Esther died from an epileptic attack at Trelawney Estate in Hackney, east London
The
close-knit Congolese community in this area of the capital, says the
friend, is struggling to understand how mother and son could have lain
undiscovered for so long. Some people were critical of the family, he
said. Others had questions for the school and the authorities.
What is unquestionable is that Esther adored her only child.
His
birth, at Queen Charlotte’s Hospital, Hammersmith, West London, in
January 2012, was the culmination of all the hopes and dreams she’d had
when she first came to the UK from Kinshasa in the Democratic Republic
of the Congo at the age of 16.
Her
parents, who were already living in London, sent for Esther and her
younger sister, believing that they would get a first-rate education and
a safer life than would ever have been on offer to them in their native
country, which has been torn apart by years of civil war.
Clearly
Esther shared the same hopes for her son, who was the result of her
relationship with a London-based Congolese chef from whom she later
separated and was rarely in contact.
Those who knew her say she devoted most of her time to Chadrack, who was mute and had severe special needs.
Esther
was also a keen member of an African Zion church, and a skilled
hairdresser who often braided women’s hair for a small charge. She loved
cooking traditional Congolese dishes.
While
Esther’s early years in London were spent in her family’s council flat
in a tower block in Shoreditch, she moved to her own flat just two miles
away on the Trelawney Estate in Hackney two years ago.
The
tower-block flat is a two-minute walk away from Hackney Town Hall in an
area which has become gentrified in recent years and has a
state-of-the-art cinema, a bustling library, trendy theatres,
restaurants and shops. One of Esther’s friends, a Congolese shopkeeper,
who used to see her almost every day, describes her as ‘happy’ and
‘humble’ and recalls how they often used to chat about life and politics
back home in Kinshasa.
‘If Chadrack started thinking we were talking too long he’d start pulling things off the shelves and fidgeting,’ he says.
‘Esther would offer him something to eat, like a waffle, but he’d refuse and she’d just tell him: “Stay calm, stay calm.”
‘He’d
calm down. She could communicate well with him even though he didn’t
make a sound. He made no sound whatever, not even to cry.’
Chadrack, says the shopkeeper, was Esther’s pride and joy and was often dressed in his favourite tracksuit and Nike trainers.
Last
September, to mark the occasion of his first day at Morningside
Primary, Esther posted a photograph of her son on Facebook, with just
one word next to it — ‘Love’.
Barely a month later, thanks to a devastating sequence of unforeseeable events, both she and Chadrack were dead.
But
while Esther’s sudden death from epilepsy was tragic enough, how was it
possible that no one raised the alarm in time to save her helpless son?
When
Chadrack failed to turn up for lessons, several calls were made to
Esther’s mobile phone, a standard practice in primary schools and some
secondaries across the UK.
But the only
number staff had on file belonged to Esther, meaning they were unable
to call anyone else despite being concerned about Chadrack’s absence.
While
staff did visit Trelawney House between three to five days after he
failed to turn up to school, there was no reply at the intercom and they
were unable to gain access to the building, despite visiting twice.
Esther’s family also telephoned her, but despite being unable to get a response did not think it meant anything serious.
Not
long before her death, Esther had also separated from a long-term
boyfriend. Had they still been together, he might also have been in a
position to raise the alarm.
Meanwhile, upstairs in the tower block, neighbours were unaware of the horror unfolding in Esther’s flat.
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