Pied Piper

1330
She’s seated on a wooden bench in the brightly lit hallway, waiting to have an abortion. She’s 21-years old, still only recovering from the wreckage of teenage and now only confronting the full secrets of womanhood. Her mother thinks she’s in university reading for a degree. Technically, she is in university reading for a degree just not right now on this balmy Saturday afternoon. She’s scared. She came alone. A few minutes ago she had been in a different room in the same facility which we won’t mention but who everybody knows does abortions and circumcisions. Anyway, a nurse, a motherly lady with a soft chin, had earlier tried to ask her if this is really what she wanted to do and she had been adamant, she didn’t want to keep this baby. She had gone through two weeks of therapy but she was sure she didn’t want to carry this baby because of the shame of it. The kindly nurse had told her to wait in this hallway. Maybe time in the hallway would make her reconsider. More resolute women have changed their minds there on that bench.  Directly ahead of her, through the swinging door, she could occasionally glimpse a gynecological examination table, whenever someone walked in or left through that door. It didn’t help her nerves. Fear opened the door for terror when she finally sat in a similar bed, legs apart and hoisted up. The procedure was illegal and they were doing it quickly, covertly, in a windowless room, with an impatient nurse this time, a younger one with a more officious air, one who was keen to do this fast and head to the canteen for her sandwich break. “If you keep closing your thighs tight, you will get hurt,” she hissed, “and you may never be able to give birth again.” Her dress – a blue flowered dress – was bunched around her neck as she felt something like “drilling and wedging” inside her. She covered her face with her dress and sobbed in it for the 20 minutes they were inside her with their hands and their cold equipment. She bled. A lot.  It cost her 6K, the cost of a pair of SGR’s First class tickets to Mombasa.   After, they sat her in a different room, a sanitary pad between her legs to stem the flow of blood, and they gave her a soda and painkillers. It was ironic; she always used sanitary pads to mark the absence of fertilisation, of pregnancy, now she was using a sanitary pad to mark the end of a pregnancy.  Later, in her room – Kimberly Hall, Chiromo Campus- she will lay on her bed, feeling the sanitary pad and knowing she needs to change it but also afraid to see the blood of her actions. She will cry constantly for the next few weeks, months, after that, unstoppable tears that seem to come from nowhere. Her roommate will sit on her bed and ask her what’s wrong but she will cry facing the wall, away from her. The roommate will leave plates of food – samosas, chicken, chips, bhajias – all that will remain untouched. She will blame herself for the rape, why she never screamed, why she never fought him off, bit his face, thrashed and kicked. She will think that she deserved it. She will be embarrassed. Then she will cry again for hours. She will sit dazed through lectures, only realising they are over when she finds herself alone. Raised in a solid christian home with christian values, a girl who was a staunch anti-abortionionist, she will feel burdened by guilt. She will feel like a murderer, not any better than Cain, or Jael, or Jezebel.  When it became too much – the guilt, tears and self loathing – she finally told her mother that she was raped by a man who she barely knew, a man who she met in a matatu and who had pretended to be a fellow student, and followed her to her room and raped her. She got pregnant and she was afraid to keep the baby because it would bring them shame. What broke her heart most was that her mother, sympathetic and caring, had told her that it would have also been okay to keep the baby. That she accepts her in any way and form. That made her cry some more. Her mom told her that she wasn’t a murderer, that she was the victim, that even adults wouldn’t know what to do put in her situation, that she was just a baby who had gone through a horrible ordeal and that she was still her baby and she still loved her unconditionally.  “My marriage story, ironically, is pegged to this rape.” She now says. We are seated at the Chicken Inn at Westgate, right outside the children’s play area where my children are at. What do they say? I’m killing two birds with one stone. She has a small tattoo on the inside of her wrists. It looks like a bird, but it could be anything. It could also be a bat. You know how tattoos are; sometimes you go to have a zebra done on your chest and you come out with an offspring of a zebra or an animal that has not been named yet. The people who will have the last laugh are tattooists.   “It’s because of what I went through after the abortion that I met him.” She says. “Soon after the abortion I was heavily conflicted, I withdrew and turned to what I found peace in; music. I started playing the guitar which I’m very good at. I hurled myself at it, at songs that made me forget who I had become and what I had done. I particularly loved Whitney Houston’s songs. I could play all of them.” Whitney – herself bedevilled by her own woes – carried her pain and shame in her music. Then one day her guitar string snapped and she took it to a small repair shop where she met this young chap who held her guitar like it was a newborn baby. He cradled it, like it was sick, like it was running a fever. He was gentle. She liked that.  “He was a staunch christian, he knew his scriptures and was dedicated to it and slowly by slowly we became friends.” She says. “I needed this spiritual radar because I was so fragile during this phase and I would cry all the time. Eventually I told him what had happened, everything that had happened. He was very kind about it, and understanding. He told me God forgives. I was relieved, I felt safe knowing that he knew about that past and that he didn’t judge me.”  They started dating. He was 27-years at that time. He understood guitars, pianos, banjos, drums and violins. He understood sound, knew how sound travels as a tune and how the human soul responded to it. He was her pied piper.  “There are red flags that we see as women and ignore.” She says. “Mine were two.”  The first flag was this small, small bottle full of pills. “He’d carry it everywhere. One day I asked him what they were for and he said they were for his mind; that he thinks a lot.” The second flag was when one time she came back to Uni and found him waiting for her outside her hall. He was livid. He said he had been there for hours, that he had called her many times and she wasn’t picking. “I told him I was at the salon but he kept interrogating me. He didn’t believe me. He was furious. His eyes were red and the veins on his forehead looked like they would pop. He demanded that I tell him where the salon was and when I told him he went and confirmed if indeed I was at the salon.”  She ignored those two red flags and instead she conceived, their baby was born a week before she graduated. They moved in together, a small one bedroom in Eastleigh with a small balcony, dozens of neighbours and a watchman with an attitude. “One day my mother-in law came over to see the baby and I was in the kitchen preparing a meal.” She recalls. “When I was trying to light the gas cooker it inflamed with a big whoosh of fire and I screamed. He and his mother came running in the kitchen. The mother said that it was the devil. That, that was a sign that the devil was in our house, so no cooking happened instead we all sat in the sitting room and his mother really prayed for us. She condemned the devil, rebuked him. I can’t explain to you how in Kikuyu but in short she was letting Jesus bind them. She said that the Somalis around were bringing in demons into our home but that the blood of Jesus was going to protect us. I wish I could explain the prayer in Kikuyu, it was hilarious.” She chuckles.  Anyway, the devil was bound by the spirit of the Son of Mary and things settled for a bit; no fires in the kitchen or anything of that sort, until one day while they were seated in the living room the husband suddenly cried out, “Did you see that!?!”. “See what?” She asked. She was breastfeeding. “The woman!” He exclaimed, staring at the corridor leading to the kitchen. “What woman?” She asked. “There was a woman who walked quickly across to the kitchen!” He said. He looked anxious. They inspected the kitchen and sure enough there was no woman. “There was a woman who walked to the kitchen,” he said convinced. “I saw her!” She had that look of, “are you kidding me now!” He was agitated because she didn’t believe him. They prayed again. Rebuking the evil spirits that were trying to make their house a home. Rebuking the devil in the gas cooker and the devil who just runs through the corridors of people’s homes. They bound the devil in the name of Jesus, Son of Mary.  “Later, he started accusing me of having little faith, because if I had enough faith I would have seen that woman.” She says.  The next time he saw the face of lady in a hijab on the wall, a lady that resembled his wife. She was right above the three-seater sofa. She couldn’t see this lady. He kept insisting that there was a lady, can’t you see her, ye of little faith? “So we started praying and we prayed and prayed and somehow the face on the wall became my face, he said. Finally the face disappeared.” “That’s nuts.” I mumble.  “Well, since he was convinced that I had little faith and I wasn’t seeing these demons, I soon had to start pretending that I was also seeing them to get him thinking that I was not of little faith.” She says.  Every week he’d see something and there would be sessions of prayer where the devil would be rebuked. “I was jobless and my campus friends liked to come visit us but that had to stop because he said that they left evil spirits in the house. That he didn’t want people who were not God’s children coming into the house.” Her friends stopped coming over.  “Was he still taking his tabs?” I ask.  “Yeah. I think he was, for a while but he kept seeing these demons, mostly in the form of women. I was scared at first, not of these demons he was seeing, but of this new phenomenon and I couldn’t even bring myself to talk to anyone about it.” She says. One day his brother fired him. He was fired because he kept complaining that his brother was planning to sacrifice him to thank the demons because his business was suffering. “Before he was fired, every time he would get a headache or the flu, he would say it’s the brother trying to kill him.” She says. Since she wasn’t working and they couldn’t make rent they moved in with his parents in Langata where they were given one of the bedrooms upstairs. She couldn’t just sit in the house the whole day with his in-laws and him, so she started looking for employment, which she secured after two months. Now she had a job but that presented a new problem because the devil doesn’t sleep. “Hubby would get very upset when I came home after 6:30pm. Extremely upset. He would accuse me of being out with other men, of sleeping with these men. I was terrified of the fights that would ensue if I got home late.” She says. “I was a yes-girl and so I tried my best not to upset him and do whatever he wanted me to do. His mother also started dissuading me from talking to my parents saying that now I was a married woman and I needed to focus on my home. So I would only call my parents when I was at work but when in the house I couldn’t even pick their calls or it would be a problem. I would not be a good wife.”  It became too much; living with in-laws, the restrictions, his anger over small issues. After saving they moved out to Limuru. Things only got worse. “The accusations of sleeping with men got so bad that every day when I was from work he’d have me remove my panties and inspect them if I had slept with another man.” She says. “Coming home after 6:30pm was considered late and it meant I was from sleeping with men, so I would be rushing home after work to beat this curfew. By this time I had lost most of my friends.” He then started accusing her of being a member of a cult. “He told me that he had dreamt that I belonged to a cult in Westlands that removed panties of men at night while they slept and gave the men and their sons blowjobs.”  I start giggling. I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be impartial in these things. I’m supposed to respect people’s stories without letting my own bias intrude in them. But I’m blood type AB +, I love chapos and coconut beans, I’m human and I giggle because of that. I giggle because, initially, this was sounding absurd, I thought to myself that what a man sees on the wall is a man’s business, but a cult where women remove your trousers and give you a happy ending with your son? Come on, this is a thoroughbred fiction, a highly imaginative opus. (Not to be confused with upuzi).  “Are you having me on, is this is joke, did someone send you?” I ask her.  She’s also laughing. “No, these things happened to me, Biko!” “So, where exactly is this cult in Westlands?” I ask with as much of a straight face as I can.  “Apparently on Westlands Road, right behind Kempinski.” She says. “In fact, one time he took my photo to that club and asked the watchmen if they had ever seen a woman like me there. The watchmen said, yes, they had seen me there. I was a member.”  “No shit.” I mumble.  She chuckles.  “And did you ever remove his trousers in his sleep?”  “The scary thing was that one time I woke up and found our son had no trousers in his cot.”  I blink. “You are kidding.” “So I started thinking that I was the one with the problem, that maybe I was walking in my sleep.” “Like what, walking all the way to Westlands?”  “But did you at some point think, wait a minute, this is crazy?” “No. Actually I didn’t think he was crazy. I started thinking that I was the problem. I started thinking that perhaps I was doing things to make him think these things of me, to make him behave this way and I was hanging on to prove to him that I wasn’t.” She says. It sounds a bit sad, if not bewildering. “In fact, he started making me dress appropriately; long clothes, I started covering my hair like his mother, long sleeves to cover my arms, I stopped wearing trousers – “ “Because the devil wears trousers.” I say.  “Yeah.”  Actually in my head, the devil wears faded jean dungarees with a dark blue patch on his ass. Everybody dresses his devil the way he wants, don’t judge mine. And mine has no teeth, always has a blade of grass sticking in his mouth like a village seducer and belches a lot.  “Ironically, the more I tried doing what he wanted me to do and behaving how he wanted me to behave the more he accused me of not being a pure wife.” She says. “Nothing was working. I couldn’t keep househelps, they would stay a maximum of a month and just leave.”  She recalls how his brother had called her before they went to the AG to tie the knot and he had asked her if she was “very sure” that she wanted to marry his brother. She had said yes. And so when his brother called her one day and told her that he had gotten her a job in Dar’, she could pack, leave and have a fresh start there, she thought that was a great idea. She would get a small house not far from the beach. She would spend time at the beach with her children on Sundays. They’d start a new life there, away from him and his cult talk and women on walls and her having to open her legs after a hard day to be inspected for infidelity.  “That was his brother’s way of telling me that look we know what you are going through, you don’t have to tell us, we just know it, and this is your chance for a clean break.” She says. “And you took it?” I ask. “Yes.” She says then with a gravid sigh, adds, “but I went with him.”  I don’t want to ask why. “Why” would have given me the predictable answer. We don’t want predictable at this stage. If Nairobi was bad, Dar was on steroids. “He started saying he saw knives under our bed. That I was trying to kill him. He was seeing shadows in the house, he was accusing me of drinking his blood and that I would change into an old woman at night. Just crazy things. Our children were not allowed to play with other children. He was paranoid that I was speaking to neighbours, that I was speaking to men, that men were dropping me off in strange cars. He forbade all interactions with anybody. We had no visitors. I was completely isolated from the outside world.” “Did you think he was crazy?” “I didn’t think he was crazy, I thought I was crazy.” “That’s crazy.”  “I know, it’s because he used scriptures a lot. He was very knowledgeable of the Bible and he used it to support his theories. “ She says. “I didn’t know my Bible so I never challenged him, I was in like a, I don’t know, a trance. I was not allowed to talk to my family, my sister couldn’t visit me or anybody else because they would contaminate our existence. He didn’t like my family, he said they were not prayerful. Wazungus were bad, muslims were bad, everybody was bad. We couldn’t even go to the beach because he said he once saw a woman in the water strangle our daughter. So, no beach.” Ain’t that a bitch, I want to say, but this aint that kind of party.  So she would be the strange woman in long clothes, never showing an elbow lest she tempts the devil in other men, she was willowy, bent at the waist, shoulders hunched, beaten down, coming and going, head hung low, never leaving the house save for work, never talking to neighbours, avoiding eye contact, the strange woman in house 4D, with her sad-looking children with haunted looks.  “How was he spending his days?” “In the house. He was jobless. His last job was his brother’s job. He would just watch movies and listen to music.” “What kind of music?” “Gospel music and old school, akina Aaliyah.” “Did he grow a large beard and mumble while pacing the house?” “He had an unkempt beard and he never combed his hair.”  “What about sex?” I ask because you would want to know. “How was your sex life in marriage during these times?” “It was normal at the beginning, but then after that it felt awkward, I stopped enjoying it, I would only do it for him, as an obligation” She says. Oh, she was having some ice cream and now it’s over. I leave to check on my children and find that they haven’t wandered out and disappeared to go look for a sangaria. When I go back I say, “Yes, you were telling me about the sex…” “Yes. At some point if I moaned during sex he would accuse me of being a prostitute. He would ask me where I learnt to moan like that, it would be an issue. He’d demand to know who taught me to moan!” (Kenya School of Moaning, of course).  