Rape kit

Parents usually do not talk about rape to their boys when they are young. It's a no go topic. It might confuse and corrupt the young mind. We trust in their innocent age that they cant do such a barbaric deed, and pray no psycho gets advantage of them. Yet boys start their interest on girls long before they hit puberty. For some of us, this was the reason we didn't miss school. We liked it to find ourselves in the company of the pretty girls of the class. But at this young age, liking and naughtiness mixed to instigate sexist pranks on our female colleagues. For example, some minutes before the last bell, we would hide a girl's shoe so that she remains the last in the classroom looking for her shoe before she goes home. And what did we do then? Treat her as a hostage. Fondle her emerging breasts or touch her places while she cried. Sometimes we decided not to go home for lunch. This gave us time to socialize with the girls whose homes were far or just wanted to spend lunch time at school. We got busy, it was the same games. Twelve and thirteen year olds, we were not equipped with flowery words to mesmerize our female classmates. All we had was hold the girls waist or wherever and we found contentment in their resistance and complaining. Some reported us to the class teacher, but no serious punishment was given to us. Just five canes on the hand or buttocks.

Maybe this is where it started. We found nothing wrong in touching a girl against her will, even if she complained and cried over and over. We thought they liked it. And others truly did. During puberty, this interest in girls grew tenfold. It is expected that our brains and reasoning should grow, and our manners too. But unfortunately some of our friends didn't. I did not find it strange when Rose was found in the back of our neighbor's house where there is a bush of banana plants, with three other guys. An adult was passing by and he heard the tussle. Rose had accepted to give her flower to Simon. But little did he know that Simon had planned with Katana and Peter that they would show up in the dark bush after some time and devour the secret buffet too. The matter blew up in our entire estate. Parents sat down to talk it over. In the end, rose was taken to her rural home to finish her studies. And the three boys, well what could they do to sixteen year old boys? They are still juveniles in the eyes of the state.

As young adults, we believed and still believe some girls like to be taken rough. Surprised. Some force spices up their world. But we never asked them first, it had to be try and error. The struggle warms up the guys adrenaline and the girls like the wild nature of it. This becomes a problem when the girl really doesn't want it. A TV feature changed my whole perception towards this aggressive seduction style. It was a girl who despite the thought of tarnishing her image in the society decided to come forward and relate her ordeal. You could see how the rape she talked about had crushed her heart despite the strength she had gathered to tell her story. My heart melted. I felt how unfair and injustice can destroy a person's spirit and her social life and life in general. It didn't feel enjoyable and manly after seeing that feature to violate a girl or any woman. I later read magazine articles about girls who came forward to relate their rape cases. The act was redefined in my conscience, it was evil. No means No finally had a meaning here after seeing the results of forced entry which in turn picture the doer a beast. Cruel, merciless, insensitive human being that can rob the honor of a woman without thinking twice. To date, any sign of unwillingness puts me off even when it comes when all pants are down.

In this context, rape can be defined as having a sexual intercourse with an unwilling partner. Funny, this happens to men too. Some women are in a position of power enough to force a man to sleep with them. Men do not suffer the same magnitude of confusion and pain as girls, but it is serious if they are not old enough.

Why do we do this to a fellow human? Cant we think about how badly this will affect the victim before doing it? We should have hearts. This is one of the most despicable and inhuman things one can do to another. And I'm here today to speak against it. Some would blame a girl for wearing clothes that are too much revealing. Or say, we lost control when our minds were fixed on gratifying ourselves. Or as the childish reason goes, “I thought she liked to be handled with force. Women hardly say it when they want to be taken rough.” I am not encouraging, but it seems a lesser evil to pay a hooker or to use a soap. Rape is uncouth.

Some years ago, we heard stories that a woman parliamentarian had introduced a rape bill that made it an offense for a husband to rape his wife. I thought she had taken it too far. There is nothing disgusting in a husband taking his wife by force. The action would never give trauma to the wife. These are people who know each other more than the common limits. From whichever angle I looked at the matter, I could not see bad rape between a husband and a wife except the legislator's intention to westernize our African beds.

