Nothing too Serious

Nothing too Serious

I once got hit by a truck at Roysambu. It happened fast, really fast. I was actually minding my own business on the side of the road with white earphones slack from my phone to my ears, checking out my twitter notifications; my bomb ass tweet must have gone viral or something. Suddenly, a truck came, left the wide road it was meant to be on and came straight for my face. Anyway, it was not a big deal. I recovered fully after an entire year. Momma made nice food and I added weight from 54 to 68Kgs. Oh, before I forget, the truck company refused to pay my medical bill and two years later we are still chasing each other like cats and mice in courts of law.


What I have not recovered from is a huge dick when I was five years old. A huge dick that was meant to do unspeakable things to me had my siblings not walked in from church. I remember who the dick belonged to. His face looks like his dick. He is a dickhead. He was an esteemed fellow brother at our church. He would tell my parents that he would take care of us on Sunday afternoons when they went to church meetings and functions. I remember vividly that he undressed me and chucked his dick but was hesitant to use it. I think my angels were scolding his bad behaviour in his conscience. Anyway, he took too long to decide what he wanted to do with his weapon and my brother walked in and he pretended to have been adjusting his trousers.


I immediately forgot about that though. It was not on my mind until my boyfriend in campus turned the music a little louder in his room and pinned me to the floor like a piece of cloth. With his dick out, I recalled the earlier childhood dick as he shoved his in and out over and over. I did not scream. It was painful though. Tears flowed to my ears and I saw my life flash before my eyes. He was like an angered animal panting on top of me like a tired tractor.


We were both Christian Union members and it was the reason we had survived through to the third year as virgins. At least I was. I am not sure about him. Fornication was wrong, sex was meant for people who were married and that was written in stone. I think he just got tired of my NOs and decided to take it himself like a piece of paper that had been dropped on the floor.


I guess the reason I did not scream was that I was shocked. He was a gentleman who only placed his hand on my hip while we slept and never even tried to smooch me when I did not consent. Anyway, he said that his friends had told him that no means yes in feminine secret language or something like that. I was not listening to anything he said because of the pain and the blood which was now flowing out of my lady parts like a lazy water tap.


He pulled out though, so everything was supposed to be better now. He also begged later, went on his knees asking for forgiveness as I took everything I owned in that house. If I remember correctly, he blamed the devil or something. Something about the devil getting to his head. I was not listening, I wish I was but I could not. All I was feeling was the pain, a burning pain that felt like ten spears in between my thighs. Oh, before I forget, I also remember the shock, shaking like Kasarani Stadium at the mercy of Gor Mahia spectator fans. My heart throbbed inside my chest with both fists like it was trying to break free.


I did not tell anyone about this dick or the other one. Looking back, I do not know why I did not. Instead, I tried to bury it deep in an unmarked grave and drink my pain in silent huge gulps.


I remember he insisted on taking me out on dates months later. Saying that he would never allow himself to be in an isolated room with me again. That he did not want the devil to walk into his head and hurt me again. I think these dicks have minds of their own. Or maybe that is where the devil builds his castles for occasional visits.


I think in his own crooked way he did love me. Hard love in a way he claimed was a custom in his family and his community where a man was never allowed to show weakness. I will not tell you his tribe because it is not important. I think I loved him even more because a year later, I found myself on a date in town with him.


Oh, I forgot, both our associations with Christianity and Christian Union hit a dead end on that day. I had spent a good amount of my time in the halls advising young girls to conserve their bodies. After the incidence, I felt that if I talked to them anymore, God would send Angel Gabriel to strike me down or send Thor to set lighting and thunder upon my wrecked soul. I left the church like a good criminal leaves his crime scene, abruptly and untraceable. They tried to call me back to Christian Union but I could hardly hear them over the blankets above my head and the wailing accompanied by my tears. That is what life had become.


Back to the date. It was at Kilimanjaro, Kimathi Street at CBD, Nairobi. I took coffee because I wanted to leave fast, but then thirty minutes later I was digging into the chicken and the fries like a paid excavator. He even brought flowers and a dress as a gift – an expensive dress. Maybe he was really sorry but it did not matter then, the alternative to this date was solitude and misery so I decided to date him.


I think Angel Gabriel or Thor or both of them did not agree with my decision. The day I was to visit him at his house in Roysambu, a truck ran over my face like dust rag on the porch. Again I remember pain above my hip. Awful pain and I was so sure my short life had come to culmination. I remember not being able to breathe. Struggling to talk when they took me to the hospital in an ambulance that produced all kinds of sirens but Nairobi people were not ready to give way. I think getting home in time for 7 o’clock news was much more important than my life – but I survived so I have no beef with Nairobi people.


On second thought, I do. Shame on you!


He did not come to see me in hospital, my father would have skinned him alive and feasted on his flesh had he shown his face. I think he also realized how fate did not want us together so that marked the end of our relationship. Anyway, I told my parents about the earlier dick and my mother wept in pain while my father ground his teeth in anger. We prayed for peace though, but not before I narrated to them a story of the second dick.


I thought I was going to die so I was checking all my boxes before Thor stopped me at the entrance to heaven for having withheld the truth.


Paulo Coelho in Brida, using a character he names, Wicca, explains the concept of the soulmate. He says that reincarnation is a valid belief. When you die, you come back, reborn, only under different circumstances. When you die your soul floats somewhere before it splits to two, three or four souls, sometimes even more and then you are reborn. From then on, your life’s agenda could be concealed under chasing money, power or sex but what you are really looking for is your soulmate. In one lifetime it is mandatory that you will meet your soulmate(s) at least once. If you meet them and you fall in love with each other then you live fulfilled lives. If you meet more than one soulmate then your heart is torn and you keep wondering whether you made the right choice. Worse is when you do not find your soulmate. Your life becomes an endless series of desolation, strife and misery.


I do not know what should happen when someone you are so sure is your soulmate casually decides to rape you.


Nevertheless, never listen to anything Paulo Coelho says, his brain is probably in year 3018.


I never tried to contact him anymore after that, mostly, because my parents watched over me like a small kid, feeding me like a cow for slaughter, but also because I was done. I could not forget what he had meant to me or what he had done to me, but, I think I would have a better chance with someone that is not my soulmate.

Dick A disappeared from town although I am sure father is still looking for him like a wolf on a hunt. His head looks like a dick. He can run but he cannot hide.

Nonetheless, Dennis, what was your question again?

Oh, the reason I am quitting my job? Oh well, marketing for big firms is another form of exploitation. They tell you to get them eight million revenue every month and then go ahead to pay you peanuts like you just had amnesia on how much money the company actually has. You look shocked. Are you even listening?

Haha Dennis, No, No, I am over that now. If I met Dick A, first I would like to find out whether his head really does look like a dick or I just imagined it. As for Dick B, I would probably let him buy me lunch. There is a quote by Aldous Huxley that goes…


It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. Lightly, lightly – it is the best advice ever given me. So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quick stands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly. Lightly my darling.


That said Dennis, do you think I should quit? Not my life, no, that one will eventually be fine, quit my job?



Feature Image by Mukiri Gitiri.



We did not bring the Creative Award of the Year this time, we lost the award but not our will to fight for it in future. We keep going. We keep walking. Thank you, everyone, that voted and even more, everyone who always drops by 🙂



One thought on “Nothing too Serious

  1. I so love Johnie Walker. Mostly the keep walking part. Life is like a one-way buffet. A “take everything I serve kind of buffet. Not much chance to say no to that greasy beef that has you insides in turmoil. Take it, eat it and deal with your stomach.

    Lightly child, lightly.


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