One time her sister called her at night and she continued calling her without answer. The next day she found out that her sister who was expectant was in trouble and she was calling her for help and she lost the baby as a result. “I was beside myself with grief and guilt. I mean, here was my sister calling me for help and I looked at my phone ring and ignored her, my own blood, because I was afraid of upsetting him. Not only that, “she continues, “I never went for the burial, I wasn’t allowed. That was the turning point, when I think about it, because I started talking back at him, I started pushing back a little, asking him which men are these he imagined I was sleeping with, why I had to wear long sleeves in hot weather.” He started pushing back too, only violently. It started with slaps across the face, then the more she started getting a spine, they graduated to her being shoved into walls, being punched in the face, getting hurled to the ground, being stomped on, being grabbed by the neck. It mattered little because something was awakening in her, something resolute, a small flicker of bravery, of defiance – like a mustard seed. She started flirting with the idea of dignity and if there was a chance she too could have one. The beatings got only worse. “One time he banged my head into a wall and I went under. Blackout.” She says. “When I came to, I knew he was going to kill me if this continued.” The next week he left for Nairobi and before the bus got to Mariakani, she was already knocking doors, asking for vacant houses, paying for deposit and the same day going with movers to her house where she told them not to bother packing clothes and things in boxes but just throw them in the truck and leave now! Why arrange those items when they represented a chaotic life anyway, why put them in boxes when that’s what she was escaping, the disorder and chaos?  She was fleeing a nightmare.  It was a smaller house but it was hers, hers and her children. Nobody was seeing shadows, knives under beds or women on walls. There were no late night exorcisms, no accusations, no fists ramming into her ribs and ears ringing from open palmed slaps. These walls were new and they knew only peace. He of course called her and told her she wouldn’t make it alone, that he was what she needed, that the world was rough and their children needed their father. He said she was making a mistake. “I said to him, I’ve made many mistakes these past years, let me make this last mistake.” “You’d imagine that I’d feel triumph from moving out, from leaving him,” she says, “Instead I felt fear, great fear of uncertainty. I felt the emptiness of my days, alone with my children, no friends and no family. I had used all the money I had moving out and for a while my children didn’t go to school, I felt hopeless. I was free but I was also very afraid.” She holds her face, she’s starting to tear but she’s being strong because nobody wants to cry after having ice cream. “You know, when I called my mom and my sister and I told them that I had left,” she looks away, “ they dropped everything and came to me. These are the same people who I had locked out, my sister’s child had died because I couldn’t pick her phone because I wanted to keep a husband, yet she was there for me…it’s just…” She starts crying now, no pretenses, lots and lots of tears. She wipes her eyes, blows her nose. I notice her earrings for the first time, that look like a peacock’s tail. They dangle and shake as she wipes her tears. “They helped me settle in. They were there when I was just crying every day. I told my mom everything that had happened in the past seven years I was married and she was understanding, she said that I was only trying to save my marriage. I cried even more because even when she or my sister had a chance to blame me, they didn’t.” I sit there and watch her cry and apologise like a douche. I feel bad. Of course I do. It’s a sad story. But what does one do when faced with a weeping woman? “My mom…” she says and stops to wipe her eyes. The tissue is now wet and I’m thinking of dashing to get another from the counter but I’m afraid that she will lose her trail of thought, so I sit it out. “..my mom said that he [the husband] wasn’t a bad person, that he was sick. That he needed help.”  She found it difficult to adjust into normal life after seven years of marriage. It was like suddenly seeing a lot of light after years of being blindfolded, so she squinted through it, stumbled through it trying to find her place in this labyrinth of marriage after-life. She started buying jeans, something she had been forbidden to buy. Lots of jeans. The feeling of just holding up a pair of jeans in a shop was something that brought her pleasure. “I also bought lipsticks, I hadn’t applied lipstick in seven years. I wore short sleeved blouses just to feel the breeze on my arms and fitting clothes. I was now able to wear trousers.”  But she didn’t know who she was anymore, she had lived her whole 20s being this woman who was told what to do, who was told she was the devil’s BFF, who was suspected for being promiscuous and for being of little faith, a woman who was beaten and abused, whose body was taken sexually and mind imprisoned with scriptures and suddenly now she was 30 years old and she didn’t know who she was anymore. She started drinking, slowly at first but then so much. “I couldn’t stop drinking” She says. “But at night I would cry to sleep. I was depressed but I didn’t even know it.”  Then she started dating. “I was scared of young men so I preferred the much older men, men in their 50s or 60s. My friends told me that these old men were good, they took care of me. I hadn’t been taken care of by a man in years, didn’t know how that felt like, I craved that, to know that a man cared for me and took care of me. These relationships demanded very little from me, those men demanded very little.” “I have to ask this,” I say. “But these ageing men in their 60s, do they get an erection?” “No.” She laughs. “But it was perfect, sex wasn’t something I was interested in, I craved companionship and these men weren’t stressing me about sex either. For example my last boyfriend was this old Somali guy who had two wives already and he never wanted anything from me but for me to hold him. Imagine that, that’s all he wanted, not sex or anything but just for me to hold him and that would be enough for him. He liked being held so much he wanted me to convert and marry him.” “So, you would meet and he’d just want to cuddle?” “Yes. That’s all he wanted.” “The power of touch.” I say.  “Yes!” “Did you ever see your ex-husband again?” “Yes. One time my house help took off with all my belongings and I was stranded and so I called him.” She says. “And so he helped me get some household items and he would frequently come over to check up on us and one day I found him waiting for me outside our house and he asked me where I was from. He seemed agitated, he had the same red eyes and the veins on his forehead that he had when we were married and I remember telling him to leave me alone, to go and never come back to my house again.” She got a job back in Nairobi and she moved with the kids. Four years ago she met a man in her workplace. A guy who liked her and who she liked. She had just bought a car and the guy would offer to help her learn how to drive. He was patient and gentle. She’d make mistakes but they’d patiently do it again. “He was also younger than me by three years or so.” “You cradle snatcher, you.” I say.  She laughs.  The guy courted her by teaching her how to drive; he taught her when to indicate to signal intention, how to press on the brake, how to feel when the engine was stressed and most importantly how to start afresh everyday from the lessons of the previous day. In many ways the car was like a metaphor of a relationship, and he gave her the confidence to to sit behind the wheel, on the driver’s seat and have control of where she wanted to go. Romance blossomed in that new car.  “Does he know about these old men and their lack of erections or should I leave that out in the article?” I say. “We don’t want to rock this boat.” She laughs hard. “No, write it. There is nothing he doesn’t know about that past. In fact, he always makes fun of me whenever we meet an old man, he says all gukas are officially his competition.”  We guffaw at that.  I ask her if the men are similar in anyway and she says apart from the beards the men are chalk and cheese. He shaves, he’s stylish, he’s patient.  “How has the ghosts of your former marriage affected your current one?” I ask.  “Well, for one I was really scared about getting married, given my horrible experience. Really really scared.” She said. “I also find myself apologising a lot in this marriage even when I don’t have to because I used to apologise for just about everything in my former marriage. At the beginning I’d come home at 7pm and start to explain myself and apologise and he’d be unmoved, he’d say it’s easy. I used to wonder why he’s not fussing about me coming after 7pm.” She laughs. “Also, I’m constantly surprised that he likes fitting things on me. He buys me fitting clothes and short clothes but I’m yet to get back to wearing short clothes, that I still struggle with. We have a child together now and I’m always hard on myself when say our child falls sick, I tend to blame myself because previously that would have been my fault. So I’m slowly undoing the seven years and it takes time. “We have normal fights, thank God. Not of demons on walls and knives under the bed. I have male friends. I’m not questioned about the length of my dress, the time I go back home. I’m finally in a normal relationship.” “Are you happy?” “Very.”  