On the first December Saturday in 1999, I took Brenda(True name concealed) to Mombasa Beach. We were college mates at the Mombasa polytechnic. I had requested her for a date numerous times and at last, I got this one before she traveled to her rural home in Kisii. The semester was over, and a celebration wasn't a bad idea. To the left side of the sea shore when entering the beach, there are coral rocks and caves about half a kilometer from where most people swim. Many people prefer the cave area because of privacy. In fact, on any Sunday afternoon you could count couples sitting in romantic positions here as you go further looking for a perfect empty spot. This was a Saturday morning, not so many guys were on the beach. So we strolled and jumped water traps while holding her hand. I felt lucky that this beautiful curvy girl was finally attracted to me. I showed her sea urchins and weeds that grew on the beach, and we enjoyed the company.

Deep in the rocky area, we saw three men coming to our direction. This made me uneasy, but also thought it could be nothing. We were about a kilometer away from the beach hotels. I told Brenda we had better start returning back. When the guys were near us, one grabbed Brenda's hand and I jumped to push him. I showed them my stern eyes on a somber face but they just smiled. “kaa kando dogo” One of them told me while Brenda was on my back. Hands trembling while holding my shoulders. One of them revealed an ugly piece of wood but I didn't show them I was scared . I dodged the first strike he threw but the second landed on my shoulder. My right arm was in pain now. And the other two guys had grabbed Brenda and pulled her on the nearby cave. I tried to stand up while shouting at them but another heavy blow landed on my thigh. Then another on my back. It was a strong piece of wood that caused me unimaginable pain. The other guys had already removed Brenda's blouse and jeans, but they tore her white lace because it seemed they couldn't tame their excitement any longer. One held her arms down as the other entered and defiled her. She was crying. I pitied her and wished I had extraordinary powers to save her from this animals. She was being violated while I watched. When the two guys had had their turns, one came to guard me as the third one went to satisfy himself too. I felt weak and worthless as the guys left laughing on their way up the rocks. Brenda picked up her clothes and I went and told her sorry. But she didn't reply. We walked silently to the direction of beach hotels. I suggested we stop by Nyali police station but after some minutes of pondering, she nodded to deny that suggestion. I didn't know what she was thinking. We boarded a matatu and I took her to Tudor where she had rented a room, with a roommate.

I did not go to see her off to Kisii the next day. Probably, because when I look at myself through her eyes, I see a coward. There was nothing I could do. But I hated this feeling of helplessness. I didn't know what I would say if I called her, so I remained silent and she was quiet too for long. She texted me after three weeks saying she didn't know how to tell her family about the incident. And that she would like it if we could be talking. I didn't believe communication would bring her relief. Probably it would keep memory of the rape alive and fresh.

On one evening on January, I was given a message when I returned at home that a girl by the name Brenda had come to ask for me. But I still felt heavy. I knew I should have been the support she needed through this difficult time, but do I have a face to face her? So I decided to cut off ties with her completely. And I applied to another college to continue my course.

Color me bad

Most of us start at humble(poor) beginnings. Be it talent, Business or whatever propels us to excellence in life. Same for me, Two years after secondary school and I still had not found my thing. I used to sit outside our home in Ratna square watching boys and girls early in the morning heading to work. I was broke and jobless. Sometimes I walked far to visit friends and relatives because I had nothing to do. But most of the time I was inside listening to music, watching videos, eating and sometimes scribbling unqualified short stories on papers I had.

I usually hide my earlier stories. Though not classically written, they move me when I revisit them. Because they made me cry while writing them. When I take a good look at the stories, I can’t help but think my life is wrong, and I made it so. The stories are real, but contrary to the success of the stories on the social media, the reality is, the subject in the narrative is either a bad person or he gets hurt really bad. Some men don’t know a good thing when they got it. Me being one of them, we sometimes don’t realize that we’ve got the whole world right in front of us. It is for this reason that I have taken a pen and paper today to give an account of that weakness. You will find the theme relating closely to my other two stories, ‘Eternal lover syndrome.’ And ‘A story of my heart.’ But never was I hurt by my own mistake than on the incident I’m about to relate now.

