The truth is, even if you wear a sack men will still harass you sexually! These people are just crazy. You think you are dressed too decently to be harassed and or too old, sorry, if you are a woman you are never past sexual harassment,these gender rape babies ,animals, grannies, homeless women on the streets. It’s not your dress. I just thank God that I can create a bubble to insulate me from men. It’s terrible having to deal with them.
The night I almost walked home naked will forever haunt me.
I was in town with my friends after a movie date session together.It was such an epic night !We said our goodbyes and there I was debating whether to get a cab or hop onto a matatu that was nearly full. Impulsively, I opted for the matatu, only to find it was already packed. As I stepped off and ordered a cab instead, I heard someone shout, “Weh, malaya hii!”
I kept my head down, ignoring it, but a sharp sting on my forehead made me look up. A folded jaba leaf had been thrown at me. The man who threw it, sitting at the back of the matatu I’d just missed, spat out his window and screamed, “Ndauma haha no gukuruta nguo iyo malaya ino!” (If I get out of this seat, I must strip you naked!)
The insults kept coming, vile and unwarranted. I stayed frozen in place, scrolling my phone as if it could shield me from the disgust curling in my stomach. But within seconds, he was there, standing right next to me…along with another man.
I tucked my phone away, a futile attempt to reclaim some sense of safety. Their hands were on me before I could process what was happening. They groped me, clawing at my dress, almost tearing it.
I was paralyzed, the fight I’d sworn to have in moments like these buried under sheer terror. My mind was spinning, my legs rooted to the ground. Then I saw them…two more men approaching. For a split second, I thought it was over, that they had come to join in.
But they didn’t.
One of them shoved the monsters off me, shouting, “Uko na kichwa mzuri wewe? What are you even doing?”
The other cursed them out, dragging them back. “Labda hujui babako na unamuita malaya! You’re the same guys who attack women during protests!”
The matatu conductor came over, asking why they were harassing me, but his question fell on deaf ears. I was trembling, my mind a mess of fear, shame, and rage.
I am still shaking.
They were in my dreams last night…their voices, their hands, their insults. A part of me can’t stop questioning: Was it the dress? Did I invite this by daring to feel beautiful, to wear something I love?
But I know better. This isn’t the first time.
I’ve been groped in jeans, in maxi dresses, in office wear. I’ve been assaulted in spaces that should have been safe. A man once pressed himself against me in a matatu. Another sent me unsolicited photos of his body. When I reported it, I was told it was because I wrote about sex. But even women who post only about their businesses aren’t spared from such vile messages.
What is it, then?
What is it about being a woman that makes the world think it owns you?
I am tired.
Tired of being reduced to an object.
Tired of being a woman in a world that refuses to let me just exist.
This is me ranting and writing how I am feeling,tired.
I am traumatized but not surprised because being a woman is a whole task.
This is the dress that almost got me stripped.
#WeAreNotSafe
#StopAbuseAgainstWomen
#EndRape
#muthonikimanidesigner
#sultryscribbler
#saturdaynightout
