Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
My Experience in the hands of kidnappers.
The above happened on the afternoon of the 21st September 2009.
I had an appointment at my Barbershop at 14:20hrs which is on Kenyatta Avenue and arrived there at that time we had agreed. However since there were two people before me I waited for my turn. He was through with me at around 16:00hrs. There after I crossed over to Standard Street and was walking past Simmers Restaurant when I came across a pregnant lady who looked as if she was staggering and blood was dripping on her right leg. At that time I was talking to a friend of mine on my cell phone but asked to call him back since I was concerned by what I had seen. Upon sensing my concern the lady beckoned me and asked me to assist her get car which was parked a few meters from where we were standing. “Once there I will be fine”, is what she said. Since she looked desperate, I took it upon myself to assist her.
As we were walking toward the car we were approached by two men who were looked middle aged and were in sunglasses, calling out “Wanjiru/ Wanjiku”, can’t figure out which of the two it was, anyway they asked her what was wrong and that they were volunteering to take her to the hospital. One man opened the back door to the saloon car we were approaching so that I could help the woman seat down. Upon ensuring that the woman was comfortably seated on the backseat I felt a hard thing being pointed at my back, on looking back, I saw aone of the men who had opened the door holding a pistol to me, he then told me to get into the same car. Upon entry the same woman removed a cloth from her handbag and covered my mouth and nose.
That is all I remember because I blacked out and when I came to I was in a very dark room, half naked and shivering. Further scrutiny revealed that I only had my vest on. I initially thought I was dead but then I asked myself how come there was no light/any sign of life to show where I was. Anyway I started familiarizing myself with the place by touching the floor and wall behind me, in that process I touched something that felt weird and out of panic I let out a loud cry and to my shock came a voice from somewhere saying, “Huyo Ameamka”. That’s when I realized that I was somewhere enclosed since there were no windows/ any form of ventilation and there did not seem to be electricity since the room was pitch dark. I onlysaw a sign of life when the door was opened and a man walked in and from his attire, I got confused. (He was in a hooded mask, the ones that normally have two holes at the eyes, a black coat and black gumboots). Since there was light from where he had come, for the first time I was able to pick out at least five to six captives who were scattered across the room and were also half naked. He picked up one man by his hand, walked out and closed the door behind him. A few minutes/ an hour (I couldn’t tell the time) the man was brought back in. Since there was nothing much to do because routine was to wait for your turn to be picked, if not one would sleep and wake up much later when we would be fed with a one bite of a queen cake and a sip of soda.
As we were seated there all I could do was pray and ask God for a second chance in this life and also for his guidance. As time passed I heard the door open very fast and a man came in and asked the person who was seated near the door to wipe the mess she had made. Apparently she had gone for a short call thus she was asked to lick her mess since there was no one there to wipe it. She did try licking it but was defeated so the man started kicking her but I volunteered to help her that’s when the man stopped kicking her.
A few hours after that ordeal the same man, I presume, came back and picked me up. I was taken into what looked like an operating room where they connected some gadgets on my chest to check on my heart rate then smeared some liquid on my chest and stomach and checked what was in my body (like an ultrasound) lastly they took a sample of my semen then took me back to the usual room where were being kept. Kindly note that these tests were being done to everyone however there were some people who would go in and not come back. When that happened it would take a short while before you would hear people cutting something and sharpening of metals and drills then the whole room would be engulfed with the smell of blood.
Anyway I have no idea how long I stayed but when the usual pickup man came he was accompanied by another one. They came to inform me that my organs were worthless however they would not let me go before they got anything from me insinuating that they wanted to rape me. When the lady I had helped earlier heard what was transpiring she asked the men to go to her instead of taking me. She spoke rather graphically to convey that a lady is better than a man, rather sacrificing herself to be raped on my behalf. When I heard this I refused but the lady insisted and infact told me to shut up. When the men heard this they just laughed and walked out.
When they came again they dragged me out of the room, blindfolded and took me to another room where I was given my clothes to wear. I was then dragged outside the building or house. When we got to where the car was they removed their blindfold and took my handkerchief to use it as a blindfold. I was then put in the boot of a station wagon which looked like a Toyota Caldina. We then drove on a rough road for at least 30-45mins then got to the tarmac and again drove for again at least what seemed to be an hour and half. We were stopped twice at the traffic checks however they did not spot me inside the boot. When the vehicle finally came to a stop I was yanked out still blindfolded and told to walk and not look back. When the car sped off I quickly removed the blindfold and looked around. The first thing I saw was a matatu plying route 145 on further scrutiny of the area I realized that I was near Roysambu road about. On this realization I walked to Kasarani Police station.
