Members of the Israel Church of Africa prayed during the funeral of two children who were burned to death in a house with 17 other people in Kenya. (Benedicte Kurzen for The New York Times)KATITO, Kenya, Feb. 15th. (NY Times) —It did not take many people to carry the coffins of Wycliffe and Cynthia Awino. They were 7 and 9 years old. The brother and sister were burned to death by a mob last month in Kenya in the explosion of post-election violence. And if there ever was a woman alone, it was their mother, Millicent Awino, who stood by herself at the foot of two freshly dug graves on Thursday, blotting out reality with her hands over her face, as her only children disappeared into the ground. “I only wish to have kids again,” she said, staring at the caskets. Ms. Awino is a 23-year-old single mother who was at work packing roses for the equivalent of $2 a day when her children were killed. A mob surrounded the house where they were hiding with 17 other people, barricaded the doors and soaked the walls with gasoline. No one inside had a chance. Everyone died, including 11 children. It was one of the most disturbing episodes in the bloodletting that convulsed Kenya since a disputed election in December. The incumbent president, Mwai Kibaki, was declared the winner over the top opposition leader, Raila Odinga, despite widespread evidence of vote rigging. Since then, more than 1,000 people have been killed in vicious fighting between supporters of the two politicians, fighting that followed mostly ethnic lines but broke all rules. Old men were chopped in the head with axes. Mothers were stabbed to death in front of screaming babies.
The killings seem to have subsided for now as Kenya’s rival politicians continue to negotiate. On Thursday, officials said that government and opposition leaders had agreed to the idea of joining together in a coalition government but remained bitterly divided over how much power the opposition would have. Condoleezza Rice, the American Secretary of State, is headed to Kenya next week to coax along the politicians. While they haggle, there are open wounds almost everywhere. Katito, where Ms. Awino now lives, is a small town about an hour’s drive from Kisumu, an industrial city on Lake Victoria. About all that is left of Kisumu’s once vibrant Kikuyu community, which once numbered in the tens of thousands, are a string of scorched shops picked clean by looters. Mr. Kibaki is a Kikuyu and opposition supporters have vented their outrage about the election toward members of his ethnic group, who have been methodically hunted down across the country. The Kikuyus have taken revenge, massacring Luos, Mr. Odinga’s community. The Awinos are Luos. They lived in Naivasha, an ethnically mixed town in the Rift Valley that used to be known for its nature walks, fancy hotels and flower farms. Around 7 a.m., Sunday, Jan. 27, Ms. Awino left for work. She was one of the many migrant workers who had flocked to Naivasha for jobs in the flower farms, neatly packing beautiful roses by day and returning to their iron-roofed shanties at night. Two dollars a day is considered a decent wage here, especially for a woman who dropped out of 8th grade to have her first baby at age 14. Wycliffe and Cynthia were sent to a neighbor’s house. Wycliffe seemed especially caring for a 7-year-old. “Whenever I came home from work, he’d take one look at me and say, ‘Mommy, you’re tired,”’ Ms. Awino said.
Cynthia helped raise him, boiling tea in the morning and cooking rice. The only picture the family has of them shows the children sitting on the grass, Wycliffe with a freshly shaved head, Cynthia wearing a lemon-colored dress. Ms. Awino rushed back to her neighborhood that Sunday afternoon when her boss told her that Kikuyu gangs were killings Luos. She found her house in ashes. When she reached her neighbors, she collapsed. The bodies of Wycliffe and Cynthia were found huddled with the others in a back room, burned almost beyond recognition. On Thursday morning, Ms. Awino brought the bodies home, two wooden coffins trimmed with lace strapped atop a minibus. Home is now a shack with plastic sheeting for walls, built on the edge of a farm belonging to her ex-husband’s father. The people here are strangers to Ms. Awino. Even though she split up with her husband seven years ago, custom has it that she still should live on his family’s land. About 20 people came to the funeral. The refreshments were simple, warm Coca-Colas and slices of white bread. Members of the local church tapped metal rings that rang like bells. The smell of fresh manure wafted up from the fields. The speeches were short. Ms. Awino told the story of how her children were killed. Their father, Morris Okoth, then shared a few words. “There is no need for payback,” he said. Wycliffe went first. Before his three-foot coffin was lowered into its hole, one woman threw herself on it. “Wycliffe! Wycliffe!” she wailed. “Where are you?” Cynthia’s coffin was then covered by shovelfuls of earth. There was no comforting message at the end. There seemed to be nothing to say. Most people walked away with their heads down. The only sounds were soft sobbing and birds chirping.
By Jeffrey Gettleman
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