Esther Wanjiku Kabeni was wife to a corporal in the Kenya Defence Forces (KDF) until an unfortunate event in 2016. Not only did she lose her husband, his family was intent on stripping her of everything the couple owned, claiming all their household items belonged to their son. This is her story:
My husband left Somalia in December 2015. One day when we were at home, I had gone to the kitchen to prepare a meal and when I came back, I found that he had fallen down,” Esther told The Weight She Carries. “I asked him what had happened and he told me that he couldn’t feel the lower half of his body. He had peed and defecated on himself, so I dragged him to the couch and cleaned him then served him a meal.”
I reached out to her husband’s workmates and asked them what I should do. They told me to take him to Embakasi, an area in Nairobi, Kenya, where he would then be transferred to Forces Memorial Hospital. He was driven by ambulance from Embakasi and admitted to the hospital.
The first week, he stayed in the ward under observation. The second week, he was diagnosed with kidney failure and moved to the ICU. He was unable to talk. The third week, he was brought back to the ward. The fourth week, he had improved and was recovering well. The fifth week, he was taken back to the ICU and didn’t wake up from then.
The whole of December, I struggled with my husband all by myself. He was the firstborn in his family and his mother was there. His seven siblings never bothered even a single day to know what was happening to their brother,” she said. “His mother just showed up in the hospital for three days.
On the Friday he died, I suspected that something was not going on well. So as I slept, I was anxious and agitated. Then around 5:30 a.m. I received a call and the bad news was broken to me that my husband had passed away. I couldn’t contain myself; I mourned and called my family and some church members and we prayed together. At the time of his death, I was not in good terms with my in-laws, so I called one of the family members and told her to tell them what had happened.
We went to the mortuary to confirm my husband’s death. While there, his mother called my parents and told them she wanted the keys to her son’s house to pick up his things. I told my dad that the priority was my husband and everything else would follow afterwards. After confirming with my sister and some church members that he was really dead, I collected his belongings from the ward and we left. My son was three years old then.
Later on, my mother-in-law came with around 40 people: my husband’s younger siblings and other family members. They began shouting that I had killed their son and brother. They searched for me and demanded the keys to the house. They even began insulting me, but I just kept quiet. Only my sister talked back to them and they spoke harshly to each other. The hospital security kicked them out of the compound and then my parents arrived.
My husband’s family demanded to have the household things saying that they belonged to their son. When I got to the house, I reported the matter to the authorities and then moved everything from the house that same night. So when we prepared for burial and organized everything, there was nothing in the house. We prepared tea from a neighbour’s house and the seats were from the church.
For five days, we didn’t talk. When they realized that there was nothing that was going to happen, they went to my pastor who called me and we sat down together and all I said was that I desired to see my husband buried, nothing more.
Since the death of my husband, I had been surviving on a drip. I would go to the hospital on a daily basis and have a drip put in me. But none of them were concerned about it. The mourning and burial preparations took two weeks and they didn’t even care about my welfare, but I stayed strong all the way.
In January 2016, we travelled to my husband’s home for burial. Upon arrival, they had prepared every kind of food and it was so sad because when my husband was in the hospital, they never cared about him or his well-being. It was me alone all the way. The kind of celebrations they held were like they were happy that he was gone.
During the burial service, my mother-in-law stood and said that I was still beautiful; if I still wanted to get married, I should go ahead. That meant I was not wanted in that home at all. So, I travelled back to Nairobi where I was staying with my sister.
After a short while, my sister felt that I was a burden to her and she chased me from her house. I went back to the house where I used to live with my husband and picked my household items where I had hidden them. When I got back there, I suffered depression for the whole month of February. It reached a point where my mother had to come because I had begun talking to myself due to depression. I would even eat my own faeces after defecating.
I was taken to the hospital and after diagnosis, the medics concluded that my level of depression was acute so they prescribed medication. I slept for almost one whole month and the medication helped me so much because I recovered. When I woke up after a month, I was sober though I was still missing my husband.
In March, my family deserted me completely. Nobody cared to know what was happening to me, whether I ate and how I was faring. Ninety percent of my friends disappeared. My in-laws didn’t want to be associated with me from the word go. And the battle of pension and salary began just when everyone had gone.
Unfortunately, the death certificate was with a captain who was working out my issues. He happened to collude with my in-laws and gave it to them. Within the span of few months, they managed to change everything, sell everything and even withdraw all the cash from the account. After trying to follow up for a short period, I gave up and decided that I would work and earn a living.
At some point, I lacked school fees for my son. We didn’t have food or rent either. I borrowed food from my neighbours. God provided the rent in miraculous ways, and my son was schooled in a way that I cannot explain. After one year, I started receiving my husband’s salary and pension. When I was struggling, the people who came to my rescue were young widows like me who knew what I was going through.
After I began receiving the pension and salary, I asked myself what I could do for those widows who were the only people who had stood by me during my difficult times. I decided that I would go shopping every month end and divide the groceries among them. It began with two and the number began growing.
So far, I have 400 widows in Murang’a, Nairobi, Nakuru, Busia and Migori. I have groups of 15. In those groups we do counselling. There are those who are HIV positive, cancer patients, and those who are needy. My task is to train, counsel, encourage and empower them. So far, I am trying my level best to give each group a small amount like KSh 5,000 (USD 50) to start a small income-generating project which can help them with their daily livelihood.
Young widows go through so much and people hardly care about them. After a while, I shared my initiative with my friends who advised me to register it because it had grown. I registered it as a community-based organization known as Royal Widows and Orphans Foundation. It is all about empowering widows and orphans countrywide.
So far, the organization supports and empowers 400 widows countrywide. I am appealing to well-wishers and people who can come support or even train them on living on after the loss of their loved ones. I know it’s not easy for some of them because they have to do casual jobs. But I’m happy because some groups have monthly income activities.
Widows need to be cared for; they need to be loved.
