When the snake sank its fangs into her thigh, Jessie Charles thought her biggest battle would be for her life. She was wrong.

Her real battle, the one that would drain her spirit and test the nation’s justice system — was yet to begin.

It was November 31, 2016.

A warm, humid morning at Mphedzu Tea Estate in Thyolo, a subsidiary of Makandi Tea Estate.

Jessie, 26, from Samuti Village, Senior Chief Boyidi in the district was in the tea fields applying fertilizer. Like every other day, she bent over the endless rows of green, her hands working fast to meet the day’s target.

Then, in a split second, her world changed.

“I slipped into a ditch, and then I felt something strike my thigh… when I looked, it was a snake,” she recalls, her voice trembling.

Co-workers screamed. A supervisor rushed her to Thunga Clinic. From there, she was referred to Thyolo District Hospital, where she spent days fighting the venom coursing through her veins.

The company ambulance brought her to the hospital for three days, and then stopped coming.

She was home. Weak. Dizzy. Fainting without warning.

Two weeks later, determined to keep her job, Jessie returned to work. But her body had changed. She collapsed often. The estate moved her to lighter duties at the nursery. Five months later, she was dismissed, with only K10,700 as a one-month ticket. No gratuity. No severance pay. No hope.

By 2018, Jessie had grown desperate.

A single mother of three, an orphan, and the breadwinner for her siblings and grandparents, she decided to fight back.

She engaged a Blantyre-based lawyer, Wellington Kazembe of Mackenzie and Patricks Associates, to pursue compensation through court under the Workers’ Compensation Act.

After years of waiting, she heard good news in 2021: the estate had reportedly remitted compensation for six injured workers, including her. Her share: K3.8 million.

“The lawyer’s secretary even confided to me that my cheque had come,” Jessie says.

But when she went to collect the money, Kazembe said she needed a national ID.

Her colleagues, all five of them, received their compensation. Jessie nothing. 

Since then, she has been making countless trips to the lawyer’s office, always returning empty-handed. Each time, the lawyer made new promises.

In May 2025, Jessie claims she was told to come to Blantyre, her payment was ready at last.

She arrived at the lawyer’s office early in the morning. She waited for some hours.

Then, as she stepped outside for some air, some men on a motorcycle appeared.

“They said, 'We know you’ve received the money.’ Before I could speak, they pulled me onto the bike,” Jessie recalls, tears welling up.

She was taken to Mbayani Township. The men searched her body, even inside her blouse, and stole her K10,000 transport money and her phone.

Hours later, they dumped her back at the lawyer’s office.

Distressed, Jessie returned the other day with good Samaritans from her area, Wells Chinthenga Chisale and Jossam Mphakwe, who helped her confront the lawyer.

“He gave us the case file in anger,” says Chinthenga. “So, we took it to the Malawi Law Society (MLS) for help.”

Mphakwe adds, "we have been up and down in seeking justice for the woman after noticing injustice and her plight."

At MLS, officials examined the file and discovered something odd, key payment documents were missing.

They advised Jessie to go back to Makandi Tea Estate for payment verification.

At the estate, Chinthenga and Mphakwe claim that the company’s Head of Human Resources, Witness Chikondi, confirmed that the payment had been made.

But when asked, Chikondi denied it: “The woman’s claims are false. Records show the matter was never taken to court, and no compensation was released,” he told Zodiak.

Yet court files we have seen show that Jessie’s case was indeed registered and had been mentioned several times since 2018, with evidence that the law firm sought an out-of-court settlement.

On his part, lawyer Kazembe admitted representing Jessie but insisted: “The matter is not concluded in court. Makandi Tea Estate did not pay, and they could not pay without a court judgment or consent order.”

He added that Jessie’s file was released to her this year “so she could engage another lawyer if she wished,” and denied any knowledge of the alleged abduction.

To human rights activist Robert Mkwezalamba, Jessie’s case is not just a personal tragedy, it is a systemic failure and display of loss of trust from the lawyers who were supposed to be in the forefront protecting human rights.

“Estate workers are among the most vulnerable. When compensation is diverted or delayed, it’s a double punishment. We receive such cases,” he says. “The Malawi Law Society must act.”

Malawi Human Rights Commission (MHRC) Director of Civil and Political Rights, Peter Chisi, says they are ready to assist Jessie in pursuing justice while MLS looks at the disciplinary element.

And Malawi Law Society Chief Executive Officer, Chrispine Ngunde, has acknowledged receipt of the concern and assured that they are looking into it.

“The only confirmation I can give is that we received the complaint and you can assure the woman that we are looking into it. At this stage, we just investigate or do the inquiries, before the disciplinary level where we can give more details,” he said.

Nine years after the snakebite, Jessie’s body still trembles from the venom’s legacy.

Her hands shake. Her eyes glaze over mid-sentence.

Her children, aged between 6 and 12, often go to bed hungry.

Her grandmother, Esmie Simakweli, says, “Before the disaster, Jessie was strong and worked hard for us all, very reliable in everything. Now, she cannot even cook. We survive on piecework.”

Her sister, Eurita John, adds, “We just want justice. That money was meant to rebuild her life.”

Jessie’s story lays bare the fragile web that holds Malawi’s workers’ justice system together, a web easily torn by negligence, corruption, and silence.

While the Workers’ Compensation Act promises care and compensation for the injured, the system meant to deliver that promise seems blind to people like Jessie.

Her K3.8 million — enough to construct a small house, restart her life, and educate her children, remains missing.

And as she sits outside her tiny home in Samuti Village, staring into the hills where tea leaves shimmer in the sun, she whispers only one thing:

“They said justice would help me stand again. But I am still crawling.”