Sight robbed, one eye at a time

His phone rings, a shrill loud noise. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the little gadget, an iPhone 4, and presses it into his ear. It is his wife Purity, and she wants to know the directions to where we are and where she can park the car in town. I find that curious, as Eric Ngondi is certifiably blind.

 But without missing a beat and with a smile on his face, he guides her through the treacherous streets of Nairobi. A good looking man of average height, he is every bit as charming as his father Irungu Houghton, the Executive Director of Amnesty International.

Though one can barely see his eyes behind the dark glasses he dons, I can almost imagine a twinkle in his eye as he hangs up the phone and places it on the table. We are seated at Fiesta restaurant in Nairobi’s Chester House, and being a rare warm April afternoon, he orders a tall cold glass of juice.

He cocks his head towards me, as though prompting me to begin the interview. Just how blind he is, I ask, seeing as he knows the streets better that I do.

“I am 100 per cent blind. I cannot even tell if it is dark or light,” he says with a smile.

 Ngondi is an environmental engineer at the National Environmental Management Authority. He also describes himself as a social inclusion facilitator and an aspiring business man. He particularly enjoys inspiring people to conquer their fears and is often invited to different places to speak to the youth.

And he knows plenty about conquering fears, as losing his eyesight was not because of health conditions, or a natural progression, but rather as a result of traumatic experiences.

“I joined the club seven years ago,” he says rather abruptly.

“What club?”

 “The disability club,” he laughs. “It’s a club that anyone can join anywhere, any time.”

  Before he became a card-carrying club member, Eric was a pretty regular chap and things had been going pretty well in his life. As a kid who loved sciences, he wanted to be a scientist, and took up a water and environment engineering degree at JKUAT. After school, he got a job as a quality, health, environment and safety officer. This is all before the darkness came.

 “I would never have imagined being blind.  I was totally oblivious of persons living with disability. They are amongst us but we are not aware of them.”

At this juncture, his equally bubbly wife Purity Mukami arrives. A slim, dark skinned and afro-haired beauty, she kisses her husband, smiles warmly at me and takes a seat next to him. And Ngondi goes on to explain how he lost his left eye.  

 “On the morning of December 5, 2009, I got a call from some friends to go hiking on Ngong hills. We were nine of us.”

So they got there and began the hike.

 “Usually, most people get to the third hill then turn back, but I wanted us to hike up all the 7 hills and emerge at Kiserian. There were so many people hiking with us, so we were not worried about our safety.

 “After the fourth hill, the bushes were a little denser, but we could still trace our path.  So we trudged on.”

HONOUR AND PAIN

But soon, things went awry.

 “Suddenly, three men jumped out of the bushes, armed with pangas and rungus. We all scampered in different directions.”

Ngondi got away, but then he looked back and saw that one of his friends had been captured and was getting battered, and couldn’t continue running.  

  “I had to go back, at least try and negotiate with them,” he says.

 This gesture saved his friend, but it cost him greatly.

 “I think they felt threatened and thought I was going to attack them. I remember one of them saying, ‘Huyu tutammaliza leo. (This one will die today).’

 And so he started running, and on his path was a young girl, the youngest of their hiking party, and she was too tired to continue fleeing.

ONE-EYED MAN

“She was in Standard Six, and I couldn’t leave her, so as I was trying to help her along but the thugs caught up with us. I gave them all the valuables on me, and then they began talks of raping the girl before one of them hit me on the head.”

Somehow, the rod gouged his entire eye out, and his eyeball was hanging from its socket by a thread.

  “I could feel it on my cheek and some viscous fluid was coming out of my eye. But surprisingly, I felt no pain. I wasn’t worried; I figured that a good doctor would fix me up. I just wanted to get us safely out of there.   

The sight of his wrecked eye stunned even his assailants, so much so that they let them go.  

 A police statement and a hospital visit later, Ngondi’s eye was deemed unsalvageable.

 “I started researching how one-eyed people live. I was also worried about going back to work. Worried about the stares I would get. But it wasn’t that bad.”

LOSING SECOND EYE

He quickly adjusted to his new visual challenges but in what seems like an unfair stroke by fate, he lost his other eye in a similar, but unrelated incident. That was in June 25, 2011.

 “We were travelling home from Namanga with my dad when at about 10pm, we heard a loud bang. We drove on for around 200 metres before getting out of the vehicle to check out.” “We found that we had a tyre burst and just as we were about to finish changing it, thugs emerged from the bushes and attacked us.”

 One of them swung a sharp object at him, which sliced right through his right eye.

“At first, I didn’t realise that I couldn’t see a thing until the thugs had stolen their valuables and left. But again I thought it would be all fine.”

 Police arrived a few minutes later, possibly notified by a passerby, and took them to Kajiado hospital, and afterwards he was transferred to Aga Khan Hospital.

“I remember telling the doctor not to mishandle my left eye. That I didn’t want to lose my sight. I was hopeful,” he says.

Unfortunately, the eye was so damaged that there was nothing they could do about it.

 “That was when I started descending into a state of hopelessness. How would I live a full life anymore? I wondered if I could possibly work at all. Would I have to move upcountry now that I was totally blind?”

The bouts of self-pity and depression lasted for a while, but not long enough to beat Ngondi’s inane optimistic nature.

 “Also my faith helped. I didn’t want to question God’s plan. I also started thinking that there must be some great people who live great lives despite being blind.”

 Determined to live a full life again, he moved back home and joined Kenya School for the Blind. He also learned how to navigate in spaces anew.

While he struggled finding work after rehabilitation, he was fortunate to get a job again as an environmental engineer.

“I even go out and inspect sites. I love it.” The smile, however, fades away fast as he continues.

  “I wish employers would give blind and other disabled people a chance. Let them do the job. Let them prove that they can deliver. I know they can.”

His blindness didn’t curb his love for adventure though.

“I have hiked Mt Longonot seven times and I am still a movie buff. Yes, there are movies adapted for the blind,” he says, as though he can sense my skepticism.

“I can even read and send texts and email. The iPhone is adapted for the blind. Oh and we are soon to open a YouTube channel.”

UPSIDE TO BLINDNESS?

“Did you know that there are some advantages to the blindness?” he jokes.

I am waiting to hear them, and he leans over and explains. “Well, I sin less, because I can’t see tempting sights,” Mukami looks over at him with an amused expression, as though she knows exactly what he will say next.

“But my imagination is very developed, It more than makes up for my lack of sight,” he laughs softly. “The only thing I truly wish I could see daily is the image of my daughter and my wife,” he continues somberly.

His wife squeezes his hand and he squeezes it back. There is obvious camaraderie between them, one characteristic of couples that have grown despite challenges.

“We met in university where she was active in the Catholic community and I was the chairman,” he says with a naughty chuckle.

“We, however, started dating after he lost his first eye,” she explains calmly. His loss of sight even brought them closer.

“I never had a reason to leave. It did not even cross my mind.”

To her, he is no different from what he was back then. “Sometimes I can’t find things and I will ask, ‘Have you seen my keys?’ and he will know where they are. Other times I will joke, ‘Can’t you see this or that?’

Together, they have a three-year-old baby girl, Kenaya.

The interview is coming to a close, and they are headed back home to see their daughter. And when I ask Ngondi if he ever thinks about the men who stole his eyesight, he smiles.

“If I met them today, I would really have nothing to say to them. I forgave them.”

Though at peace with his life now, Ngondi is only regretful that he can’t see his little girl.

“I wish I could see Kenaya, and of course my beautiful wife every day.”