Sister Immaculate: Nun by vocation, lawyer by profession

She understands why. Nuns in Kenya are expected to teach catechism, tend to the sick, or work quietly behind convent walls, not stand in courtrooms armed with case law and conviction. But Sister Immaculate does not simply inhabit contradictions; she turns them into her calling.

She is both advocate and religious, fluent in scripture and statute. And in an arena where compromise is routine, she is guided by an older code: Justice is a habit whereby man renders to each one his due, the words of Saint Thomas Aquinas, and the cornerstone of her dual vocation.

Sister Immaculate’s journey to this calling began in quiet rebellion.

She was raised in a devout Protestant home; prayer before meals, services every Sunday, no negotiations. “I thank my mum for that,” she says of the upbringing that laid the foundation for her religious and moral leanings.

It was at St. Claire Girls Elburgon, a Catholic school she joined in the early 2000s, that she first encountered nuns. They were different: not stern, but kind; not aloof, but attentive. They moved with purpose and spoke with grace.

“They were simple, loving, compassionate, and dedicated to the service of God,” she says.

Curious but cautious, she approached one and voiced what many Protestants believe — that Catholics worship Mary. Instead of offence, she received explanation. Catechism followed. So did the sacraments. She not only converted but eventually joined formation at Bahati Novitiate in the Nakuru Diocese.

“I’m still the only Catholic in my family,” she says, adding that she found a home in the Church, and her purpose.

A vocation crisis

At the novitiate (period or state of being a novice of a religious order), she had hoped to pursue political science, a route into governance and justice, which deeply moved her. But Canon Law 285 prohibits religious men and women from holding political office. Disappointed, she let the idea rest, until fate intervened.

One evening, Bahati was attacked by thieves. No one was willing to go to court to testify. Troubled by the injustice, Sister Immaculate volunteered to testify.

In court, she withstood aggressive cross-examination and helped win the case. Around the same time, the fallout of Kenya’s 2007/8 post-election violence laid bare the suffering of the voiceless and the silence of those who could speak for them.

“Nobody was using the law as a tool to speak for them. I determined that when I was done with the novitiate, I would study law and be the voice of the voiceless, defend the poor and marginalised,” she says.

The road to the bar

But the journey to her admission the bar was anything but easy sailing. In her first semester at law school, she didn’t understand the legal jargon. Discouraged, she called her superior and asked to switch to Education. Instead, she was urged to persevere.

“She told me to take some time and resolve the challenges I was facing,” says Sister Immaculate. That time off turned out to be a 10-year break, one that gave her the clarity she required to forge ahead with her studies. “By the time I was done with the first year, I was good to go.”

“I was the only nun in the whole faculty. Lecturers would delay class if I wasn’t in. And when nobody else answered a question, they’d say, ‘Let’s ask the woman of God,’” she says with a chuckle.

So she studied harder, prepared obsessively, photocopied course outlines in advance, and read past cases even before they were assigned.

She graduated with First Class Honours in 2019. She was admitted to the Bar on August 5, 2022.

The lines she will not cross

From the outset, Sister Immaculate knew there were cases she would never touch.

“I can’t argue divorce, murder, or criminal cases. It contradicts my values and the teachings of the Church. I can’t preach about family unity in church and then represent you in a divorce the next week. That’s preaching water and drinking wine.”

It’s not just her conscience she’s protecting. It’s the perception of what a Sister should stand for. “Not everyone understands legal nuance,” she says. “Some will just say, ‘Now even Sisters are advocating divorce and defending criminals.’”

Instead, she focuses on civil matters, pro bono cases, clients of the Catholic University of Eastern Africa where she works as a legal officer, and mediation, whenever a peaceful resolution is possible.

But even in these, faith and justice sometimes pull in opposite directions.

“There was one case so emotionally heavy, I almost gave up. But I remembered my creed that justice must be pursued to the end, with compassion. So we switched strategy, went through mediation, and it worked. The client was at peace. So was I.”

In the courtroom

Court, she admits, is still a performance, and sometimes a trial.

“There are people who attend my hearings just to see if my arguments will betray my values,” she says. “So I’m always prepared. If I haven’t gone through the file thoroughly the day before, I don’t step into court.”

She reads judgments on Kenya Law, consults senior colleagues, anticipates counterarguments, and revisits her own casework with a critical eye.

“A case is won at the advocate’s desk, not in open court,” she says. “Preparation is everything.”

Not grey, but grace

Sister Immaculate believes law is not grey, it’s principled. “You’re either right or wrong. And you deserve what is due to you.”

But her practice — deeply human, quietly radical — makes space for grace. She remembers a road accident victim outside her university. No one expected compensation. She took up the case, secured a settlement, and saw dignity restored. She counts that as one of her most fulfilling career moments.

“At the end of the day,” she says, “behind every file is a human being.”

To young women drawn to both faith and justice, she offers this:

“You can honour your faith and still chase your professional dream. God’s calling is not limited to one path. It’s about using your gifts to serve others.”

In courtroom nowadays, she doesn’t mind the stares anymore. Doesn’t mind the questions. Doesn’t mind logging into a virtual courtroom either and being asked, again, for her practising certificate.

“They’re doing their due diligence,” she says with a smile. “And when I give them the number, I proceed. I argue my case. I leave them with something to think about.”

Someone in the courtroom, she says, is always watching — curious, puzzled, perhaps even moved — as the woman in the veil stands up to speak and in her own small way, change societal perception of morality and legal practice.

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