Source: Sad, but it’s justice anyway! – herald
Fidelis Munyoro-Chief Court Reporter
THE courtroom atmosphere was heavy, a solemn quietness punctuated only by the occasional shuffle of papers and the muffled sobs of a grieving father.
At the centre of it all stood a boy – small, trembling in his oversized khaki shorts and sleeveless shirt, a striking picture of vulnerability.
The biting June cold seemed to seep into his bones, but the weight of the moment chilled him even more.
Eyes darting nervously, he looked like a child caught in an adult world, a world now demanding accountability for a tragedy that had unfolded with devastating swiftness.
Justice Catherine Bachi-Mzawazi, sitting at Chinhoyi High Court, presided over the case with a measured tone, her voice a mix of authority and compassion.
“A child is a child,” she said, her words echoing in the courtroom like a mantra.
“A child thinks like a child, acts like a child and reasons like a child. To equate the reasoning and actions of an adult to a child is an outright injustice.”
The boy, aged somewhere between 15 and 17 according to a medical estimate, stood accused of ending the life of a 14-year-old girl. It was a moment of madness, a fleeting instance of childish misunderstanding that had spiralled into a tragedy.
The facts of the case were clear. On that fateful day, the boy was returning from a nearby village with his younger brother when he encountered a group of schoolgirls, including the deceased. Their laughter, innocent or not, ignited a fire in him.
Feeling mocked, he confronted them. Words turned to blows and when he was overpowered, he reached for an okapi knife and struck, just once. The blade found its mark under the young girl’s breast, silencing her laughter forever.
The courtroom was hushed as the victim’s father delivered his statement. He spoke with a voice heavy with grief, describing his daughter as a bright and promising soul, one destined for great things. He recounted the hopes he had pinned on her, hopes now shattered.
Turning his gaze to the boy, he admitted that had the family’s demand for reparations – several beasts – been met in full, he might have sought leniency. But bitterness lingered, amplified by the vacuum left by his daughter’s death.
Yet, the boy’s story was one of its own heartbreaks. Abandoned by his mother at a young age, he had taken on the role of caregiver to his younger brother, navigating a world riddled with poverty and hardship.
Justice Bachi-Mzawazi painted a vivid picture of the boy’s life, one marked by deprivation and a lack of parental guidance.
“He was a child forced to grow up too soon,” she said, her voice tinged with both sorrow and frustration.
“A child who carried burdens far too heavy for his small shoulders.”
The probation officer’s report revealed the harsh realities of his upbringing. Forced out of school and into a life of artisanal mining, the boy had learned to carry a knife, not as a weapon, but as a misguided emblem of survival in a world that had shown him little mercy.
“He is not a hardened criminal,” the judge emphasised.
“There is no cunningness or pretence in him, only the innocence of a boy out of his depth.”
As the judge dissected the events of that tragic day, her words carried a rare blend of legal precision and human empathy.
The stabbing, she acknowledged, had not been premeditated. It was an impulsive act, a desperate attempt to defend himself when two girls began overpowering him.
But it was also reckless, a moment of negligence that had led to irreversible consequences.
“The introduction of a knife into a fistfight,” she noted, “is where the line was crossed, where childish impulses turned deadly.”
Though the loss of life was undeniable, Justice Bachi-Mzawazi was acutely aware of the broader context. She spoke of the broken home that had shaped the boy, the absence of parental figures and the bruised ego of a child mocked and beaten in front of his younger brother, the one person who looked up to him.
“His actions,” she said, “were the product of a lifetime of neglect and a single moment of poor judgment.”
In her sentencing, the judge struck a delicate balance, weighing the gravity of the crime against the boy’s age, circumstances, and potential for rehabilitation. She invoked the principles of justice, not as a blunt instrument, but as a tool for restoration.
“The best interests of the child must be paramount,” she declared, citing legal precedents and constitutional mandates. “Imprisonment is a last resort.”
And so, the boy’s fate was sealed, not in an adult prison, but in the rehabilitative care of the Kadoma Training Institute. For three years, he would live under structured guidance, receiving education, training, and, perhaps most importantly, an opportunity to rebuild his life.
The court also ordered that efforts be made to reconnect him with his estranged parents and ensure visits from his younger brother, the one constant in his fractured world.
As the judgment was delivered, the courtroom seemed to breathe again, the tension lifting slightly. Justice Mzawazi’s words lingered, a poignant reminder of the complexities of justice when children are involved.
“Children,” she said, quoting scripture, “speak as children, think as children, and act as children. It is our duty to guide them, not to condemn them to a path of no return.”
The boy was led away, his small frame dwarfed by the enormity of his fate.
But in the eyes of the court, he was not just another statistic, not just another offender. He was a child – a child who had stumbled, who had erred, but who still had a chance to rise.
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