They are strong like weeds....

I am often challenged on the 'rawness' of some of the things I write here so on this occasion I am forewarning you in advance. The next story will make for uncomfortable reading.


It has been quite a challenging time since arriving here.


Following the traffic incident involving the young boy yesterday, Ali (the workshop manager here) and I came back to the hotel. I was honestly quite traumatised by what I had seen and how I had not been able to intervene. Gayl and Lothar, the two Camara coordinators who had arrived in the morning, were up and about so we all had a welcome chat about the Camara program starting in a weeks time when the volunteers arrive.

Ali then took Gayl and Lothar for a walk around the area. I went to my room to have a shower (there had been no water or electricity in the morning).

There was still no water so I lay down and waited and drifted off to sleep.

I was woken by the sound of shouting in the corridor outside my room. The shouting was in Swahili so I could understand very little but it was certain that a huge argument was taking place. The next thing I heard was clearly the sound of blows, then screams and shouting and then the sound of leather belts being lashed off the marble tiles.

I waited till things quietened down and then left my room. At the end of the corridor I could see the feet of a middle aged man lying prostate on the floor. The man was badly beaten and there was blood everywhere. Moments later two men unceremoniously lifted the man by the legs and arms and carried him outside.

I followed them downstairs and met the woman who ran the hotel in the lobby. She explained that the man had been caught stealing from one of the rooms and so deserved all he got. Once he had been 'outed' as a thief a mob came together, belts were taken off and the man was beaten within inches of his life.

I went outside. The 'thief' was lying face down in a side entrance with a tire around his neck. The mob was screaming and fighting about whether he should be given a necklace. This is where the tire is filled with petrol, the mans hands are tied behind his back and the petrol is lit.

Thankfully the police arrived. The man was then dragged to the middle of the street in full view of everyone. Apparently this is done as an 'example' to any other would be thieves.

Children looked on aghast at what they were seeing. Looking at the man in his crumpled disheveled state I began to suspect that he was dead. From a distance I could not see any visible signs of him moving or even breathing.

At this stage I had to intervene. I asked the Police could the body of the man be moved to a less public place to take it out of view of the gathering children.

The policeman looked at me.

'This way they learn' he said.

A man beside me, still holding his leather belt in his hand and clearly keen to administer more punishment (to someone) asked me what I was doing.

'He did not deserve to die' I said far to quietly.

The man laughed.

'He is only pretending to be dead' he said eyeing the man on the ground.

Sure enough, as two policemen picked up the man I could see him breathing. They dumped him into the back of the police van. It was probably the safest place for him for the time being though God knows what was going to happen to him once they got him to the station.

I was relived to know that he was at least alive. The man holding the leather belt had the final say.

'See they are strong' he gloated.

'They are strong like weeds'

Then laughing he walked away putting his belt back on.

An 'investigation' later that evening discovered that the man had stolen 500 Kenyan Schillings from a room. Thats about 5 euros.

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