be confirmed, "he killed her."

First his head dropped. Marriages had turned into death sentences. Then he replayed what Noor had just said. Wait, if she was dead, how was he of use.

"I'm sorry about your client, but how can I be of help, if she's already with the Lord?"

"No, no, my client is not dead, it's the wife he killed... To protect the children. He suffered from battered person syndrome. We are hoping you and your wife will agree to testify for him as expert witnesses."

******

Maureen had just put the baby to bed when she got the call.

Her brother was breathless with excitement, blubbering too quickly but she managed to make out the essentials. "We found Cornelius, he was hiding in Rwanda, we're making arrangements to have him extradited."

She felt dizzy, her knees were suddenly weak. She honestly didn't know how to react to the news. Was it good or bad? If her brother had intended the information to help her cope with Amani's death, it had only worked to freshen the wound. "Okay," she replied dryly before hanging up.

She walked past the sitting room. Philip sat on the couch, eating soggy pop corns and watching Reply's Believe it or not. She decided now was not the best time to talk to him, talking always ended up in fighting, she wasn't feeling up to a battle at the moment. How things between them had gotten this bad, she didn't know. They couldn't even talk about the weather without disagreeing. One moment they were happy and reconciled, the next they were rivals. It's not just people who could be bipolar, relationships could too.

She flung herself on the bed, arms stretched out and legs dangling from the edge. She closed her eyes but when all she could picture was the mutilated body of her sister, cold on the floor with her bowels spilling out, she quickly opened them.

Great, just great, until a weak ago, she hadn't been able to sleep without dreaming about it, now, just when she'd started to heal, it was all back. She thought about it for a while before deciding to make the expensive call to Rwanda.

"Was it him?" was the first thing she said when her brother, Omusula picked up. He hesitated for a while. "He has kept quiet the entire time, bana the guy isn't answering any questions, and we can't compel him, he has quite the team of lawyers. Jamaa was ready for us." he spat out the word lawyers. Even if his sister was one, he hated the lot, ignorant opinionated con-artist in expensive tasteless suits he called them and never went to the trouble of exempting her from the generalisation.

"We are talking about Cornelius, we know him, he's family, maybe there's an explanation to all this..."

"Don't be stupid. Bana nobody goes as far as Rwanda just because they don't like funerals." He had a point. She felt the sadness return to her spirit in crushing waves. Her heart was heavy but she had no more tears left. Her ducts had long run dry.

"I'm going to sit out the entire process, I don't think it's good for me," she said even though she knew he would argue. The last thing she would subject herself to was a long and gruelling court process.

"Come on, you're the only lawyer in the family. You're not going to let the public prosecutors handle this alone, are you? Those incompetent fools can't secure a conviction against any idiot whose read past the second page of a John Grisham novel." One thing about him, she noted, was his disapproval for almost every existing profession and its professionals.

Maureen was beginning to regret her decision to call him. "I'm sorry, I can't do it,"she tried to sound resolute.

"Do it for Amani." There with the manipulation.

She was out of credit so the call was disconnected. She switched off her phone, just in case her brother decided to call back.

She crawled under the covers and hugged herself tightly. She could hear Philip laughing alone in the sitting room. It must have been vitimbi he was watching now. She wished he could come in and find her broken like this, she needed him to.

*****

A/N

Sorry for the late updates, school and life got in the way. I love you all so much. This chapter will be completed in the next part. Once again, thank you so much for sticking around. I love you all. Please please, vote and comment. Thank you.

Stacy Muya.