For all the freedom fighters who lost their lives in the June to August maandamano and sadly the ones who are still missing.

-

I couldn’t sleep. Though my mother was trying to stifle her cries, I could still hear her through the thin walls. Should I go comfort her? What could I even say to her that would make her feel better? My brother, her son, was still missing; four months down the line, and nothing on his whereabouts or his well-being. Nothing! What do you say to that? I hesitantly make my way to her room.

“Mum?”

She goes quiet.

“Mum. Are you ok?” I felt guilty for asking.

“I told him not to go.” My mother bellowed. I had never seen her this devastated.

I turned on the lights, exposing her bloodshot eyes. She looked broken, lost.

“It was for a good cause Ma, you know we are fighting for change that is so desperately needed in this country.”

“Change that he won’t get to enjoy!” she spat.

I fell silent. What retort do you have for that? I felt so helpless. I too wondered if it was worth losing my brother as in these past four months everything we had lost my brother for, seemed to have been reinstated one by one. But no, we did do the right thing! But this price was too heavy to bear.

No one had seen him since that evening. No trace of him. No one saw him get taken or anything. Nothing, it’s like he vanished into thin air. And I had tried to find out where he was.

I had been to every police station, where the pungent smells choked you almost as soon as you walked in. Where human beings were stacked like sardines with barely any wiggle room. Not even criminals deserve to live in such horrid conditions. Where we had to pay for every service provided. Why would we have to pay for people to do their jobs whilst still paying taxes? This proved frustrating because eventually we had nothing left to pay them off. Making it worse was the fact that it was the same people who always wanted more. Is justice only reserved for the rich in this country?

We had posted him on every social media platform. We ensured he was on the missing persons list. The list was overwhelmingly long with hundreds of inputs from different parts of the country. How could so many people be unaccounted for in a seemingly democratic state?

Begrudgingly we searched the morgues where we had to go through rows and rows of unidentified bodies of young men. Some as young as fifteen I would say. Lying on cold hard cement slabs. Lifeless. Boys whose lives had barely begun. Whose families now had to plan for their funerals. I shuddered at the thought.

But to no avail. How had it gotten to this point? It was a peaceful protest after all. Armed with placards, mobile phones and bottles.

“I would rather know that he is dead, at least I could have my son back. My beautiful boy…” She said, derailing my train of thoughts.

“We will go again ma, first thing tomorrow to look for him. We will follow up on the police report we filed earlier.”

“You know that will turn up nothing! It has been four months without my son and yet no news from the police. Even your father, an askari, has no news about him.”

“You talked to baba? When? ” She hardly ever talked to our father but if there was a time to speak to him it certainly was now.

“He said he wasn’t among the bodies fished from the water. In both areas,bodies were found.”

I remembered watching the videos of the bodies being pulled out of the water. Discarded. Like they weren’t once living. Like they didn’t have anyone looking for them, or that cared for them. I remember vomiting at the thought of my brother stuffed in a gunia and tossed in that freezing water.

I could tell Maa was barely holding herself together.

Where are you Kim? Why aren’t you showing up? What happened to you? So many questions that only you could answer.

Suddenly I felt a knot in my throat. Why would this happen to us? I was there during the previous maandamano with him. I should’ve gone with him on that day. He was my baby brother, is, I should’ve been there to protect him. I know my mother thought the same as well.

Life at home has not been the same the past four months. Without his bellowing laughter that could be heard across the house. And his continuous pranks that I once found annoying but could do anything to experience now. But nothing was worse than his birthday. That came and went without knowing where my brother was. My mother refused to celebrate, insisting that we would do it when Kim was finally back. But when would that be?

I quickly wiped my tears before they streamed down my cheeks. I had to be strong for Maa. I was all she had.

“We will put out another poster. Someone must have seen him on that day. We will find him. We will find Kim.”

“AH AH! Tosha! Not another word from you! Hizo miezi zote hatujampata and now you think we will be successful? We should start embracing the fact that we might never have our Kim back.”

“Mama! Why would you say that? Have you already lost hope? That’s the only thing we should be holding onto.”

I could see the wheels turning in her head. I knew she was worn out by this mess.

“Maybe the right person hadn’t seen it the first time; never underestimate the power of social media mama. Only recently another missing boy from the maandamano was found.” She turned to look at me for the first time tonight. I dreaded the question I knew she would ask next.

“He was dead, yes?” I couldn’t stand to face her and just nodded avoiding her gaze. “You know how difficult it is to face my friends? They look at me with pity. I have even seen my dear friends fasten their pace when they see me approaching. They can’t even mention the name of my poor boy.”

I knew exactly how difficult it was since I was going through it myself. Barely anybody ever invited me anywhere anymore. Conversations had heavy grey clouds hanging around them. A sense of discomfort whenever a conversation involving a memory with Kim came up. At some point everyone just stopped posting about him, and asking about him. I could tell it was uncomfortable for them. Even his friends sort of fizzled out; we were getting more help from strangers on the internet, except his childhood friend who was with us all through this process of searching. A true friend. But somehow in the back of my mind I don’t blame them, it was a situation that was proving hopeless since so much time had passed and almost no one was talking about it. He was just a casualty of revolution, a heavy price on our part.

“Don’t lose hope, that’s all we have right now.” I didn’t know if I was convincing her or myself. The worst part was not knowing. How can we move on with nothing to move on from? No resolution, no news, no body, nothing!

I moved closer for an embrace, there was nothing more to say. Only we could understand the range of emotions we felt the last four long devastating months. A shared experience I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I hugged her tighter, I knew she needed this and so did I. So we sat in silence, holding each other and crying together.