Wambui Faith
Dorothy Muoma’s story ended in painful silence.
She was once a respected magistrate in Kitale — a woman who walked into court with authority, dignity, and purpose. But slowly, her life began to unravel under the heavy grip of mental illness, until she found herself sleeping on the very streets she once passed as a public servant.
It all started when she was suspended from duty.
She left the courtroom that day believing she would return. But instead, dismissal followed — and everything else collapsed with it. Her home and cars were taken, banks demanded repayments, and she was forced to sell what she could just to survive. In a short time, she lost almost everything.
And when she needed support the most, the people she trusted disappeared.
Friends went silent. Colleagues avoided her. Some who once benefited from her kindness looked away or mocked her. Family was nowhere to be seen. Even the church, where she might have found comfort, seemed closed to her pain.
Depression settled in deeply.
With no help and nowhere to go, Dorothy ended up on the streets. People would see her talking to herself, gesturing at things no one else could see, sometimes running as though she was escaping someone invisible.
In the end, she died there — on the streets — and was buried quietly in a low-key ceremony.
Her life is a heartbreaking reminder that mental illness does not discriminate. It can affect anyone, regardless of status, education, or career.
Dorothy’s fall from the courtroom to the pavement is a painful lesson on how quickly society can abandon someone who needs compassion most.
May her story move us to be kinder, to pay attention, and to take mental health seriously.
She was once a respected magistrate in Kitale — a woman who walked into court with authority, dignity, and purpose. But slowly, her life began to unravel under the heavy grip of mental illness, until she found herself sleeping on the very streets she once passed as a public servant.
It all started when she was suspended from duty.
She left the courtroom that day believing she would return. But instead, dismissal followed — and everything else collapsed with it. Her home and cars were taken, banks demanded repayments, and she was forced to sell what she could just to survive. In a short time, she lost almost everything.
And when she needed support the most, the people she trusted disappeared.
Friends went silent. Colleagues avoided her. Some who once benefited from her kindness looked away or mocked her. Family was nowhere to be seen. Even the church, where she might have found comfort, seemed closed to her pain.
Depression settled in deeply.
With no help and nowhere to go, Dorothy ended up on the streets. People would see her talking to herself, gesturing at things no one else could see, sometimes running as though she was escaping someone invisible.
In the end, she died there — on the streets — and was buried quietly in a low-key ceremony.
Her life is a heartbreaking reminder that mental illness does not discriminate. It can affect anyone, regardless of status, education, or career.
Dorothy’s fall from the courtroom to the pavement is a painful lesson on how quickly society can abandon someone who needs compassion most.
May her story move us to be kinder, to pay attention, and to take mental health seriously.