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324 Comments

    1. Am glad she’s happy, that is the best part and has made me happy today.
      I thought the pills were ARVs, had to read again!!
      Lastly, can’ wait to use this, “If Nairobi was bad, Dar was on steroids”. 🙂

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      1. What a tragic start of the story and life in hell for 7 years !!!!! Come through happy ending I am here for it ………. I love that she finally gets to experience what true love is all about. Thank God for her patient knight in shining armour.

        Initially I thought the pills were ARVs then with all the hallucinations I thought the other guy was on drugs . Then further on I’m thinking he must have had a mental disorder like Bi Polar. His mind and soul must be quite tormented, I pray he finds peace as well.

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    1. Hey bro….haha well at least I can tease you about the typo for the next one year….hahaha….also wait I know you worship Biko but did you have to use all your three names….scrolling through the comments and there you are hahahahaha I cant even pretend i dont know you….hahaha.

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  12. This one is funny,sad & has a happy ending. Its actually a mix of salt & pepper.
    Biko,how do u get this ladies to open up to you about even their very intimate part of their lives. You,my friend,you are gifted

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  14. But this girl has conquered one too many prisons.. The rape, the 1st husband… Sigh… Im happy she gets her happily ever after

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  15. Is there also a Mariakani outside of Dar? Somebody educate me.
    A moving story. Oh, how much people go through! And here I am thinking most Kenyan women are so liberated, that they won’t take crap from a psycho! Why won’t such decent people find people of similar bent and live happily ever after?

