The other day, I was taking a stroll along Arboretum Drive, thinking about all my problems. I was recollecting, especially, about all the stupid things I had done the previous year. And boy, don’t I mean very many silly things! Was 2016 a stupid year or was it just me? Probably just me. I kept thinking, laughing out loud at some of them and frowning, almost crying (just almost) at some. It was in the midst of this ambivalence that I ran into an old friend, and I was so happy that I lost track of my thoughts for a moment. Matilda* (real name disclosed) was one of those people people call beautiful souls; one of those people that should always be happy in life because they make everyone smile, even me.
Whenever I was with Matilda, I always felt that there was never anything in the world to worry about. Man, I had missed her! So we started catching up. We talked about her boyfriends; how Tibitius was a douchebag that could carry lots of loads of bullshit. Twenty minutes later, we were still talking. But now about the upcoming national elections, the lecturers’ strike which is going very well (keep it up, champs!) down to the security of the nation. And somehow we remembered the last major students’ strike that had had us thrown into Central Police.
April 2016. I couldn’t forget it for any reason because my descendants must hear about it. A day after April Fools’ Day, but this was no joke; it was happening. And it was fun! I remember calling my little brother from the cell but he thought I was extending the fooling game. He just laughed and I laughed too. It was one of the most thrilling experiences of my life. I was laughing and mimicking some of those retarded GSU officers whipping the magnificence out of our asses while accusing us bitterly of thinking that we were better than them because we were in college. But suddenly, Matilda’s smile disappeared and her face became a shade darker. Ladies and gentlemen, when that happens, it means trouble.
My friend was not okay. She had never been since the day of the unfortunate ordeal. The experience had affected her pretty badly, and I was embarrassed that I had assumed that everyone had found it fun and exciting like I had. I had never really taken a minute to ask Matilda and our other friend, Cindi* (again not a real name), how they were holding up. What a bad friend I am. What a bad friend. You are wondering what happened to Matilda? This is her story.
***
So you asked me about my GSU saga last year, and I think I was like I don’t want to talk about it. I told you that you are stuck with me for life…hehe I hope so…life happens at times…I can at least tell you some of my truths. Plus I don’t want to start another year having the same fears from last year…mum says I should let go and I agree with her. I know writing about it isn’t the same as talking to someone about it…it hides emotions behind the laptop plus I don’t get to see your reaction but you know me. If I get an idea, I itch to do it then. Confession...I have actually never told anyone the whole truth about that day…I lied to dad …I told him I was in my hostel but I was at ADD…he was already sooo mad at me…I think he still is…will never trust me again but is all good. Didn’t want to add salt to an injury. I also never talked to mum about it…kept telling her I was okay… I still wouldn’t want her to know her daughter’s pain...would hurt her. I told my sister scanty stuff too…classmates and friends, I avoided talking to them about it…scanty info. I think my greatest fear has been to be blamed for being at ADD during a strike…it would be like being told that it is my fault the GSU beat me…even though I deny it, I shouldn’t have been there that day. I also didn’t want to be pitied…was already pitying myself, plus humiliated.