When I got there the one thing I noticed was the watch which was reading 05:45hrs, Thursday 24th. I then took my phone, switched it on and called my wife to inform her of where I was.(Kindly note that they did not take any of my possessions, which included my wallet, driving license and monies). The policeman on duty then recorded my statement on the OB(Occurrence book) then asked to wait for their boss to come since I had to explain the same to him. He did come and I was taken through the same procedure but it was made easierby the fact that my family rather my wife had personally told him that they were looking for me so when he asked me my name again and I answered he quickly jumped up andexclaimed “Praise Jesus” something I have not heard from the ordinary police and told me that they had been looking for me.
He quickly called my wife and mother as well to inform them that I was at the police station. Later on I recorded a statement with the CID in the same station thereafter I went to the hospital for a physical checkup. The same was done on the 25th Friday and the good news is that after the results were out EVERY TEST done came out negative.
I sincerely would like to thank God for giving me a second chance in life, my very special wife for her support and love as well as my family, friends and colleagues for their prayers. I can’t thank my wife and everyone enough for the efforts they put as far as looking for me in hospitals, police stations and even mortuaries is concerned. Please keep safe and God bless each and every one of you and your families as well.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Hatim: Fuck I'm so tired and stressed, I don't know what to do, I think I need to smoke some shit
Dana: You should take a bath...
Hatim: Are you saying I'm dirty??!!
Dana: Huh?! Why would you think I'm saying you're dirty?!
Hatim: You told me to take a bath!!
Dana: Yeah, because you said you're tired and stressed out...
Now you see why mars and venus cannot possibly be an accurate depiction of the light years of mileage between women and men...
Fade - Solu Music feat Kimbele
On my wall:
The Dot - Loco arts
On my bookshelve:
A thousand splendid suns - Khaled Hossein
Monday, July 13, 2009
For a long time I've been writing amateur poetry, spoken word and such (Read, very awful roses are red derivatives). However, I am very shy when it comes to reading these pieces out loud. The kind of shyness that comes from stripping your self bare and leaving a very personal piece of you exposed to strangers to be poked and prodded, kind of like going to the gynecologist..... However at the end of this week I will perform for the first time one of my pieces in front of a live audience. Besides the feeling that I might be strutting into a firing squad with KISS MY ASS emblazoned on my chest, I'm strangely okay with it. But before I do the firing squad let me present the piece to the blogosphere first and face your criticism, it might help me decide whether or not to go on stage and publicly embarass myself or just hide out in my cozy writng closet as I've always done..... Here goes...
They say religion is opium for the masses and I smoke because it is a universal religion, where we the shunned subscribe to the credo of “Pass me the light” and hail the motto “Sharing is caring” where we the unconventional convene in our unholy convents of the smoking rooms of airports and roam the confines of smoking areas in public spaces to puff in solidarity knowing no judgement amongst each other, just as there is no honour amongst thieves, puffing away in this our religion that cannot viably distract the sinner from destruction.
Pass me the light
I smoke because I can and because that declaration makes you think of things to ask me like why I don’t jump off a bridge just because I can, and because my answer to that is that, if you compare and contrast the pleasure factor of crushed bones versus crushed tobacco, they cannot be held equal on any scale including that of lady justice.
Pass me the light
Hell, I smoke just because I think it looks sexy and because I am not willing to beg your pardon for my sincere sentiments that this sizzling ciggie sucked upon by my lipsticked lips shall not succumb to the sexism suggested by the societal standards about what a woman should or should not do, just a precedence was presented by the proactive women of 1929 as they puffed prettily down the paths of newyork torching for freedom, so shall I perpetuate their policies deemed as feminine perspective.
Pass me the light
And just as you presumptively prognosticate that I’m wounding my lungs I hereby verily declare that there are pros and cons to this wont you demonise and so I smoke because I chose instead to I heal my mind diagnosed with overload and prescribed the potion “Calm the fuck down”
Pass me the light
So Pass me the light even as you deem me a cretin, pass me the light even as you preach and chastise, pass me the light and let me ignite the doom you say, pass me the fucking light and let me smoke in peace for this essay is at an end.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
This is not one of the times I'll try to craft an elaborate post full of wit or metaphors and whatnot. Because right now I'm feeling stripped bare. I suppose this is how Adam and Eve felt when they did the naughty nookie wookie and realised they were butt nekkid. Vulnerable, confused, ashamed, abit jaded maybe with a smitten of regret and a tinge of a rosy blush to round off this unholy cocktail of emotion.
Ha, emotion. No wonder I used to scoff at the word, because it involves feeling, and feeling makes you do things which lead to other feeling later and it becomes one unending convoluted cycle of feelingness. But true to form I never listen to the inner me, Oh no never, I ignore all that tells me not to feel and go right ahead and do the deed... I feel.
