Martin Mbugua grieves privately as the man charged in court for causing the death of his wife in a car accident, Pastor James Ng’ang’a, faces the glare of public spotlight.
In his first interview with the media, Mbugua, flanked by his teenage daughter Maureen and mother Josephine Wanjiku, says he has forgiven the controversial pastor.
“Sometimes loss makes you think about things. Not good things. Not bad things. Just things. For instance, I find myself thinking of what I would do when I go back to my house in Nairobi. Who will tidy up after me? It will be so empty. I will be seeing her everywhere,” Mbugua says.
“He was not man enough. I forgive him, but he was just not man enough,” 42-year-old Martin Mbugua says.
Mr Mbugua, injured, in pain and unconscious, had his wife of 17 years taken away from him on the evening of July 26 along the Nairobi-Nakuru highway. Their teenage daughter will never see her beloved mother again.
At the time of the interview, he sits alone in the front yard of his mother’s house. His right leg stretched out partially resting on a grey crutch. On his left knee, a white and red baseball cap rests.
The Limuru cold demands a jacket of anyone who ventures outside, and Mbugua has obliged. He is in a black, button-up jacket. The well-tended lawn, playful ducks and toddlers buzzing around create serenity which is the complete opposite of the thoughts and emotions of a man recently bereaved.
“Before all this happened, you would never find me alone. She was always by my side,” he says.
Momentarily forgetting that today, he sits in solitude. On his right wrist are two black and white bead bracelets, with the names ‘Martin and Mercy.’
Loss can be public and Mbugua knows this all too well.
“Some of my relatives call me a celebrity. Deep down I know I haven’t mourned properly. We always have people around us. And we know they mean well,” he says.
Too soon
He believes the accident and the resulting death happened too soon.
“But I slowly understand that maybe it was meant to be,” he says.
The Mbuguas made the Limuru trip a week earlier than they had intended. In their initial planning, the two wanted to go home on the weekend of August 2.
“We were having an afternoon siesta. Then at about 3p.m., Mercy started walking around the house. I could hear her faintly unhanging clothes from the closet and packing other things. When I couldn’t sleep through the commotion anymore I got up and she asked if we could go home that day,” Mbugua says.
He says he tried to dissuade her but to no avail.
“She argued that there was nothing holding us back from going home.”
The two left in their car bought just a week earlier. But Mbugua’s driving was getting to his dear wife.
“She said I was driving as if I didn’t want to go home. So she took over the steering wheel,” he says.
Less than three kilometres from his parents’ home, the accident happened.
“Everything just went black. The last thing I remember was me talking to my mother on phone.”
Call logs show the accident happened just three minutes after he hang up. Witnesses and the police have now put Pastor James Maina Ng’ang’a at the accident scene in which Mercy died.
“I did not see him. Those present say they saw him. And they also saw him the following day at Tigoni Police Station,” he says.
“In fact, they thought my condition was worse than my wife. They say she was talking. They say she was recognising faces around her. They say she cried for help.”
Mbugua’s father called his siblings and told them that the couple had been rushed to hospital.
“He didn’t think I would make it, but he was certain Mercy would pull through. He says she was talking and was better off than me. I don’t know what happened. God had decided that this trip was her last,” he says.
On hindsight, Mbugua says events during the last week of Mercy’s life now point to a farewell.
Time together
“For instance, on that Wednesday leading to the Sunday of the accident, she visited my daughter’s school to take fees banks slip. It wasn’t necessary. There was no emergency. But she insisted that she had to take them. At school, as she waited at the main reception, her daughter who had no idea her mother was at school walked in on her...the two spent quite some time together. I think she was saying goodbye.”
Maureen, their daughter is still recovering from the loss.
“I am still coming to terms with it,” she said.
Although loss can be public, grief is private. And in his private moments, Mbugua searches for answers to some very difficult questions. “Sometimes I sit and just think that she is at home. And at the end of the day, my daughter and I we will go home and find her cooking or cleaning,” he says.
As he candidly opens up about his life post the accident, sympathisers continue streaming in.
“It is at such moments that you realise that we need to put all our trust in the Lord Jesus Christ. Not in our friends. Not in our families. Not in our businesses, for all of these can be taken away in a flash. It is only God who remains with us through all,” a pastor from a nearby Presbyterian mission says.
He too has come to comfort Mbugua. Once in a while he thinks this is all a nightmare and that in three months’ time, he will lead a contingent of family members to Murang’a, Mercy’s ancestral home for yet another traditional ceremony to thank his in-laws for giving him a good wife.
“But then I turn on the news and I’m reminded that this is my new reality,” he says. “So I console myself. Maybe her death was for a greater good. Maybe it was meant to prevent other people from falling into similar fate.”
Deep down though, he knows he will have to man up too and face his new life. “It will be hard. For instance, I know I will never find someone like her,” he says. “She knew me. Knew all my faults. She loved me. Unconditionally.
“Mbugua’s mother, Josephine Wanjiku, says Mercy was more than a daughter-in-law. “Part of me...part of us all has gone,” she said.
There was virtually nothing between the man and his wife.
“And we shared everything. That is why I couldn’t write a tribute for her funeral,” he says. “I told her and showed her everything. I gave her my heart.”
As the afternoon sun begins disappearing behind the Aberdare Ranges and an evening chill starts to set in, Mbugua adjusts himself on his chair. Guests around him reach out for their cups of hot tea.
He then sinks back into the chair. Sadly, he can’t drown himself in his favourite pastime to block out some of the nagging, recurring questions.
You see, Mbugua loves driving. He loves cars. That is where his passion lies. But it is also the cause of his current wound. “It is painful but I have accepted what has happened. And Pastor Ng’ang’a should know I have nothing against him. I forgive him. I might find myself in a similar situation and would want to be forgiven.”
He misses his wife.
“But all I can do is release her. She did all that was required of her as a wife.”
Amid all this, one regret lingers.
“I have a bracelet with her name on it. I wish I would have strapped one with my name on her wrist too before we laid her to rest.” Martin knows he will need to man up now. His wife is not there anymore and the situation demands that he does. For his daughter. For his mother. For his father. And for his in-laws. And, most importantly, he says he will not run away.
