Bertha came up to me as I walked along the track. I didn't recognise
her at first, in her ill-fitting pink outfit. Then I recalled meeting her on a
previous visit, a woman looking about 40 with sincere beliefs and a shattered
life. She introduced me to her young teenage daughter and two smaller sons.
They trailed around with their mother but did not seem especially excited to
meet a mzungu (Swahili for white man).
Bertha's father had abused his children - quite in what way, I never
knew. But Bertha's younger sister, when she was older, got her revenge, in a
gruesome manner.
Many Africans live in shared facilities, perhaps taking a room in a
compound. Most African toilets consist of a pit dug into the ground and some
kind of arrangement above. A woman
living in the same property as Bertha's sister went to the toilet one day and
smelt something sickening. Looking down the hole in the ground she saw fresh
earth had been put down into the pit. But she also saw what looked like a hand.
She got a stick and pushed it down into the pit - and realised there were other
things in the pit unconnected with normal human waste.
The evidence of the hand was enough to make her report the matter to the police. After
what must have been a horrible recovery exercise, the chopped-up body of
Bertha's father was found. Her sister had got her revenge.
More than that. The liver of her father had been removed - and later it came to light that she had cooked it and given
to Bertha's daughter to eat.
Such an experience is unimaginable. Bertha’s sister is now in prison.
But Bertha and her children bear the scars of their experience – and for
Bertha, a double blow, since she endured abuse from her father as a child and now has to live
with the awful consequences of her sister’s revenge.
Life is so tough for many people. All we can do is show them some love.
I was glad when Bertha came up to me again and murmured something I didn’t even
understand. I was glad that she sat at the back of a crowded room and watched
me. I was glad if she felt she gained some strength from my interest in her.
When we left, I went up to her and shook her hand. I wanted to hug her, to hold her very
close. But I just shook her hand and smiled. I wanted at least to assure her
that I understood something of her pain. That if I could have done more for her, I would have - and that she could have my love to take away, if nothing else.
