The court will now hear your plea for mitigation.”

Njoro took a deep breath and looked around the large courtroom. In front of the magistrate was her desk where files were constantly being piled by one of her two clerks.

Off to the extreme left was a red chair it looked regal with golden buttons bordering its edges, yet it also seemed extremely non-functional. There was also a tiny booth that stood next to the witness stand, it looked like it could fit one or two people though you couldn’t see inside it.

The courtroom usually filled up in the morning and cleared as each case was mentioned — a procedure in the criminal trial system that he found endlessly tedious. He did not intend to see this or any other courtroom again.”

“Your honour, I am just a young man. I have been accepted in and have in fact been attending university, but it has been difficult. My parents died a long time ago and although a charitable uncle gave me accommodation and food he was unable to finance my university education. Harambees have not yielded results and the student loan I receive is barely enough to allow me to eat.”

“There are a lot of other extra things needed to successfully complete a degree and I have had to hustle for these funds. I therefore had to defer my education by a year in order to make some money. I was able to get a job as a matatu driver, which is what brings me here before you today.”

“Your honour, the life of a matatu driver is a difficult one. On the day in question, I woke up at 4.30am. Nobody awake at this time is happy, we are all tired and sleepy. It’s quiet except for the footsteps of those looking for something to keep hunger at bay. I went to my boss’s house and had to wait for him to wake up — he had overslept.”

“Unfortunately, I was not wearing a jacket and soon I was shivering. The owner eventually woke up, handed me the keys and soon I and the conductor started working.”

“In the morning, before rush hour, there is a beauty to driving a matatu. At this hour, I remember the joy of driving but it is short lived. In a few hours, we are busier than ever.”

“It is hard to describe the sheer number of people who come into the matatu and sit next to me as I drive. The first thing you learn is to tolerate different odours. There is always the guy who has just smoked a cigarette; the smell of eggs and meat on people’s breath; perfumes that are sometimes overpowering. You can even sense tension in those who fought before boarding the matatu.”

“On certain days it sets you on edge and this is the reason many drivers and conductors spend so much of their time with their heads out the window.”

“That fateful day did not start or end well.”

“We managed to make two trips into town before rush hour began. The sun was in my face all morning and my eyes kept watering. The pillow that I put on my seat had worn thin. I sit right above the engine and after a while it begins to get unbearably hot.”

“Allow me, your honour, to describe how it feels to drive into town during rush hour. We usually have to use various back routes to get into the city centre. My route is incredibly hilly. You have to keep balancing the vehicle, veering in and out of lanes, trying to anticipate and avoid traffic.”

“It is a profession for people with the instinct of sportsmen because too much thinking can slow you down. On the days when it is good it is good but when you are out of the zone, as I was that day, mistakes are made.”

“You start to feel the mood of the matatu turn against you. Your conductor tries but fails to hide his disappointment. All of these emotions added to my bad mood.”

“By lunchtime, we had made five or six trips and after doing this work for so long it had become monotonous. Sitting in the same seat, seeing the same scenery and hearing variations of the same conversation. It is work full of adrenaline but the wrong kind, because when somebody shouts at you for doing something wrong, it is hard to remember that they do not understand what we go through daily.”

“We were driving towards Parklands just before the incident. There had been a lot of traffic that day but finally it started to ease. I took the opportunity to put my foot down on the pedal and gun down the road, happy for a little freedom; trying my best to forget the frustrations and irritations of the day, which had been piling on.”

“Then I saw a figure stumble onto the road. It’s difficult to explain what happens in such a situation, I tasted iron in my mouth and could feel sweat squeeze out of my armpits. My heart was hammering its way out of my chest as I gripped the wheel and turned. It can’t have taken more than a few seconds but a lot went through my mind as I tried to avoid hitting him. I got out of the matatu shaking and praying that I had not killed him.”

“Your honour, I felt as if a demon had taken over my body when I saw that it was a drunk putting himself and everybody else at risk by foolishly crossing the road. I couldn’t stop the shaking. I couldn’t help myself and the next thing I knew I was being pulled off him with his blood on my hands.

"That is my story your honour. I snapped. I beg you to give me a light sentence.”