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    2. Yeah, that confused me too for a second. I guess he got Dar and Mombasa mixed up. That should probably have been Bagamoyo or Chalinze in place of Mariakani but that would have further confused readers who aren’t familiar with Dar.

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  17. The guy courted her by teaching her how to drive; he taught her when to indicate to signal intention, how to press on the brake, how to feel when the engine was stressed and most importantly how to start afresh everyday from the lessons of the previous day. In many ways the car was like a metaphor of a relationship, and he gave her the confidence to to sit behind the wheel, on the driver’s seat and have control of where she wanted to go. Romance blossomed in that new car.

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  18. Fresh slate today! Tear jerker at the start but one happy ending 🙂 🙂 🙂
    Devils in pants and their BFFS 😀
    Kudos Biko! Always looking forward to a heart warming Tuesday read!

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  21. I am only surprised that a man doesn’t want to be given blow-job in the middle of the night. Haha. Anyway, I am happy she left and she is very happy.

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    1. I also wondered the same. Any warm blooded man who likes chapo and coconut beans would quite literally kill to have a woman who wakes them up with blow job.
      And also he didn’t want/ like a woman who moaned during sex?????

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  22. That description of the devil had me laughing like a idiot
    Sometimes I wish I’d meet someone who’s that paranoid and see what makes them tick.
    Love the story.

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  25. Wow! “You know, when I called my mom and my sister and I told them that I had left,” she looks away, “ they dropped everything and came to me. These are the same people who I had locked out, my sister’s child had died because I couldn’t pick her phone because I wanted to keep a husband, yet she was there for me…it’s just…”

    I love the family. They didn’t judge or walk away. Even the husband’s brother knew she was going through hell.

    I’m really glad she’s happy, and prays that it stays that way for a long time.

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  26. A happy ending!

    That she was able to walk away from a shitty relationship; I will drink to that!!
    She gave love a second chance because that is how live is suppose to be; Never be afraid to start all over again!

    I hope he finds healing because those hallucinations and the paranoia are a clear indication of mental health issues. An appointment with a good psychiatrist might be all he needs to get a decent shot at life, he deserves it. I hope his people can get him the help.

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  27. My Tuesday is now complete.
    What a story. The family really came through for her. That’s refreshing to see.
    People really go through so much…
    The Somali guy though I’m just wondering the two wives never cuddled him enough?

    Goes to say it’s never too late for a new beginning.

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  31. I must have got addicted to these Tuesday stories…I remembered it today the first thing i left my house.
    I sympathise with the lady…too much for her but I am happy ,she is finally happy. All’s well that ends well.

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  32. To each his own….I love Tuesdays!!!
    Biko keep them coming….may be one day you can tell my story.
    I’m very happy too!!! Having broken free from a dead end relationship that I thought was God ordained, pthooo!!

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  33. “Are you happy?” “Very.”

    It’s funny just how long it takes to find real happiness. Why we have to kiss so many frogs before ‘the one’ only the powers that be have the answer.

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  34. I was almost that first guy here in the office when people are asking me questions and all I want to do is finish reading THE DAMN POST! Is that too much to ask? I mean, come on!

    Anyway, I have calmed down. I am glad the story ends well and that she’s very happy. Dude should go see a shrink though. He sounds schizophrenic but mimi si daktari so sijui.

    Also, Jael was a hero. She shouldn’t be associated with Cain or Jezebel.

    https://thispostisabout.com

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  35. I can’t imagine someone asking me to remove my panties so they inspect if I’ve been unfaithful. My gosh!

    There’s is something life is currently constantly teaching me: Your life is yours alone. Don’t try to fulfil societal expectations. Especially when it comes to marriage and relationships. Trust your gut feeling and don’t ignore the red flags. Little as they may seem. It doesn’t matter if someone speaks in tongues or knows the whole scripture off head

    Also, family is EVERYTHING. Really it is.

    Your sense of humour is everything Biko. Gets me laughing each time. Thank you

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  37. MY HEART STOPPED FOR A MOMENT THERE…
    “That was his brother’s way of telling me that look we know what you are going through, you don’t have to tell us, we just know it, and this is your chance for a clean break.” She says.

    “And you took it?” I ask.

    “Yes.” She says then with a gravid sigh, adds, “but I went with him.”

    but am Glad she found the strength to move out and move on.. and for a great family who didnt judge her…

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  39. If we could all bare ourselves like this, without fear of judgement. The world would be a much happier place. I love her, she owns her story, and the mum, oh superwoman that one. Her support system is solid.

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  40. “Ain’t that a bitch, I want to say, but this ain’t that kind of party.”…pwahahaha..”Kenya School of moaning.”
    .
    Crazy story. Glad she’s with the right guy now and very happy. Scary that there are believers out there who go to the extreme. Sadly reminds me of Timberlake, Esther’s husband and the tragic death of their son.
    People should read their bibles and challenge those who want to brainwash or manipulate them into doing things that are so far removed from who God is, and what the Christian faith is all about.

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  42. The real salt and pepper, no judgement, when you are in it, you don’t see the manipulation, the gas lighting and being used, then one day God gives you the light bulb moment, and you walk away and the bones on your back start to straighten and the smile though with a wrinkle start to appear, one day at a time and you straighten and life is breathed back on you. I have learnt that family is everything, even if its only one who gets out the ten, they will always show up….dear girl enjoy the new lease of life and be happy.

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  44. Yes. At some point if I moaned during sex he would accuse me of being a prostitute. He would ask me where I learnt to moan like that, it would be an issue. He’d demand to know who taught me to moan!” (Kenya School of Moaning, of course).
    WTF!! where did this one come from?

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  46. I love your preambles Biko. You know how to set the stage. As always your stories are inspiring and once again I’m reminded that no matter how low you sink, you will rise some day. Thank you.

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  50. The guy needs professional help to calm his nerves and paranoia. Am pleased to read that her eyes finally adjusted to the new light of freedom and she found an uplifting man. Everybody deserves happiness, even the sick guy.

    Another one by Biko.

