The Back Alleys of Justice
Something must kill a man and for Nick, this was the hill he would be dying on. His colleagues thought it was stupid. Some of his friends thought it was a bold political statement. But for him, he just wanted justice. Not the glory, nor to be knighted or any of the publicity he was getting. It was as simple as one word – justice.
The briefcase popped open and there lay an obscene amount of money, in dollars. What was the price of justice? He could envision a new life in a gigantic mansion, floor-to-ceiling windows, a view of the beach and surely, his children would never want for anything. His children. The children. This was why he was doing it, because there were children involved. The joys of childhood were about to be robbed off from these kids because an unnamed developer had seen it best to erect a residential building complex, complete with a shopping mall in the community playground. They said it would bring a new look to the community and employ hundreds of unemployed youths but they carefully omitted that the houses would be the beginning of gentrification. The community would no longer afford to live in the area and they would be forced to relocate into shanties while a pretentious middle class occupied what was once their home.
He had moved here when he was still a bachelor, starting out in life. He didn’t have much, but slowly, this people, they became everything he needed. He had seen the government time after time play deaf to their pleas. When they needed better roads, the community came together and jointly raised a bit of money to lay down some cabro bricks. When the doctors at the health centre made it known that they had not been paid and that they would be laying down their tools, the estate once again came together to offer them a care package and some little cash to keep the doors open. They had known to stop relying on political figureheads. They had known that they would be the change they needed. They knew one another by name, created memories, made the community a small little haven that was self-governed. Granted it was not a posh estate with well-manicured lawns but they had built something and it was working.
He stood up and cleared his throat without uttering a word. The bulky guy presenting him with the briefcase gave him a look of disbelief. It was quite clear this man could not be bought but whether that was commendable or outright stupid was the bigger question. Nick had to know he was punching above his weight. He had to know that at best all he could do was delay the process. So why not just take the money and move along?
By turning down the money, Nick knew what this meant for him and his family. In that single move, he had put at risk his life and that of his entire family. But he couldn’t get himself to just pick the money and go. Not when Dr Juma was graciously helping Mama Oti continue with her dialysis even though she could no longer afford it. Not when Mzee Kibo had made a habit of gathering all the neighbourhood kids to present the with folklore and entertain them as their mother cooked dinner. Surely, even Maingi the pub owner knew when to turn down money so the men could go home and spend time with their families. Everyone in this little community played their part in being their brother’s keeper and for him, all he had was a law degree which he could use to fight for justice. Justice for the community that had brought him up to his feet and raised his kids. Justice because if he didn’t do it, no one else could. And that right there was his commitment to his community. If this would be the hill he would be dying on, it would be for a worthy cause.
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