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Sarah Wanjiku’s heart-wrenching plea “Niko na uchungu” highlights the devastation of a mother losing her daughter to a brutal murder, allegedly by a GSU officer.

"Niko na uchungu"—I am in pain. These three words, spoken through tears by Sarah Wanjiku, encapsulate the crushing weight of a mother’s grief. In the wake of her 23-year-old daughter’s brutal murder allegedly by a GSU officer, Wanjiku’s cry is not just a statement of personal loss, but an indictment of a society where young women continue to fall victim to those who claim to love them.
The murder of Ann Muthoni Ngunjiri in her Kayole apartment has left a family grappling with a void that no amount of justice can fill. While police hunt for Benson Mutiso, the GSU officer suspected of the crime, the emotional wreckage left behind is absolute. Wanjiku, standing outside the morgue, painted a picture of a life full of promise that was cruelly snatched away. "My daughter cannot come back even if the suspect is arrested or killed," she lamented, her voice breaking. "She cannot come back to life again. I will never ever see Muthoni again."
Beyond the police tape and the sensational headlines lies the human reality of this tragedy. Muthoni was not just a statistic; she was a daughter, a friend, and a young woman with dreams. Her mother described her as "obedient" and "visionary," traits that make her untimely death all the more agonizing. The narrative of the "crime of passion" often obscures the devastating ripple effect on families, who are left to navigate a labyrinth of grief and legal bureaucracy.
The suspect, Mutiso, had reportedly been absent from his duty station at the GSU Training School in Embakasi for days before the murder. This detail adds a layer of negligence to the tragedy—a rogue officer, armed with training and authority, allowed to roam free until he allegedly turned his aggression on a defenseless partner. The family’s anguish is compounded by the knowledge that this might have been preventable.
The mood in Mihang’o estate is somber. Residents are shocked by the violence that unfolded in their midst, yet there is a weary resignation that comes with the frequency of such reports in Nairobi. For Wanjiku, however, the pain is singular and acute. She is preparing to bury her daughter in their rural home in Subukia, Nakuru County, a journey no parent should ever have to make.
"I have lost a young child," Wanjiku repeated, a mantra of disbelief. As the investigation unfolds, her words serve as a haunting reminder of the stakes involved. Justice may eventually be served in a courtroom, but for Sarah Wanjiku, the sentence of life without her daughter has already begun.
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