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THROUGH THE EYES OF A WITNESS

(By Stella Mutuku)

I have had several encounters with the law because of my not so elegant signature. The

year is 1989 when I had enthusiastically taken up my duties as a newly recruited DistrictMagistrate (professional) and posted to Nakuru Law Courts to man the then small District

Magistrates Court handling small claims and Traffic matters. I got down to serious

business of adjudicating and as most of us know, when you are newly recruited, and

although you begin by sitting with one senior magistrate to acquaint yourself with the

procedures of the court, you are never sure of whether what you are doing is according to

procedure. You would be lucky to have a sympathetic Resident Judge, like in my case,

who would correct your mistakes in a fatherly manner and guide you accordingly.

I had a crafty court clerk who unknown to me had been studying my signature keenly

and had learned how to imitate it to perfection. To my utter shock police officers from

the CID visited me to take a statement as to the unexplained circumstances leading to the

release from jail, before completion of sentence, of some offenders I had earlier on

incarcerated. I obviously denied knowledge as to how the two could have been released

by me. As evidence that the unlawful release was actually legal, the officers showed

me a release order with my beautiful signature appended to it! The Resident Judge was

later to counsel me, please try to make your signature a bit complex. As it is now, it is

just a simple scrawl resembling letter h.

Many years later while working at the Family Division of the High Court of Kenya, the

ghosts of my Nakuru experience came back to haunt me. Some cleaner at the High Court

had forged my signature in a letter requiring a District Commissioner, Thika, to release

some money held by his office to one of the parties in a succession cause. I was booked

as a witness in a Thika Court. I wish I had listened to the wise counsel of the Judge.

I decided to travel to Thika Court to give evidence incognito in that I did not want the

police officer investigating the case and the prosecutor to know I was a judicial officer. I

reported my presence at the prosecution office and was told to wait outside Court No. 2,

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my former court when I served at Thika! I mingled with wananchi outside the crowded

courtroom and waited to be summoned to the witness box. I took time to observe my

surroundings, and boy, what a shock! The memories of my days at the station were quite

vivid and I remembered better-kept grounds, properly maintained pavements, buildings

and at least some grass and flowers outside. What I was witnessing was ruins, broken

pavement, dirty compound, broken windowpanes and the stenchthe stench of stale

urine and faeces from the holding cell next to Court No. 2 was so overpowering that I

could not help wondering how his Honour was managing in court.

My commiseration over the situation was interrupted by a burly police officer who,

unhappy with two women who had been talking, approached them and bellowed, Do

you know where you are? Keep quiet this instant or I put you in jail. Of course this

yielded instant results. I guess the size of the officer and the ignorance by the victims to

the fact that the officer was just throwing his weight around were too much for the two

women who by all means were talking softly and posed no disturbance to anyone.

My name was called from the courtroom doorway and I quickly went in. I pushed my

way to the witness stand and was sworn in. I looked at his Honour, my colleague. He

looked so impersonal and disinterested in what he was doing. I looked at the high back

chair he was sitting on, it was meant for the office and not courtroom! I wondered what

had happened to the chair I used to sit on. It had authority! I observed the courtroom and

the crowded benches. During my time, the courtroom looked bigger and seemed to ooze

some authority. Now it was so crowded and there was no air circulation. The doorway

was of course blocked due to the many people gathered there. I could not help

remembering how I used to order it cleared and those who had nowhere to sit to stand

clear of the doorway. Times had changed; courts were now overwhelmed due to choking

back log and lack of personnel. Reason? This was the time after the so-called purge in

the Judiciary in Kenya. I could understand what his Honour, like the rest of us then, was

going through, the hopelessness and helplessness, the uncertain future, the disturbing

feeling of not knowing whether tomorrow he would be on that chair.

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As I traveled back to Nairobi after accomplishing my mission in Thika, I could not help

thinking, who shall come to the rescue of the Kenyan Judiciary? Who shall give us our

pride back? Who shall restore our dignity? Who shall rebuild and/or renovate our

courtrooms, equip them and deploy adequate and well-remunerated personnel to man

them?

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