Photo Courtesy: Dennis Onsarigo

The thought of death creeps me and the sight of death is what makes me have a sheer cold, goosebumps and shudder in my place. It takes me right to the scene; to the broken pieces of metal and glass on the floor, each tiny piece carrying a memory of the last laughter, the last talk, the last joke. It takes me right to the father’s seat, the husband who maybe had so many plans for his family, to the mother’s seat; the wife who took her last breath hearing the voices of agony at the back seat. It takes me right where the daughters were seated, as they get smashed into one end. I can almost feel the cracking sound of bones, the screams, the painful silence and the blood; blood everywhere. I am almost re-living the story; the tragic end of what could have been a beautiful life yet a new start of healing; and healing, is one of the most important stages of life. You just never know how it is ever going to be after but there is still hope because God is always awake and listening to our silent cries and prayers. And hope too, can be brought about by me and you; by humanity, by helping the people who need us.

I read the below post by Dennis Onsarigo and I just felt it important to share this message. Let’s join hands and help this family. Help with the little much you can, every cent counts so let’s do this please.

Such is life…..By Dennis Onsarigo

I promised myself that I wouldn’t post the grisly pictures of a road accident I came across on Kiambu road on Saturday. I went ahead and told myself I would not even tell my friends or family about it. But today, is a testimony that kids are God’s and maybe, just maybe we must start living before we eventually exit the stage.

It has been a few days since I pulled out-with the help of other good Samaritans- three youngsters trapped in their father’s black motor vehicle. The youngsters, hardly ten years old were shaken, some were badly off.

Let me walk you through the first five minutes of the accident: A canter going downhill, a private motor vehicle speeding uphill; one must have lost control, drove into the path of the other….the rest I was told, was a loud bang, silence and then screams.

When I arrived there, the scene was chaotic, the mother, clad in her hijab.…was trapped in the passenger seat. I couldn’t see her face but I could feel her pain, her slow but painful bouts of wailing struck me so hard. Right behind her seat was her daughter, she was the oldest among her children, she was screaming for her mother, we were struggling to keep her calm, at times our shouting for a metal bar to free her from the car, drowned her screams. She was scared and terrified.

Her legs had disappeared under the mangled wreckage of her family car. Ironically, it appears the mother had taken most of the impact aimed her way. I looked and realized if she could feel her legs, if she could scream for the mother, a few more minutes wouldn’t kill her.

Just next to her was her other younger sister, she had blood on her face, she was screaming for the mother as well; I pictured the mother, hearing her daughters’ screams and wailing but there is nothing much she could do, she was stuck, her life flashing right in front of her eyes. I took her in my arms. A woman, whom I later learnt was a relative, came rushing my way, I handed her the young girl, we flagged down a vehicle, and off they went.

Then one man pulled out another young girl, she must have been three years old. She was badly wounded; her “baby” hairstyle neatly in place had been replaced with a gushing wound at the back of her head. The man, who took her out of the vehicle now holding her by the hands, appeared to give up on her.

Her neck had given in to the weight of her head, her eyes turning into a shade of white, he body turning blue and her soul giving up on her. The man placed her on the cold ground, it had rained that day; there she was, lying on her stomach, her eyes were not moving. For a minute I thought she was gone.

Next to her was her father, a touching distance between the father and daughter. She was breathing her last, my heart racing, trying to call an ambulance, I was struck; the youngster was going to die if nothing was done urgently.

I called AAR, I described the place and nature of the accident, the man at the end of the call asked me “ what kind of a vehicle has been involved in the accident?”, I paused, mad at first, resigned second, then I told him “ it is a private vehicle”, he promised to send the first ambulance available. I called the Nairobi traffic police boss Moses Katana, he promised to send a team of police officers, and they arrived minutes later. I saw the “mother” in one of the traffic police officers, she was distraught, but composed self and she was back to the rescue mission.

I walked back to the young gal. I imagined her hearing the faint voices of strangers shouting and trying to get the mother out of the mangled motor vehicle. Then I touched her small back, she had a pulse, her heart was racing so fast, I did not know her name, I did not know what she liked.

It was ten minutes after the fatal accident. I picked her up, blood on the back of her head, she was getting cold, her small fighting spirit maybe giving up on her soul. Then I started talking to her, I suspected she was slipping between death and life. She could move her eyes, breathe and then go quiet. It was terrifying.

In the confusion we managed to flag down yet another private motor vehicle. One girl in the back seat; the one I believed was badly injured in the safe hands of a relative, a red small vehicle sped off in high speed. The youngsters left behind their mother and father.
Two hours later I walked into Gertrude’s children’s’ hospital in Muthaiga and after inquiring about the four little angels, I was directed to the emergency room. I met the oldest girl in pain but all bandaged up and a busy nurse attending to her told me she was fine. Across the room, I could barely recognize the three-year-something-old little angel that I had seen at the accident scene. She was on oxygen, but in safe hands. A nurse attending to her said she had pulled through.
As I walked back to my car, three times now since the four angels were admitted to the hospital, it dawned on me and still does that life can be useless at times, but again, it can be all that we want it is all that we crave for.

The little girl- name withheld- was moved from the Intensive Care Unit to the general ward; I was with her today afternoon, she is amazing, she had fed and she was asleep. Her oldest sister, was playing with her mobile phone, she did not even look at me despite her aunt telling her I was not a doctor and I had no plans of giving her a jab.
They are fine. But they need your help, first they need to get well soon, then we must tell them the story of their mother and father. Then tell their father who is in a coma the story of his wife and his daughters. It is a tough place to be in as a father and husband.

But of immediate importance is their growing medical bill. If you’ve been touched, don’t hesitate to go visit them, or support them.

A brother to the mother of the youngsters gave me this account number:




Nation Centre Branch

You can as well call Shaheen’s sister (the mother to the young girls) – Sabra Khan-0722472166. And the kids would love to have you visit them.

Such is life.

I also read this piece elsewhere too, ‘Should Ahmed open his eyes he will understand that beside losing his wife, he also has a medical bill of approximately 4 million to the 4th of May 2016 to pay. That still continues to increase as they are all still in hospital. You might all ask about the insurance. It will only cater for approximately 1.5 million and the rest are for me and you. Mpesa no: 0722472166 Sabra Khan (Shaheen’s sister). Admission no Aga Khan AK1784560, Getrudes: 491242/43/46.

Please let us remember them in our prayers and help whenever we can. May God give the family patience through this difficult time. Keep sharing this message. You just never know when you will need such help too so never ignore. Such is life; it has lots of surprises, and sometimes, they are not so pleasing.

God bless you all.


A freelance writer, journalist, poet and blogger venturing mainly in social and community issues, study and analysis of behaviour and life, and the plight of the under-dogs in the society. 'I feed on human stories.'

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