A new constitution is signed. In it the two thirds gender rule. Nairobi chooses its own, a year later she is slapped across the face by another of Nairobi’s own.
I do not know her name, no one does, I hope. She is walking in downtown, decides to pass through Embassava. They descend on her like wild dogs, she is torn to pieces. In the shadow of the Hilton, time stops as she loses all humanity, one item of clothing at a time.
A route 44 bus. I hear about it at the salon. She has no friends here. What kind of woman steps out with nothing on underneath? She is pried open before all the world. Trapped is not the word. Caged maybe. They talk about her father at the salon and how her shame is ultimately his. I think this is funny. Even after she has been destroyed, she still cannot own anything. Not even her pain. I stop laughing, 44… that’s my route.
They march in Nairobi #mydressmychoice. In the heat of battle, Member of Parliament Mwiti has a HIV test done on the woman who will be his rape victim.
Her voice echoes across Facebook, trickles deliciously on WhatsApp. It’s only audio, people hear may things. I only hear no, no, no, no, stop.
The morning conversation on classic 105 with Maina and Kingangi. I’m sorry sir I did not realize your balls would fall off if you touched a sufuria. Apologies again, did you trip and fall onto Thika Road? Were you looking for mechanic for your Subaru and accidentally wound up at my flat in Roysambu? Did you think Tinder was the Equity bank app?
I will be physically assaulted by partner before I turn 30. Statistically…
My mother and I are the same. It’s freaky. But she chose my father. I will not make her mistake.