SARAH WAIRIMU LETTER
Dear Cohen,
I write this with a heavy heart knowing that you will never traverse this earth for as long as I live. I must say that for over thirty years, we stayed together, I cooked for you, took your jacket when you came from those night meetings,showered you with love but now you are no more.
The circumstances of your demise Cohen, surprise me. I may not comment much because already I have been made to fear. From the boot wearing men in blue, to the social media arm chair critics, to the tiffany wearing judges, to the siblings you left and general populace. In every Kenyan's lips, they know Sarah. Cohen, our love and marriage was not perfect just like so many around us. We barked at each other. We ranted, we fought but to die and be accused of your death is another thing. I must however not comment of something on social media, trying to show the slightest provocation of defence. I might be swallowed alive by keyboard warriors. But I must say that it was wrong, to use me that long and then, being the testator in the Will lock me out. Surely, every Devil was once a saint. Every prostitute was once a virgin. Did you see me unworth of your billions for that long we stayed. Did you decide that I don't deserve even a doit of our sweat together? Did you?
For the first ten years in our marriage, you spoke and I listened. For theother ten, I spoke and you listened. For the last till your mysterious death, we shouted to each other and our neighbours listened. Then your death came and the world listened. I must say that my life henceforth has known only pain. Only tears. Only condemnation.No swathe of sympathy from Kenyans. The Kikuyu woman who killed. That is my new moniker name. It has extended to my fellow Kikuyu women .Just because I am a woman. Obado is free. When I look yonder, Kerry the musician will be free. Escobar will be free. Others were pardoned yet I am in pain. Nothing shall I inherit because I murdered you, threw you in a septic tank according to anyone who listens to the stories going round. No one cares to pose and question, as a woman, why did I give you conjugal rights? Why the hurried manner of inheriting your property? Why the fastest way of burying you? Why?
I must contend with my pain lest I be labelled a trouble maker. I must stay silent lest I be told I am flashing a gender card. Because women are weaklings. They were born with crooked bones that must be straightened by blows.
Great all those that left the bosom of the earth. Forgive me for all the time I might have trespassed against you. And above all interceed for me to Jesus, the only son of God who pardons our sins unconditionally. If I die, God will not ask me what I died from but what I died for.!
Your loving Wife,
Dear Cohen,
I write this with a heavy heart knowing that you will never traverse this earth for as long as I live. I must say that for over thirty years, we stayed together, I cooked for you, took your jacket when you came from those night meetings,showered you with love but now you are no more.
The circumstances of your demise Cohen, surprise me. I may not comment much because already I have been made to fear. From the boot wearing men in blue, to the social media arm chair critics, to the tiffany wearing judges, to the siblings you left and general populace. In every Kenyan's lips, they know Sarah. Cohen, our love and marriage was not perfect just like so many around us. We barked at each other. We ranted, we fought but to die and be accused of your death is another thing. I must however not comment of something on social media, trying to show the slightest provocation of defence. I might be swallowed alive by keyboard warriors. But I must say that it was wrong, to use me that long and then, being the testator in the Will lock me out. Surely, every Devil was once a saint. Every prostitute was once a virgin. Did you see me unworth of your billions for that long we stayed. Did you decide that I don't deserve even a doit of our sweat together? Did you?
For the first ten years in our marriage, you spoke and I listened. For theother ten, I spoke and you listened. For the last till your mysterious death, we shouted to each other and our neighbours listened. Then your death came and the world listened. I must say that my life henceforth has known only pain. Only tears. Only condemnation.No swathe of sympathy from Kenyans. The Kikuyu woman who killed. That is my new moniker name. It has extended to my fellow Kikuyu women .Just because I am a woman. Obado is free. When I look yonder, Kerry the musician will be free. Escobar will be free. Others were pardoned yet I am in pain. Nothing shall I inherit because I murdered you, threw you in a septic tank according to anyone who listens to the stories going round. No one cares to pose and question, as a woman, why did I give you conjugal rights? Why the hurried manner of inheriting your property? Why the fastest way of burying you? Why?
I must contend with my pain lest I be labelled a trouble maker. I must stay silent lest I be told I am flashing a gender card. Because women are weaklings. They were born with crooked bones that must be straightened by blows.
Great all those that left the bosom of the earth. Forgive me for all the time I might have trespassed against you. And above all interceed for me to Jesus, the only son of God who pardons our sins unconditionally. If I die, God will not ask me what I died from but what I died for.!
Your loving Wife,
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