Blood and Tears

St. Michael the Archangel,
defend us in battle.
Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the Devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray,
and do thou,
O Prince of the heavenly hosts,
by the power of God,
thrust into hell Satan,
and all the evil spirits,
who prowl about the world
seeking the ruin of souls.
Amen.
(Prayer to St. Michael the Archangel)

I got jet lag! Hee hee! Just got in from Mombasa, city of God. Back to my 'studio apartment' that I had apparently missed. Really wish I would've stayed home longer but gotta get back to school and what not. Nairobi is still he hell hole it's always bee. Mad traffic from here to waaaaay over theeeeeere! And there's a fuel shortage to top it off. Get why Mombasa is the city of God?

It's 1635hrs as I start to write this. Imogen Heap's 'Find Yourself' album playing in the background. You may know her track Hide and Seek that has been sampled by countless musicians. That's where the title of today's post comes from.

Are you wondering why I started this post with a prayer? The reason is because, dear reader, we need to pray without ceasing! This world just keeps handing us curve balls. They call it growing up but if this is what growing up means, I quit!

My mind has been on overdrive since last night. Couldn't wait for that plane to land so that I could get my fingers on this keyboard. Going round in circles, aren't I?

Yesterday afternoon was an otherwise ordinary one. Just chilling, enjoying the last day of my holiday with my sister (who has not yet given birth), watching a very useless show (read BBA Amplified) and just talking. We then get a call from mum informing us that Wambui had been killed by her husband.

Wambui Kabiru was a journalist. She worked for Ntv a while back. May she rest in peace and may perpetual light shine upon her.

We are what are usually called 'family friends'. Grew up in the same hood, went to the same church, raised by parents with common ideologies. Didn't talk to her much but my sister and I were close to her brother. Mum found out in the one o'clock news. She was shaken! So was dad. Appropriately so because you never imagine such tragedies can occur so close to home. I think what also got to them is that something like this could happen to one of their daughters.

Wambui's husband apparently strangled her to death and left her lying in bed for close to 12 hours. Icing on the cake, he called her parents and told them what he'd done.

I hope he is lying in a pool of his own blood somewhere where no-one will find him and that scavenger birds will feed on his dead flesh and after that his bones are ground to dust by a herd of elephants such that there will never be a trace of his existence in this world. (Breathe!)

Then again, I hope he he is caught (didn't tell you he's now missing, did I?) and justice is served. I should believe in innocent till proven guilty but I'm hanging my scholarly robes just for this case.

Brings me to my unanswered question; what's the point? Of marriage of course. Why bother choosing to stay with one man if all he's good for is hitting you and killing you?

I know not all are like that. I bet Wambui's husband wasn't either but look... How much can you really know someone? Lucky you if you notice his violent traits before he lays a hand on you and you escape unscathed. What about the 'silent killer'. Like Wambui's husband. One look at him and you wouldn't think him capable of such animosity.

I'd rather not know. Whether he'll be the kindest person on earth or whether I will smell his cruel nature from a mile away. No need. All the same.

Remember, however, that this post started with a prayer. I guess we (I) should just pray and pray without end that whoever God has in store for us is perfect in all ways a human being can be. I'm just full of double standards, no? Well, my choice would be not to be tied down to some man. Just get seed, conceive, give birth and live happily ever after. But I am my mother's daughter and my mother has taught me a lot. And I'd really love it if my father would walk me down the aisle, one day. Even if I'll be 40.

Anything to not be part of the statistic. Not to be found strangled in my bed by the man I gave my life to. Anything not to have a wall stained by my blood and 46 stab wounds in my body. Anything not to have my body buried in an unmarked grave beside some dusty road to Tigania. Anything not to have a bullet smartly between my eyes. All because I loved a man to whom all I was was a thing he owned. Anything not to have my head banged on the kitchen wall that I just painted. Anything. Anything to avoid the one day he will slap me because he had a bad day and I'm nagging him about the bills that have to be paid.

I have too much pride to lose it to a mere man.

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