Amid the mass murder at Westgate, there was love

“As long as I have breath left in me, and a finger to pull the trigger, I won’t let Westgate happen again.”

- Cpl Nura Ali.

Corporal Ali was one of the first policemen to enter Westgate on that fateful September 21, 2013, a year ago on Sunday. The courage of Ali, his seven other comrades, and some volunteers like Abdul Haji and others saved more than one hundred lives in record time.

Nura Ali was shot and evacuated. He lived to tell the story. He felt fire in his belly, much like the fire Kenya and the world felt on that day: anger, confusion and disorientation at so much evil and destruction from so few men.

Westgate was a story of mass murder, madness, and absurdity mixed with heroism, resilience, charity and holiness.

Everyone has a lot to learn from this absurd story, from the police, the Red Cross, the Army, and the volunteers. These silent lessons marked everyone, those who were there and those who were not, good and bad, heroes and cowards.

HEROES AND HEROINES

Andrew, Mike, Fred, Katherine and her five children, Ndichu, Makena, whom we all saw walking in front of the terrorists with a bullet lodged in her right side, Edwin, Jared, Daniel, Amber, Jon, Diljeet, Valentine, Margie, Harveen, Niall, Anne Muigai; all lived to tell the story.

Nothing, be it nationality, race or religion mattered. They were all trapped in that hell together with their hell-makers; four terrorists aged between 19 and 23.

Some of their relatives were not so lucky. Niall’s wife died next to him and he closed her eyes. Paul Muriuki was shot seven times.

Pablo, a seventeen-year-old student, was also murdered along with more than seventy people, three of them pregnant mothers, more than a dozen children.

Some died out of conviction. They wouldn’t lie about their country and their faith. One of the last civilians to die was Veronica Kamau. A terrorist asked her: "Are you a Kenyan? Are you a Christian?" She replied yes to both questions, and was shot dead straightaway.

The pragmatic would call this fanaticism, but I call it love, for her country and her faith. This is conviction. This is love.

In Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, Mustapha Mond explains to a Savage that:

“civilization has absolutely no need of nobility and heroism. These things are symptoms of political inefficiency… Where there are wars, where there are divided allegiances, where there are temptations to be resisted, objects of love to be fought for or defended – there, obviously, nobility and heroism have some sense. But…nowadays the greatest care is taken to prevent you from loving anyone too much.”

In Huxley’s inhuman world there was no space for humanity or true love or friendship. It was the perversion of humanity through the distortion of bioethics.

Something similar happens to terrorists. They are programmed, brainwashed and trained to be inhuman. They can’t love, but are debased of all nobility.

MOTHER’S LOVE

At Westgate there was love. Love kept mothers lying on top of their babies so that they would not see that massacre, and the blood dripping from their bodies.

Love made that unassuming hero or heroine some people carry on the inside put their live at risk and carry other people’s babies, or lend a hand to an unknown person who had been shot.

Amber, a French mother, started crying and a Kenyan woman next to her whispered “Don’t cry. Be strong, for your children’s sake”.

As the Westgate saga unfolded, I asked my students to express this horror in a poem. I gave them two conditions: It must come from the heart, and it must lead to forgiveness.

Stephanie Wanga, then a fresher with just over eight weeks in law school, wrote a poem that was published by the Daily Nation on September 27, 2013.

I have wanted to bring Stephanie’s poem back to life as a prayer for all the victims, and especially for all those who died because of race, ethnicity or religious conviction.

IN STEPHANIE’S WORDS

A moment of panic, a moment of shock; a moment of…

What could I call it? What could I call it?

Confusion, memories, tears, fear, regrets, wishes, prayer…

All crammed in a second

Bodies…around me;

And then I look at the face

Of this person…

As he raises his gun, and raises it at me

Steel myself; steel myself…

And all of a sudden, I mean…I couldn’t, really couldn’t explain it to you—

Calm; I felt calm…

I remembered where I came from

I remembered what I stood for

And I knew it was worthy

What would my Kenya make of this?

And the answer, clear as daylight…

My Kenya would uphold its dignity,

My Kenya would enforce justice by law—and not justice by man…true justice

My Kenya would use my death, and the death of these around me

To come together;

To beautifully come together

In warm embraces and reassuring glances,

Holding hands in togetherness

Comforting…comforting each other in a glorious display of grace

As I feel—feel the pain; as I feel, feel the blast through my chest,

I know I die a worthy death

If this will serve to reignite the Kenyan flame of peace, love and unity…

If my people would forget themselves and their differences and come together as one—due to my death?

Gladly…gladly I would leave for so great a feat

I think of my daughter and her smile

I think of my wife Adut and her eyes

I think of my Kenya and her life

Liveliness, cheer, hope, excitement…Kenya

And I hope, hope against hope,

That my Kenya would not take my death to fuel its anger against everyone who looks like this person who kills me now,

That my Kenya would keep what it has that sets it a mark above its enemies—

Peace, love, unity

And as I think upon these things

As I think about the strength, and the beauty and passion of such a people as I am proud to be a part of…

I…I close my eyes;

And know my wife Adut, and my daughter, and my people…

Are in good hands,

The hands of my Kenya

Black…red…white…green…

Kenya! Make me proud!

Dr Franceschi is the dean of Strathmore Law School. [email protected], Twitter: @lgfranceschi