Of late, I've been a horrid person. I've been a bad friend, daughter, sister, girlfriend, colleague, Hehe, and you can imagine how it makes me feel knowing I'm letting down everybody who dares to even put up with me, true story, I even cheated on my blog with twitter. Maybe some people (Read me) are just born bad and all we can do is act good and hope the horns won't peek out of the facade. Well, maybe I just picked a bad hairdresser because the horns are peeking, and maybe I shouldn't have gone off the ritalin because the tail is getting restless and swishing.
They say the devil wears prada, what do imps like me wear?! Gucchi, Burberry maybe?! I wouldn't mind a nice plaid pair of stilletos. Why do I say this, because I know how horrible I am, and I know it won't change for a long time. As I told 3CB, the core forever remains constant, and mine's rotten. So welcome to my world if you dare, know that I will use you for all you can give me and I shall give nothing in return, know that I shall not care no matter how much you do and Know that I'm not changing, and bring you're tanning gear, because apparently evil ones like me reside in hot areas.
Dark Days - Fat Freddy's drop
Free Again - Ledisi
I am - Kindred Family Soul
Friday, May 29, 2009
I'm a cool down person. There is nothing I love more than just taking it easy, laying back and closing my eyes with no distractions, just freeing my mind. Like my music. I love slow, lazy, rhythmic, calming the soul and massaging the chi back to life kind of music. "Relax into the melody..."
Like cashew nuts and almonds with raisins and yogurt, or a foamy froth at the right Fahrenheit (Frosty) on a warm day with a light breeze in a fluttering dress on the Indian ocean coast "Escape 9 to 5, cool out, the sunset touch...."
Like the picture Zamajobe paints in my head of ndawo yami, my heart, a field with grass so green and so mossy soft, and a stream that I could dip my toes in because when you cool your feet the rest of you keeps cool including your mind "Recline *ahhh* inhale nature..."
Like good soft poetry, the cliche type with a steady drum line in the background and the drip-drop of consciousness as it trickles into my mind "Out of the crowd, blaze your bliss, blossom the boom box with this..."
Like afterglow. After slow sweet sensual love with the scented candles and the cigarette lit, feeling complete in more ways than one "Cool down, relax, chill, slow down baby, love plus the sun is where I'm from...."
Like when the rain is strumming against my window and the sky is deliciously darkened. Home alone with my thoughts and a pen to siphon them onto a paper with, soulful jazz notes and a glass of sweet Californian red to keep me company "Right the rhythm radiant rustle the rain rock steady...."
Like I. Like he. Like just being. If only for a few stolen moments, Just Being.
To better understand this post, I suggest you put off your phone, kick back, sink into an easy chair, ease your mind, get a cup/ bottle/ glass of your favorite poison, light whatever you prefer to light, fuck the system and listen to Cool-down - Jazz Liberators feat Raashan Ahmad
On my bookshelve:
Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
On my wall:
Komushana a.k.a. Sunshine - Eizzy K
Monday, May 25, 2009
A rant by any other name is still a rant so if you’re not in the mood to read mine today then don’t pardon my French when tell you that you can royally fuck off!
To the brass tacks then..... I hate people who invite themselves over to my place, in fact I bloody well hate visitors in general. They never know when to leave and I have to sit there and laugh politely at their god-awful jokes while all the time formulating in my head the best way to skewer them then pit-roast them over an open fire. ( Of course this definitely excludes you T-baby and S-luv) But that was just a by the by.
So apparently I am a really bad communicator. Which is really ironic because when I applied for the torture that masquerades as higher education I ticked communication to the masses next to the little box that said choose course (apparently I also don’t do to well with fine print when I don’t have my glasses on). That having been declared, it then goes without saying that these phone gadgets are simply not my forte, especially when it comes to text messaging. I am sick and tired or people giving me grief about not answering their meaningless text messages.
Here’s the thing, when you send me an SMS and I don’t reply it, it doesn’t necessarily mean that I don’t like you (Though I probably don’t) or that you’re an insignificant little twit who doesn’t mean shit to me (Though you probably are), it just means I simply couldn’t be bothered wasting my time typing words on a miniscule keypad taking care to omit the vowels in order to make sure there are only 160 characters. And in case you have a problem with that then by all means pick a number and join the queue because I hate to break it to you, you are not the only one! And if symptoms persist, form a tribunal and take it to the bloody Hague!
Golden - Jill Scott
Golden - Chrisette Michele
Knowing God – Deepak Chopra
On my wall:
Starry night - Vincent Van Gogh