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  53. I love your posts, every last one of them. The marriage series has been powerful, tugging on emotions I know I already have and solidifying my decision to stay unmarried. Many people I talk to about my lack of desire for marriage always jump to a conclusion, and the end of the conversation is always the same: wee ngoja tu uzeeke utaona, ni vile tu bado you are young. Age, in my opinion, has anything to with it. Especially since 30 is now getting ready to embrace me. It has always been, ever since I can remember, that marriage is not my cup of tea. And, when I read these stories, whether the ending is happy or sad, I am convinced even more, that it (marriage) will never be (my cup of tea).

    Thank you, Biko, for your Tuesday morning blessings. Always.

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  55. Hey Biko…about last week’s Micah/ Mike could you do a follow up, did Mike figure the story out? Or maybe he and his wife knew about their status all along?

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  57. Jesus son of Mary is kind to the broken hearts.
    I however have a problem with some of His psychotic followers.Those scripture-quoting,demon -chasing brothers should leave normal girls alone and marry their own kind!We are all allowed to sin our way,Jesus deals with it, not these self-righteous followers!
    May the universe be kind to this lady and her children.

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  61. Biko, I must say that you have a way with words; the way you choreograph these narrations is surely with reflective charm.
    Marriage, what a pity.

    Khalil Gibran- in his book “THE PROPHET” had this to say about Marriage-
    ______________________
    You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
    You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
    You shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
    But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
    And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

    Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
    Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
    Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.
    Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
    Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of your be alone,
    Even as the strings of the lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

    Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
    For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
    And stand together yet not too near together:
    For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
    And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.
    ______________

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  63. ”She started flirting with the idea of dignity and if there was a chance she too could have one”……pied piper moment!

    What a beautiful ending…..Am happy too…

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  64. The courage to tell the story,the courage to endure the blamefull marriage, the courage to start again and most importantly the courage to forgive herself from the past. This woman is powerful, all the best

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  65. So glad that the women on the walls have disappeared from her life. So happy that she is happy. Still laughing at your dungaree-wearing devil.

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  66. The courage to tell the story,the courage to endure the blamefull marriage, the courage to start again and most importantly the courage to forgive herself from the past. This woman is powerful, all the bes

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  68. Daaaaaaaamn!!! What a story. For some reason, I feel like I have heard this over and over again; the difference are the people in the story. It takes a lot of energy to leave a narcissist….. It’s even worse that you eventually think you are the problem, that someone is always right, that they are beyond questioning. The sad part are the children in such relationships, their future is locked in turmoil and instability of some form. Noone deserves mental abuse. Thankfully for her she is finally happy.

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  70. So happy there was a happy ending because this began by wrenching my heart. I’m so happy that she is happy.
    Also, I will now dress my devil up in cowboy boots and a flannel…. sometimes throw in a little black dress for diversity.

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  72. Eeish this life though..Happy for her that she is now in a normal relationship..I pray that the children will also recover from that ordeal..Whatever goes on behind closed doors especially the married waah just gives me second thoughts about the whole issue about marriage. God Help us

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  77. “Yes. At some point if I moaned during sex he would accuse me of being a prostitute. He would ask me where I learnt to moan like that, it would be an issue. He’d demand to know who taught me to moan!” (Kenya School of Moaning, of course). Who does that?

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    1. ‘Actually, in my head, the devil wears faded jean dungarees with a dark blue patch on his ass. Everybody dresses his devil the way he wants, don’t judge mine. And mine has no teeth, always has a blade of grass sticking in his mouth like a village seducer and belches a lot.’

      Only Biko can come up with such creative humor. How do you even think of such stuff?

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  85. Wow!! a funny/interesting story…glad she is now happy.
    The strains of relationships can for sure make you seek only companionship preferably from gukas…

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  91. “Come on, this is a thoroughbred fiction, a highly imaginative opus. (Not to be confused with upuzi). ” Couldn’t stop laughing!!!
    Sad sad tale, guy needs help, lady stomached waaay too much…..
    Waah, family is everything.
    Tuesday made, thank you Biko

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  92. I’m so glad she got out of that bad marriage, phew!!! But she’s a codependent, and she needs to get help for that. Go for therapy sis. I’d also recommend the book codependency for dummies by Darlene Lancer.
    Wish you well in your marriage, and enjoy ti!!

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    1. This is very true. She urgently needs help for her own happiness sake. Unfortunately, I’m not so happy for her second marriage. It feels like I’m holding my breath for when matters start going south. Not because I wish her any I’ll but her co-dependency will sabotage her relationship.

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    2. This is very true. She urgently needs help for her own happiness sake. Unfortunately, I’m not so happy for her second marriage. It feels like I’m holding my breath for when matters start going south. Not because I wish her any ill but her co-dependency will sabotage her relationship.

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  94. I love this. Teaching her how to drive and most importantly how to start afresh everyday from the lessons of the previous day.

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  97. im starting to think that your second marriage is your best marriage. these first marriages seem to be disasters eish. this man needs help.his pills which I assume are mood stabilizers need to be adjusted. he is probably schizo especially with his manic episodes he could kill someone. his family seem to have know about it all along esp his mum but were trying to cover it up using religion. am glad she found a new normal and is happy again.

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    1. I have heard that these second marriages usually result in a third, then a fourth or a dead spouse and maybe a few more kids out of wedlock.
      I think a follow up should be done on this new marriage e.g. 5 to 10 years from now.

      The story does not tell us of a single instance when the lady sat with her husband or mother in law to inquire about the man’s state of mind. She did not take him to a shrink …. he was probably mentally ill. No counseling took place ? Maybe she did not know that they could seek help. Did she really love him ? Maybe the beatings and burden of looking after the family weighed her down…. She left the man in a worse state than she found him. Is the father of her children totally bonkers now ? Might he have killed himself ? Would she have left him if he could keep a well paying job ? How did he relate with the kids ? How did the children handle the break up ? How old were they when it happened ?

      Regarding her new marriage, I think that if your husband does not really treasure you, or has somewhat given up, then he will be okay with you keeping male friends and coming home late. He does not really care because there is something more important than trying to address that issue and it is not you, because you are an absentee spouse – keeping others happy at the expense of your family. And unlike women who can start arguments and fights for fun, most men hate it because they fear what they might end up doing if a nut suddenly broke loose ……

      She might be thinking that she can now have her cake and eat it, but maybe her occasional being late is good for the man in a way she has not thought of. What does he do when she is out ? Does he himself come home early ? Does she know what goes through his mind ? The tight clothes he buys you are indicative that he likes “trophies” to show off to his buddies. The man is younger and he likes trophies – how much time before he finds a more compact one without “baggage” ?