It was on my early days of writing career and joblessness when I met Aisha Shosi. A Bajuni girl who worked at Cinemax cybercafe in our neighborhood. She was cross eyed, always poor in spirits and never cared much about fashion in what she was wearing. The third time I went to the cybercafe I commented to her “Young girl, by not smiling you are going to hide that divine beauty under your face forever. No one will see it.” She looked up, half startled, her face beaming with a blush. Between the primitive colors in her wear and a face that advertised a person who doesn't enjoy life, there was something noble in the simple faith of this girl which compelled my respect. She laid her bundle of papers upon the glass table and then gave me a questioning look. “What are you up to boy?” She asked. “Well, if you get time, I would like to take a hike with you. And get to know you more.” I replied. “Who in the world would want to have a stroll with me?” Her face turned somber when asking this. “Me.” I gave her a plain answer. “If you don’t mind.” I continued. “Lets try today evening.” Said her with something of lost and found confidence in her face. And I nodded to accept. She seemed quiet enthusiastic after the deal.


We had our ramble in the evening. She had taken a little care of her face and skin. She was wearing a long blue skirt and seventies' long sleeved white blouse. Her starved youth seemed to bloom and modestly hide her plainness. Although much was still expected of her if she wanted to be a dot-com girl. “So, what do you do with yourself?” she asked. “I write short love tales.” I replied. “Aha! So, will you give me your fables to read?” “ I have written only three. I don’t even know why I call myself a writer. I’ve got ideas and everything but materials. When you see me coming to your cybercafe, it’s because I have got around fifty shillings and I want to write something and save in my e-mail. “I will help you.” she said. “Whenever you have a story ready, come to the cybercafe around lunch time and you can use a computer free of charge.


That was the cornerstone of my life. I used the free internet to stat a blog, job searches and networked with many people on the internet. Soon, my Facebook friends never got contented of reading when the combative style of the boy from Ratna had taken over their walls. This is because the allegories were presented in a unique style. A sublime phrasing and a stylish and aesthetic structure that stands apart in the history of writing. She was so fond of me, and the little things she would do just to please me. I also played my part. We got into the habit of having those evening walks everyday. And I made sure that she was happy. She had done a lot for me, I could not bear to see the smile fade even for a moment from her face.


We had a close friendship for about eight months. Then I received an e-mail from a company in the middle east that was recruiting truck drivers from Kenya. I had a strong fan base for my stories on Facebook but it was not a paying thing. I had to take this opportunity. Aisha paid for my driving license to be upgraded to the class of heavy commercial vehicles. She paid for my medical check up, agency fees and renewal of my passport that had expired a year ago. She couldn't see me off to Jomo Kenyatta International airport in Nairobi due to her work, but she gave me pocket money and asked me to notify her as soon as I arrive safely.


The contract was two years. Truck driving in the desert on the newly commissioned High speed Rail in the kingdom. We got handsome salaries but I missed home so much. After work, I used to bury myself on the internet where I would share stories or just chatting to friends. Internet was fun and before long I had become a flirting celebrity.


I was happy when my vacation was due. I was going home to see my family and friends and my beloved country. After two days rest, I met Aisha. I brought her gifts from Saudi Arabia and fifty thousand Kenya shillings to be a gift for her.


After three weeks when I met Aisha again, she asked “Now that you've become a star, why don't you come to our little cybercafe now and then. Pay us a visit, and chat? Its still free for you.” I told her that I have a laptop and broadband internet, I don't need to come to the cybercafe anymore. She nodded sadly but to suggest that she understood. Then, after a minute’s silence, she asked again. “Is this love? Is this love that is between us, or I’m just deluding myself.” “Now, don’t go too far with ‘us.’ We are just friends, and forever we will be.” Her eyes were wet now, and she was playing with her fingernails as if she had nothing else to touch. “What’s the matter now. Why are you crying, Aren’t you happy for me?” I asked. She excused herself saying that she had to get home early. But asked to see me before I return back to Saudi Arabia for my second contract.


