My Husband was murdered in Nairobi streets while I was pregnant "I love you, James", I told him softly and his eyes darted up from the menu he had open in front of him and lit up with joy. "What a kinky thing to say to your husband", he laughed, squeezing my heart over the table. It's true that I hadn't been my most affectionate self lately. With the baby coming, it seemed like almost anything could trigger my anger, an anger that I never even knew existed inside me before. I didn't like myself when I snapped at him. But I always apologized right after and he always forgave me. And he knew I loved him, as sure as I knew that he loved me. There were no doubts between us. We left the restaurant giddy and giggling like two teenagers. We had definitely needed that date, probably our last one until the baby came. It brought us closer again. It reminded us of our first nights out together. We stopped in the middle of the alley leading into the larger street we had parked our car on, so that he could zip up my jacket over my pregnant belly. As I was looking down to his hands fiddling with my uncooperative zipper - his beautiful, strong hands, that felt as familiar as my own after all the years I had held them - I heard a cold, raspy voice coming from behind him. "Turn around, asshole."
It took my brain a few seconds to process what was happening. The voice came from a man wearing a black mask over his face. By the way he was standing close to my husband's back, I could only assume that he must have been holding some kind of weapon. My hands instinctively went to the belly, my brain screaming that I had to protect the baby. James' baby, who would undoubtedly have his eyes. James turned around slowly. As he did, I could see the glistening blade of a serrated knife pointed towards him. A scream stopped in my throat. My legs started shaking, my knees feeling like jelly. I tried to analyze our attacker, memorize any details that would help the police identify him later. Average height, average weight. All black clothes. No visible tattoos. I couldn't distinguish the color of his eyes. He could've been anyone.
I could barely hear James telling the man that we didn't want any trouble, that we had money,that nobody had to get hurt. This couldn't be really happening. We were happy. My due date was in almost two weeks. It wasn't possible. My ears were ringing. I felt dizzy, nauseous. James reached to his back pocket, grabbed his wallet and handed it to the man. Next, James took off his wedding ring and his watch. The watch had been a present from me for his thirty-second birthday. I slowly pulled my wallet out of my purse and, with trembling hands, handed it to James to give to our robber. Then, I took out our phones too. The man took both phones with a swift movement. With them, so many of our pictures were gone. My growing belly throughout the months of the pregnancy. Several years' worth of travel pictures - cities we explored hand in hand, foods we tried for the first time together. "Rings", the man said flatly.
I took off my engagement and wedding rings with mechanical movements, not fully feeling myself move. Nothing felt real. I remembered James kneeling in front of me and opening the little box in which the engagement ring was nestled, his gorgeous eyes fixing mine hopeful and full of love. I didn't even let him finish the question before saying "yes" and jumping into his arms. Remembering this, my eyes filled with tears and I started crying silently. "That's everything", said my James. He reached back and grabbed my hand, holding it softly, drawing tiny circles with his thumb on mine in an effort to calm me down, while he still had his back turned to me. Always taking care of me. Always protecting me.
The robber didn't leave. For several seconds, he didn't even say anything. He lingered, seemingly debating what to do. I could feel my heartbeat in my temples. Suddenly, the man seemed to have decided, he punched James straight in the face. I can still perfectly recall the sound my husband's nose made when breaking. A second punch followed almost immediately in his stomach. He stumbled back and collided into me, my back hitting the wall hard. A sharp pain burned in my belly. James was wheezing and gasping for air, bent at the waist. That's when my brain registered the blood running down my legs. The pain in my belly was hot and strong. I could feel myself getting way to dizzy. I forced my body not to slip into unconsciousness. I had to be there for my husband and for the baby.
James straightened himself up and looked at me, noticing the blood too. He had tears in his eyes as he started whispering something. Whatever he was going to say was cut off by the attacker. "I hope you rot in hell, James." He was shaking with anger as he plunged the knife into James' stomach. Once, twice. Again and again. Angry and quick, thirsty. I must have put my hand in front of the knife at some point, because he cut me too, although I don't remember doing it. I remember the blood. So much blood, everywhere. I remember the sound of the man's steps as he ran away, leaving me crying and howling, screaming for help, holding James' body as he started to shake. I remember trying to put pressure on the wounds, but not being able to cover all the sources of blood. I remember being frustrated with my small, useless hands. I felt his body grow colder with every second. The police came took the body, did investigations and promised to bring the murderer to book.
The baby was fine - a healthy, beautiful little girl, with my dead husband's eyes. I can't say I really remember the birth, just like I don't remember the funeral. Everything was a haze, a blur. I wasn't numb, not exactly. I was blind with pain, more pain than I could process. Everything hurt me. Holding the baby girl, the slight resemblance to my husband gutting me.
The police couldn’t come out with a conclusive report on who could have killed my husband. I already knew who would help me with this case. I called Kiwanga Doctors and told them about the gruesome murder of my husband and how I wanted to catch the murderer. The doctors didn’t take long and was already on his way making the spell. When he was done, he told me to hang up and wait for the spell to work. After a day, a man who seemed mad came back to my home with a snake wrapped around his neck. All he was saying was "I am sorry I killed him" I called the police and the too him into custody. On examining him, they found out that he wasn’t mad. That’s how my husband's murderer was caught. Thank you Kiwanga Doctors for making me get justice. As the days pass, one by one, the pain of losing my husband is becoming more bearable. I have started living with it, as a part of me. I stopped crying every morning. I started being more aware, more myself again. I had to keep going. My baby girl was growing every day. And I finally had a purpose again.
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