He was a man headed home, and she was a woman waiting for her man’s call. They both didn’t get what they wanted, and two years later, Sheila Wanyanga is still smarting from the callous way her husband died.
“There he lay on a table. The man I knew and loved. Still looked the same, only very cold and oh so still. I wanted him to wake up and talk to me so badly,” she says, dabbing her eyes with a white handkerchief tightly clutched in her hand.