I had booked Coast bus that was leaving at Seven in the morning of Wednesday. It was raining on Tuesday night when Aisha and I had our farewell meeting. It was a weird silence in the air. I was confused. I recalled in all our chats that I did not affiance her. Why was she having those feelings for me? My heart had already been captured by another girl I found on the internet. She was fun and sophisticated, the kind of girl I should be with when I'm at the zenith of my career.


“I want to be with you in all my life, and in death.” She finally gathered her courage to speak. Aisha was a sweet girl, but she surely doesn’t fit to be my girl. I told her I had already replied her about this. Oh! God, how can I force myself to love someone whom I can’t love? She was sobbing now. I was afraid of even touching her because she wasn’t trying to control herself. And I knew I had inflicted on her a fatal wound. She got up, opened the door and walked out slowly. I followed her and asked her to wait inside until the rain was over. She turned to me and held my both arms and said “Kiss me please. I adore you.” Her eyes were still wet, but conveyed the message that if I had nothing in my heart to give her, then I should grant her this. “No! That would spring up something else. Please understand, there’s a big career ahead of me.” God knows the inappropriateness of those words. They sent her to a freak. I wasn’t considering the fact that I am where I am today because of her help. Call me heartless but there are many things to consider when in a position like mine. She was heart broken, but I had hopes that she would be alright after sometime. Her raison d’etre can’t be only sir Ngombo’s love.


She was still crying, and I was still confused. And we were both soaking in the dark deserted pathway. My heart was filled with pity now. Is it pity or love? No it’s confusion. I didn’t know whether I was making a big mistake in my life. Had you seen her tears! But anyway its always so with women. They cry in their own way. The way their tears move, you feel like changing the world so that it doesn’t pain her anymore. But how they feel you against how you feel for them, it matters not. You have become their world and everything, while to you they were dispensable friends. When you look in their eyes, traveling to the depths of their hearts, you say a million things to yourself. For a million reasons you should love them. No paper would do it justice. Its anything not in the mind but of the heart. A feeling only felt, which I didn't.


“How about in the future, Could you include me in your life? I'm willing to wait for you for as long as it takes. You can have your fun then return back to me. Do you think there’s any chance for ‘us’ in the future?” She asked after a long silence. I gathered my courage and remembered the saying told to me by my grandfather long ago while I was still young. “Love is a part of life. But life is not a part of love. Therefore life is more important than love.” And I just replied a blank No! , I don’t think there is a chance for us.


No more words were needed. She started running away. Her knees seemed to give way and she fell on the muddy ground. She writhed as someone who is in severe pain and her limbs were dreadfully convulsed. She got up just about when I started her way for rescue. And she rushed away. I didn’t look at her this time. I just heard splashes upon the stagnant pools of water, then the sound of crisp running footfalls from the street.


The departure time to Nairobi was eight o’clock in the morning. And I was still wandering aimlessly about the garden outside our home. It would be useless to have laid myself on a bed because I surely would be hag-ridden all night. I do not know what pushes time so fast when people are in depressing thoughts, for the moon had sunk and a bright morning was breaking when I came to myself. The ejaculation had been drawn from unusual sounds of marching footsteps and a distinct sound of police siren somewhere. I decided to follow the trampers, and I saw that the siren was from the direction of Aisha’s home. The place was choked with villagers from North, south, East and West of Ratna square. And there was an ambulance accompanying the police car parked beside the guava tree that was in front of Aisha’s home. Up there, I saw her hanging from a rope tied on her neck loosely so as to swing from side to side. She had committed suicide.


What! in the name of heavens is happening to me now? I felt bitter in my chest. My heart was aching and I felt my my hairs erect brought about the straining in my mind. Why is the world turning against me? Am i to blame for this? Of course not. I was just making a decision for the good of my future. but she has taken away her life because of me. Its not fair. I could have stopped this. It was a selfish decision. Had i decided otherwise, Oh! Lord. This is guiltiness. Am i going to live with it forever? Forgive me my Lord. Please forgive me Aisha. Should i kill myself? Should i not return to job in the middle east? Please tell me what i should do to redress the consequences of my ruthless decision. Oh! Aisha please, come back so that we can talk it over.