Here goes…
I think it was on Saturday, exams next week …was in a short grey dress, blue sweater and blue boots….worst choice of clothes. We thought of discussing at ADD…another horrible idea. So we go…the discussions are all good…there was quite a number of people in there…strike still on along that karoad. I think it never occurred to me that it could all go wrong, so we never left. Plus it wasn’t chaotic in there. You know how they say ghafla bin vuu, there is teargas everywhere and so much screaming. I am trying to hide somewhere but there is nowhere to hide. For some reason, I imagine this is how people feel when they are attacked by the Al Shabaab. I think this is where my fears started…that commotion and helplessness. The people screaming at the GSU…armed with rungus and the shield. They are screaming like the weed just kicked in and jumping higher than Maasais…the whole floor shakes when they jump. I am holding to my bag so tightly…I had already put everything in there. A friend was shaking so much. We are asked to lie on the ground. Some guys are beaten…you just close your eyes and can hear the air move as they swing their rungus…I can’t believe that it is landing on someone…so much force. We are escorted out of the building, holding shoulders in a single file. I am helping some girl carry her engineering project papers. She looks fragile and scared…am telling her it will be okay. We are escorted to the tarmac…outside YMCA. It is raining. We are asked to lie on the ground facing the tarmac. His exact words are “kiss the tarmac”. Basically, I am being washed by the runoff water, my dress is stuck to my body…the rain…I’ve heard of rape cases...am so scared holding my bag tightly and her project…I am literally crying out to God “ please keep us safe.” It feels as if God is not listening…like my pleas are not leaving the ground. The guy keeps on going on about how we think we are special because we are in UON and how smart we feel for studying when others are striking…how we will never get jobs…he too went to school…blablabla…inferiority complex, I think to myself. They take turns beating us as they chant while saying demeaning things. I am picked on for wearing indecent clothes plus my dress is stuck to my body thanks to the rain. We are asked to roll over to the lorry…remember that WhatsApp video? All true. I try rolling but can’t move much… I am in so much pain clothes not moving…am beaten for being defiant…slapped a couple of times…first time to be slapped…I can remember their exact words and faces…I am so angry and full of hate…I even became numb, I no longer feel the pain…tears can’t stop rolling down my face…not because of the pain…hatred, I guess…or the fact that I couldn’t believe I was in that situation. We are asked to walk to the lorry…more beating, of course. I am crying and venting so uncontrollably. I call dad…he calls back…I text him…another horrible idea. We are taken to Central Police…swollen eyes from the slaps and cries. I notice my right thigh is so much swollen from behind …had a slight limb…more tears. Someone takes me upstairs 5 minutes later…I am released, no case. Thank God…dad got me out…I am not to say I am hurt or vent on social media or I will be accused of something and jailed….more tears, of course. Dad and my aunt are angry. I cool down then make calls to get my friends out.
That evening, I cried so much…I still do not believe I survived that…It hurt especially coz I had a brown mark on my left eye…lied for some time that I always had those marks…hehe some people bought that story…I think I still have some selfies I took trying to cheer myself up. My super swollen leg didn’t hurt much but was painful when walking…had to limb slightly. I even discovered I have other marks on my shoulders…can’t remember being beaten …and my back…I will check if they faded away. I am a tough girl most of the times so physical wounds I could deal with but the emotional ones…I have no idea. I got over it quickly…the crying and destructing myself with my friends…forgetting it happened. I remember the incident once in a while, and still shed a tear.
At that moment, I was so mad at God because I cried and pleaded with Him to protect and keep us safe but he didn’t answer. Right now, I am grateful that I wasn’t a hospital case… it could have been worse. Plus, I know I was beaten but I do not have that mental picture of being beaten … I think I was full of hatred I became numb to the pain or God kept me from it. I also moved on fast…I wasn’t broken after that…I remember hoping that they marked my face because I will be great they won’t believe it is the same girl they mercilessly beat. Up to now, I hate them so, so much that I pray they are somewhere trying to shake off the image of that innocent girl they beat, especially the guy who slapped me and the dark one who kept screaming. I sometimes pray and curse that they remain miserable and they will remember my face when I hit the headlines for my achievements. I know it is wrong to hate but I know I will eventually let go…commotions still scare the hell out of me…even loud noises…hate that feeling. Sudden braking of the car still scares me and the screeching too. I remember struggling for breath as I was coming home for 12th … that rough driver hit the brakes suddenly when I was asleep. I was so scared, I desperately struggled to hold on to something, anything.
This is the whole point of talking about this…telling it as it is this time…regardless of people’s thoughts and comments. I think to forgive myself too…for being there in the first place…tell myself I was there, and it happened…it is okay to admit that. My prayer is to let go of the fear and live dangerously …I’m learning to swim and still scared to let go of the pole by the pool…hehe …so what if I let go…I might drown…I pray not…or actually, learn to freely move in water.
***
When I parted ways with Matilda, do you think I was still thinking about stupid things I did in fucking 2016? You got that right; I wasn’t. That was nothing. I was just a silly girl. And a bad friend.
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