Letter to Tamara: Being born a girl in Kenya tops list of 100 ways to die

Dearest Tamara,

Words fail me. Words completely fail me. But I need you to know how sorry I am. We all failed you. Your short life need not have ended like it did. This, certainly, is not how the story of your life would have been.

We forgot to tell you that being born a girl in this country tops the list of 100 ways to die. From the moment you drew your first breath, you were marked. Not as a child but an object, a prey, in the eyes of the demented, broken men among us. Maybe if we had told you this, you would have grown with your antenna up, more alert to sense danger, more guarded before it befell you.

We misled you, Mama, when we told you to trust older people. We said they are our friends, our relatives and our neighbours. We lied when we said you could trust their words and their intentions. Had we been clear, maybe, just maybe, you would be here today. Maybe you wouldn’t have spared a glance at this monster that led you to your end.

We were out of our minds when we alluded that we are one big village and that ‘it takes a village’ to take care of you. That every grown-up is an uncle or aunt who would look out for you. We lied, little one. That is why everyone who saw you walk hand in hand with that demon went about their business. No one intervened.

Had we been honest about how selfish, how insensitive we have become, maybe you would have been here. Maybe you wouldn’t have subconsciously depended on society to protect you at your most vulnerable moment. Maybe today, you would be in class with your friends working at being the next artist, engineer, columnist, maybe?

Since they found you, I have tried not to recreate the horror that you must have experienced in those final moments. Did you plead for your life? Did you even understand what was happening to you? Wasn’t the terror in your eyes enough to stop him?

I hear they arrested him. That he is in custody. But can we trust our justice system to do right by you? And even if it does, what punishment would suffice? I am a law-abiding citizen, Mama. I believe in the rule of law. But this once, I wish the police were a tad late.

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We had a national prayer day the other day, Tamara. All our leaders gathered to ‘pray for the nation’. I saw children your age representing their counties in the event. And it broke me. They were just kids like you. I listened to the prayers and hoped someone would mention your name, maybe pray for your soul and invoke the name of God for justice to prevail. Instead, they prayed against the ‘spirit of social media’, whatever that means. They prayed for unity. They also prayed for healing. I am not sure, though, what can heal you Mama.

And then, Madaraka Day happened. I don’t know if you enjoyed watching national events like I did at your age. You should have seen the crowds! Men and women scrambling for seats on the eve of the event. They slept there Mama. They sat through the cold night to watch the event live.

Crazy, right? What if our men stayed awake like that to watch over their children, to secure their future instead? Again, no one mentioned your name. It would not help form a formidable winning coalition for the next election, would it?

You did not deserve this, Tamara. We did not deserve you. I refuse to let you be yet another statistic. You were a beautiful young girl with a whole life ahead full of possibilities. I say your name today Tamara because it must be remembered. I only pray that yours is the last name we say when we talk about femicide.

Rest well Mama. We did you wrong. All of us did.

Ms Wekesa is a development communication consultant. [email protected]