      Finally, some things like coming home early has to do with establishing relationships and training the kids. It is not always about the husband. Cooking for your family and dressing decently has to do with your daughter(s) and to some extent the image of the family. Kids learn a lot from observation. Have you heard stories of rich old individuals who almost have to beg the kids to go and visit them ?

      Blessed is the man who will never have to tell his wife these things, because she observes them from her own accord. Such a man cannot fail to love and honor his mother in law, for training and gifting him with such a wife.

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      2. Well..Those are your views..each marriage has got its own practises, if the new husband is ok with her dressing who are we to judge.

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  104. What a hearty story, glad she finally found happiness. Mental health should be treated like any other health issue.. Otherwise how does one enroll in the school of moaning

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  106. Wah! How do you even start inspecting your wife’s panties after she gets home from work? I can only imagine the convo when she enters house 4D:
    Psycho: Hi honey? How was your day?
    Wife: fine
    Psycho ( putting the KJV Bible he was reading aside): good, the children are out playing outside. You know the drill. Drop your pants.
    Man! Mental illness is real. People need to be really careful when choosing spouses.

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  107. I just struggle with handling women in tears, how you do it Biko i salute you. The nero needs help even as the lady settles in her new marriage, he will always will be in her life.

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  108. “Yes. At some point, if I moaned during sex he would accuse me of being a prostitute. He would ask me where I learnt to moan like that, it would be an issue. He’d demand to know who taught me to moan!” (Kenya School of Moaning, of course).

    I know this is serious but it’s funny as well. Lol, people can be so petty at times.

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  113. What happened to the guy that used to see demons on the wall? Where is he now? Does he still see women breastfeeding in his house?

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  114. Such a sad life for this gentle spirit!! God bless her for her tenacity and faith in knowing that there is good in everyone; how else would she give love a second chance? I wonder what the kids’ perspective is regarding their mentally ill father.
    We’re the lulls lithium? For a second I was afraid they would turn out to be morphing or some other drug he is addicted to.
    The signs we ignore. Hers may sound extreme but each one of us, especially in the dating phase, choose to wear rose glasses. We see no fault and when we do, there is a reason to explain it away. Then the faults become mounds, then hills, then mountains. Before long we can’t see past Everest, and life as we knew it is redefined in loneliness, regret and fear of leaving lest the mountain suffer a volcano and the ash burns…. or the lava consumes us. I’m glad she came out on the other side of the mountain. I’m glad there is beauty in her life. I imagine her laughs and giggles. Far cry from crying rivers to the walls. She is a conqueror!
    Great story Biko.

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  115. How she survived for 7years, I don’t know. I don’t think I would have made it, I’m glad she did and she’s happy. Thanks Biko for the story.

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  118. At first it felt like some chick after clout. But middle way things unwrap and I start feeling for her.
    Its sad that from a rape ordeal she gets married to a psychopath.

    I hope she is well.

    Now I gotta ask something. Do all female have this “whoring phase”, its been a little more common in this series.

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  123. That was a good read. Lesson learnt though is that when you meet a person who wants to dictate your life, you better run. Paranoia is real and most paranoiac people will blame their loved ones for their shortcomings. Eventually they become violent and / suicidal. Let us not wait until its too late. Especially if you have children to protect you better run.

    Aren’t our parents the best though. I pray to be that present parent to my children.

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  126. this lady has gone through the test of time in her marriage life.but i am happy knowing she came out strong.good read,kwanza the part where blowjobs are mentioned,haha, that was really funny.nice article biko

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  128. People hide a lot of things behind their ‘devotion’ to God.
    .
    But at least there’s light at the end of the tunnel.
    More power to you Biko for listening and writing these accounts.

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  134. Interesting that such guys who are control freaks and are always seeing the devil will never lose the appetite for sex. Anyway I am glad she got out of that bondage. It would be interesting to know if the ex already hooked with another victim.

    The lesson would have been that one should never ignore the red flags at the beginning of a relationship. But it’s easier said. In those days, the heart stops pumping blood and plays the role of the mind. Any trying to be rational is dead on arrival.

    But something important is the power of one’s own family. I once read somewhere that HOME is a place where when you go, no one ever asks why you have come. Family is home. I know some few people have been hurt by their own families and will always throw a spanner in the works when one says this but by large and by ‘family is home.’ You can always go there.

    A happy ending was good dessert to this story… especially after Mike and Micah!

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  135. Lakini Bikozulu these stories of yours zimekuwa ni kama kuwatch news…Negativity into more negativity. Please look for a good women and marriage story. The men and marriage ones were more positive… Eish!

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  136. This story is sad but i laughed the entire time. That guy was on weed. Seeing people on the wall or non-existence women in the house is weed effect.

    She eventually found herself, am HAPPY!!!!!!!!

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  140. Happy ending yes 😉

    This vibe of demons is so my ex husband, the way he made me look like a sinner and this sniffing of panties too, yet he was the one that was having sex right, left and center with everything/everyone who wore a skirt. Sigh!! Church men or rather ‘spiritual’ men is a no for me.

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  143. happy that she is in a safe place, it hurts so much when you get misused in the name of love;betrayed in the name the other person knows the bible more;it hurts treating your wife like a child just because you are husband and ought to be respected ;I feel. her but finally she is happy

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  153. As i read the story and it reminded me of a person close to me who started having similar experiences such as this man, thinking her phone was tapped, people were after her life etc we took her to the doctor and she was diagnosed with schizophrenia.

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  159. I actually enjoyed reading this I had to comment. 7yrs damn shes strong. All deserve to be happy. Such a beautiful perfect ending love love………

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  161. Always put your family first, they will always come to your rescue when things get worse… A good piece Biko, can’t wait for next Tuesday’s on..

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  165. Lots of laughter then sadness, then laughter then sadness but at least a happy ending. I have really enjoyed this read.

    As your fellow AB+, I also love chapo and coconut beans but I have to have a cup of spiced strungi on the side for a perfect finish.

