We flick through the channels at the top of the hour. Every channel is streaming something – ranked either in order of incredulity, absurdity or, well, the usual political theatrics within the dynasties.
In between, someone battered his wife. Worse still, someone hacked his other half to death. And, went further down the pit of penury – slew his own children. His own fresh and blood.
Any man who has willingly sired a baby has an idea how it feels. It’s impossible to describe – this love. Its love in its entirety. Unconditional, untainted by extra visions. You want to form a shell like a tortoise over this innocent baby. Then, over the news, you hear of this dad who not only slew his wife, he went after his own son and daughter.
Son and daughter. Think about this. Take a step back. Step off your high moral pedestal.
This past week, I chanced upon a trending photo of Maj Mugure – yes, the universally-judged man perceived to have killed his wife, and two kids. His hearing was deferred today, again.
The somewhat sketchy image showed a man sleeping on a bare concrete floor, curled in a fetal position – in what appears to be a police cell. Such cells have a reputation to be really cold, especially the concrete floor. For a man whose spent a decade as a military officer – with all the perks and trappings of power accorded to a major in the military, it’s indeed a mighty fall from grace.
I spent a few minutes staring at that image. What really caused the flip from sane to insanity? I’ve spent a few years in the same military system, and I’ve seen how proud comrades are when they talk of their kids. In those long hours playing sentry, those long days in remote areas – sometimes without minimal phone coverage – it’s the stories about kids that keep soldiers going.
It’s the kid’s love that boosts a soldier’s morale. It’s unconditional, unlike the love and affection a spouse may offer – a kid’s love ain’t levelled on how much money you’ve spent on your in-laws, for instance. A soldier can be gone for months, and the day he calls home, all daughter asks is, “….daddy, when you come can we have my birthday party at the beach?”
If this soldier killed his kids, what could have pushed him? Did he even kill them?
We are a nation that has seen a string of gruesome murders. We are pre-conditioned to condemn the surviving spouse – the arena has found you guilty. That’s why on the second day after his arrest, the military – his employer – dropped him like a hot potato. A military that’s famously media shy, even did a press release.
The image of the man curled in a fetal position, on a cold cement floor in a police cell doesn’t speak of guilt. It speaks of PEACE. That man is getting better sleep on that cold cement floor than most of us are getting on our king-size beds
He doesn’t look haunted by ghosts and images of his dead children. I have a son and daughter, and every spanking I make – which is necessary to shape this young one to be a better person – keeps me awake most of the night. Was I too harsh? Was it necessary? Does he hate me now? Will my daughter forgive me? That’s a simple spanking – with bathroom slippers.
How then, does a man who previously adored and spoke of his kids on morning parades sleep like a baby, after killing his babies? It’s not possible.
Perhaps we need to start asking question. The (poor- excuse) of a forensic arm we have in this government needs to get off their laurels and start over.
This couple had separated, and the Major was already paying child support. They were clearly on talking terms – else she wouldn’t have travelled to Nanyuki to see him. The tests after showed the two kids had been sedated, before they were killed. A lot of that doesn’t make sense. It’s a classic CSI plot – but, then, why bother to allocate resources on a man the nation has already measured and found wanting?
What if he had tried to save the kids from a benevolent mother, which also led to her death?
Will we think of the man on the cold cement floor? Of course not, the tea is warm, the coach is snuggly – and, hey, damn, why is King Kaka getting death threats?
He’s a pissed-off poet, and poets are dangerous!