13 and 30

I want to start today's post by asking you, my dear reader, to be open and judgment-free as you read this today. I had a conversation with somebody who has gone through a terrible ordeal and it opened a box I keep closed in my mind. It's the attempted rape box.

The first time, l was 13 years old and in class 8. l came from school and was watching NTV evening music show, The Beat. There was a knock and as l opened the door my neighbor walked in and sat down on the three-seater sofa. He was my mother's best friend's son. He was home from university. I returned the door and sat on one of the two other seats.

A few minutes passed and he moved and sat at the other one sitter near me. l cannot tell what he said but my spirit was disturbed. He reached out and torched me. I woke up and went outside to the balcony. We used to live on the second floor. It felt safer. People were walking below me but the sun was setting.

He followed me to the balcony. I move to the furthest end. He cornered me and put his hands on my shoulders. l kicked him in the balls and ran into the house. I locked the balcony door and ran out of the house. I ran out of the building, through the streets to my mother's other friend, our cleaning lady, and told her everything. Let's call her Auntie.

Auntie took me back home at 8 pm. Mum was at home. I told her what happened. She did not believe me. I started crying. Auntie believed me but my own mother did not. We followed her to the first floor where the man lived. He was at home with his mother. I repeated what happened. He denied it. l was deemed a liar and the tears just flowed.

I never spoke to him ever again. My mum maintained the friendship till today.

The second time l was 30 in 2021. My son and l had just moved to Kiambu. Literary on the moving day. The furniture, boxes, bags, and everything were everywhere. My immediate neighbor came by and greeted us. He offered to help us unpack but l didn't want to unpack at that hour. We were very tired. Then the lights went out. I asked him to leave and he did. I unwrapped the fish l had bought for supper. My son ate as l made the bed. Then the neighbor came back.

He wanted to keep me company hoping that the lights would come back. I was taking my son to bed so l told him to leave. He was taking too much. He just sat there talking. I got into bed with my son. I normally affirm to him before he falls asleep. I dozed off. I blacked out of exhaustion.

I abruptly woke up minutes later to my neighbor kneeling by the bed and his hand on my thigh. He had removed the duvet and was lifting my dress. l punched him off me, jumped out of the bed, and pushed him out of the house. Immediately locked the house with padlocks.

This one was hard. I let him in. Twice. It would have been avoidable. The following morning, he knocked on my door. I opened it, He wanted to come in. I stood my ground. "I know what you did last night. Never come to my house again and do not talk to me or my son." He laughed, stepped back, and walked away.

A few days later, l told a neighbor what had happened. A lady in her 40s. Let's call her Mama Peter. She believed me. l thought of reporting it to the police but she discouraged me. A month later, we stopped talking with Mama Peter. I would come out of my house to find her and that man sitting outside chatting and laughing.

Two months after this incident, unable to keep up with his bills, he moved out. I used to see him in the neighborhood. Walking at night was torture. This year l saw him in Kiambu town.

It's painful to remember. It's more painful that the women in my life did not believe me and went further to support these men. When he graduated from university Mum attended his ceremony. Mama Peter didn't miss an opportunity to laugh with him whenever l was outside the house. I talk to my mother but our relationship has never been the same. I never talked to Mama Peter ever again.

I am a talkative person. But only one or two people know that l talk a lot of nonsense while the important information is guarded close to my heart. When people use the information you give them as a weapon, you learn to keep your life a secret.

I live in a society that has taught me l to protect myself. I have to protect my son. I have to protect my mother even if l don't want to. l live in a society where so much is asked of me and little is given. I have to be strong, defensive, intimidating, and untrusting.

It's not a me thing. Most women have boxes of trauma they keep buried. I find writing to be part of my healing process. Again, l ask you not to judge me but rather understand me better.