I just woke up one morning and boom I had this body. I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t pray for it, I didn’t work for it, I didn’t think about it…I did nothing for this and somehow I ended up with it. And it is the most graceful, tender, beautiful, curvaceous, piece of chocolate awesomeness. My mind is truly always blown by how God made me, He sat down and put uttermost attention into creating all this and then gifted me to the most wonderful pair in the world for them to call me daughter, I mean what did I do to deserve this?
But being this person hasn’t been easy to be honest. And before you sit there, roll your eyes all the way back to your stomach and say “cry me a river!”, hear me out. Sexual abuse and insults. Yes, those are the reasons I even cared to type this.
A few months ago, while I was still trying to survive the hell’s kitchen that is Kilifi, I went through something. It’s probably not so much a deal now than when it happened, but still, it is something significant if I remember it so vividly. It was a Wednesday evening. Oh, wait, no no, must have been night. Yes! It was definitely night. You know when we were in Kilifi we had this ka-utiaji of staying in class hadi late ati we’re reading. I can’t even tell you what we were studying so damn hard for mpaka like 8pm yet classes were ending huko ma-12 midday. Anyway classes would end, then all mutu eleven would go for lunch and return to class for our own curated afternoon session. I think we intentionally never used to go to our residences because eish! the heat in Kilifi don’t play baby! It would bake you, fry you, boil you, steam you, grill you, roast you, hizo vitu zote, and it still wouldn’t be done. It wouldn’t wait to do all that again the next day. But since our class had an AC we would just rudi and stay there until the night except for Marion. Marion would leave hata hiyo midday without giving a shit about that joto. Get this, she would even wear a sweater hapo in the middle of the week when the sun was on a vengeance streak. Now that I think about it, she must have had a deal with the sun or something. We would then go for supper at some place called morning star and then call it a day.
So this weno that I’m talking about here was no different. When this thing happened it was after we had had our supper and were heading home. A group of four people; me, Clemo, Soni, and Marion. Yes, she was there. It was just one of those days. So si we’re on our banter, beating some not-so-funny stories or probably shitting on the food we had just had or something along that line I don’t remember vizuri. There was a kapanya route hapo behind morning star but we never liked using it because it used to be hella dark and almost all the time had some drunken boys who were thirsty af. And although Clemo was with us we just couldn’t use that route coz he’s just one boy and… you get it. So on such nights, we preferred using the actual road. So us we have gone, we have gone. We reach halfway where there was a kabar, people with their keg nini nini. Si us we are minding our own and endeleaing with our safari not bothered with people who are having a good time. Then, we crossed the road and that’s when shit went down.
I remember a stupid drunken boy extending his hand to greet me. I declined this greeting because; one, covid. Two, I didn’t know this boy. Three, it was at night, people just don’t give their hands to strangers especially at night. So I just said hi back with my mouth and continued. I don’t know how this idiot took it, I don’t know if it bruised his ego, I don’t know if he didn’t like the fact that I didn’t touch his hand, or if some trauma he had had with an incident like this came rushing back but the next thing was his hands on my ass. Touching, rubbing, grappling. It felt like 2013 all over again.
In 2013, I was getting into a mat. I had just finished those not-so-helpful computer classes that my parents had begrudgingly paid for me as a pass time before uni. I don’t know why I settled on computer packages instead of some upskilling thing like ICDL or culinary classes. Anyway, I had gone to the stage and the makangas there were rowdy. Rowdy I tell you, not that for Ronda Rousey even, the bad kind. So when I got to the stage they were pulling me in all directions to enter their mats and I was refusing and shouting for them to leave me alone. I stated that I could make the decision for myself and they needed not amputate me for such a small thing as whose mat to board. That must have “rubbed” them the wrong way because as soon as I chose a mat, when I was getting in, they inappropriately touched me. A group of about five men. Unsuggested, uninvited, unwelcomed. It was my first public encounter with such a thing. As if that wasn’t enough they howled insults at me, calling me too dark to be likable, likening my buttocks to two large sufurias with soot, and saying that I was a prostitute. It wasn’t true of course, but I cried all the way home.
My first encounter was in private. I was a young child, probably four or five. My cousins were older and I had gone to visit them for a few days. One time we were hanging out and they just began examining their genitals in front of me. I didn’t realize it then but as I got older I couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck that was. Several shitty things in that line have happened to me since. I have been ogled at, been catcalled, been insulted when I stood up for myself, and been dismissed when I brought this shit up.
So on that Wednesday night, when I had to deal with this one more time, I was over it. I was infuriated. How in this century of information does one not know that uninvited touch is sexual abuse? I turned, looked at that motherfucker straight in the eye, and mastered my words but I was too angry to say anything. I only ended up screaming “what the fuck!” And you know what that boy and his friends did, they laughed and then laughed some more and then some. My friends stood up for me but even that was no good. These boys insulted them, abused them, almost fought Clemo, like a whole mess. I was left there overwhelmed with emotion that I started sobbing. I couldn’t hit them, they were tall and built and not sober. We were in the middle of the road; we could’ve gotten hit by a nduthi or a probox or something. Or God-forbid they pushed us onto oncoming traffic.
Many women, plus-size or slim, dark-skinned or light-skinned, tall or short, abled or differently-abled, white or black or brown, literate or illiterate, from all walks of life go through this. It is not funny and it is not a small deal. Help us if you can, hear us out when we tell you our ordeals, show us compassion, stand up for us, and most importantly let us educate our peers. Action begins from a point of education. Maybe this is a small little way of me spreading the word.
It’s 1800hrs I gotta shut this down and head home. See you at the next adulting lesson.
Cheers!
Oh and thanks for stopping by 🙂
laurahthinks 