Cindy the K street prostitute, part one.

Wanaume wote ni mbwa.
Zi, wanaume wote ni matako yo mbwa.
Apana, wanaume wote ni shonde ya mbwa shoga !

How such thoughts formed in the head of a former Sunday School singer, only the devil knows. God had abandoned me to become a rag under the feet of men, my work was to clean their dirt.
Before you start preaching, shut up. I memorised five Bible verses before I was five. By twelve, I had the confidence to stand in church and read entire chapters in three languages. What happened at thirteen ? Let me tell you, you fools.
My father abandoned me. The only man who never used me. The only man who loved me. He drove his car into a ditch while drunk and died. Stupid fool. I felt like he did it deliberately so I could suffer. After he died, my mother was left with three children to bring up. A woman who couldn’t even support herself.
After the funeral, I was confused, angry and hopeless but I had to woman up. This foolish bitch couldn’t survive without my help. I cooked, cleaned and brought up the two little brats while she scrabbled away at her low paying job. Thank God for Uncle Peter. He was my father’s brother and a close neighbour. He stepped up and helped with the manly tasks. How much would it cost, you ask ? Not much, just my virginity.
One Saturday while I was home alone, he waltzed in with with nyama choma under his arm and beer on his breath. He asked if I was alone and when I confirmed, told me to get a chopping board and knife. He cut the warm flesh into bits and fed me. It was soooo nice. When his hand reached out and touched my thigh, I froze.
Unafanya nini Uncle ?
He grabbed my neck and squeezed. I stared at the knife in his hand and yielded. He pressed his gross body on mine and I felt his hand rip my underwear. I felt pain as he violated me, anger at my weakness and above all, shame. In two minutes, he released his disgusting seed and I slunk off to the bathroom to wash my humiliation and blood away.
When I returned, he had finished the meat. He put 100 shillings on the table and told me not to tell anyone. He left as quickly as he came but his memory will take decades to leave. Of course he wasn’t going to only rape me once. He kept returning. Kept leaving me money, as if to bribe his guilt away.
As if poisoned, my body rejected his seed. By the time I was 16, I had miscarriaged three times. Each time I told him I was pregnant, he had cried like a little boy and promised to stop. But he always came back.
One fateful evening, I put the kids to sleep while my mother was in church. The bastard came over for his usual fun. While he was pumping away, I heard a loud scream from the door. Finally, I thought, here was mother to rescue me. He jumped off the bed and stood with trousers at knee level. She quickly came forward and Thump !!!
Wuuuui. Aki Mum umenigonga kwa nini?
Blows rained on me. I was confused. Eventually my uncle pulled up his pants and grabbed her. The attack turned verbal. Malaya. Curse. Death. Shame. My house. The words fell like hailstones. He dragged her out of the room and said the devil was at work. She started crying and beseeching God to smite me. They talked in low tones.
I looked under my bed where I kept his dirty bribes. I collected them together and pocketed them. Grabbing a small bag, I threw a few clothes in. I opened the window and softly eased myself out. I ran to the gate and freedom. Behind me I heard her words as clear as a bell.
Usiwahi rudi hapa malaya hii. Ukufie huko unaenda.
At the bus stop, I hailed the first one that came along. I didn’t care where they were going. The tout told me that ‘Town ni mia mbili’. Which town ? I didn’t ask. That is how I ended up standing outside a bhajia shop in a place I heard people calling Tea Room. At night. With a small bag and two thousand shillings in my pocket.
I was free from that mongrel of a man forever.
I wouldn’t be his prostitute any more.


nice hekaya, pole for the girl child,@Afro once posted that a girl without a father who had passed on at tender age are usually left very bewildered by life.

Good morning @Baba Toto

You conjure up such thoughts at 5.13 on a Saturday morning?


Wooi, poor girlchild!

What a story …

Torn between whether to like or let it pass… hope it’s not real.


Sasa hapa ndio kunaulizangwa… Tukusaidie aje sasa mami