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  168. Reminded me of Esther Arunga saga- I wonder why it is so easy to undermine and suppress people and make them think they are crazy while you are the problem. This man is psychotic or maybe has a mental disorder.

    Glad she found her happiness albeit after so much unnecessary suffering .

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  171. Sad and funny at the same time.
    I wouldn’t imagine my self in the same situation. (can’t fit in her shoes)
    But finally at least she is now happy.

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  176. Ah Biko with your word play! “Come on, this is a thoroughbred fiction, a highly imaginative opus. (Not to be confused with upuzi).” Sure reeked of opus (*insert accent*), sorry upuzi, in some parts. Mental health is not to be ignored!

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  180. I even forgot she was first raped. Her first husband is what we call Jajuok from where I come from. But… She’s VERY HAPPY. And so I am.

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  182. Banage she got her good break! Even with a younger man ! That’s also a story for me! Can we see more stories like this!!

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  184. He would ask me where I learnt to moan like that, it would be an issue. He’d demand to know who taught me to moan!” (Kenya School of Moaning, of course).

    Hahahahaa..this killed me:)

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  186. The things women go through in some marriages are out of this world. Even glue stops sticking at some point. Eish! May such stories give us some awakening, know who we are, that we deserve happiness too and don’t deserve crazy.

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  187. That guy is clearly Schizophrenic.Unfortunately in Africa we do not talk about mental illness.I feel so sad for him.I pray that he can get help from proper psychiatrists and get a new lease at life

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  193. Am mesmerized, thanks Biko for warming my brain… the only place you lost me is when they’re in Dar, then you mention Mariakani… or is there another Mariakani on the Dar-Nairobi route?

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  196. You write beautifully, coz I always find myself captivated.
    She’s gone through alot but glad she’s finding herself and she’s very happy.

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  197. Biko, have you met my brother in law? You described him to the letter in this article
    men, i fear this men of God. He would beat my siz to a pulp and stand to preach in the pulpit for 20 years
    and come up with crazy demon stories.Ive seen my sister recover, im glad she is learning that there are people who would love her for who she is, even though she a little broken
    Meanwhile, please bring the topic of this men who sit in the house the whole day watching TV, praaying and the wife goes out to fend for them. And yes they get mad if she gets home late.
    the best they can do is change tv channels

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    1. Hi Joyce,
      I really feel you in this.
      But you know what, such a “boy child” will drain you to the last breath the best you can do is plan and escape. Let him come back and find an empty house.
      We only have one life give it the best!

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  199. Wow what a story. Sad she had to go through all that, but I’m glad that God came through for her and she has a happy ending finally. She’s really been through so much hurt…. Enjoy your marriage may the joy and love you feel now be a shadow compared to what God has in store for you. Be blessed

    Biko as always you never disappoint.

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  201. Thanks Biko, I enjoyed the read. Now, you are an influencer. Allow me to use this chance to tell young gals this ” DO NOT IGNORE WHAT YOU THINK ARE SMALL SIGNALS WHEN DATING ” I feel like screaming it out. Does anyone feel me??? Biko, please help me preach that gospel to every single person, male or female. I strongly believe that this would reduce divorce rate in the world today.

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  202. What happened to the previous husband? the paps to their first kids..not the gukas ofcourse, the dude was sick and left for the demons with dungarees!!! Poor boychild.

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  207. Yay! Biko!!!! Finally a seemingly happy-ish story!!! Yay! She is brave. Very brave. Crawling out of that nightmare requires balls! And it made me miss my mom! Aki Biko mama ya mtu ni mtu wa maana sana! I admire her mom so much! God I miss my mum!

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  208. “There are red flags that we see as women and ignore.” She says. “Mine were two.”

    Very true, as women we always assume that we are paranoid but lets learn not to avoid the red flags.

    Am glad she is finally happy.

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  209. Btw, this “Kenya School of moaning”…just wondering if it enrolls men… came across a man that was entirely silent..never moans. never moaned! Curious!

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  221. Wow, this is a horrific story and to think someone lived it and through it, is just a scare to say the least. It has a very happy ending and for that I thank God. Wonderful writing Biko!

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  223. I dont know if its just me but I would gladly leave everything am doing just to read these articles in fact am always excited for the next one ,thank you Bikozulu at the end of the day we all could use a good read .

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  224. The ex husband is just unwell..sounds like schizophrenia and what he was doing to her was not because he is a horrible person but because he was mentally ill.. I hope he sees a doctor and is started on medication. Mental illnesses are real!

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    1. It’s unfortunate the wife had to deal with the torture without knowing what was truly happening.
      It’s great that she’s finally happy

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  226. As I type this comment; it’a 1:39am wednesday. My dad in our family whatsapp group is typing that he is going to die. That the first president had given a decree for him to be killed. That all the presidents have ordered for him to be killed. It’s very easy to sit and laugh at the man’s hallucinations. You are just on the outside looking in. For us who have grown up with parents suffering from mental illness, it’s a whole new ball game. Schizophrenia, insomnia, hallucinations, depression and anxiety. I know we as Africans do not talk about mental health/illnesses because it’s a white man’s disease. The lady in this story left, but what happened to the man. My mum stayed all through the mental illness….she is still with my dad until now as he tells us of his death through a whatsapp text.
    Do not laugh at what the man was ‘seeing’. That is the true picture of a mentally unstable person. Just because someone has not yet stripped anc walked yet does not negate the fact that mental illness comes in different shapes and forms.
    Interested to know what happened to the husband. Did he get someone to offer him help?
    Please do not laugh, mental illness is real. And if you think what this man was seeing and saying is funny, trying growing up in a house filled with different versions of the same thing, simply because one of your parents suffers from a mental illness. Ohhh its not curable. Those meds are supposed to keep things under control but sometimes the body gets used to them. It’s time to talk about mental illness in marriage, in life, at work, in our churches. It’s the unspoken devil.
    Wish I could get my mum to contribute to the women and marriage stories about for better or worse in the face of mental illness in a society that believes mental illness =withcraft. Enough said.

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  228. The brother calls to ask if she’s ‘very sure’ that she wants to marry the ninja and she doesn’t stop to think why. In addition to a fast metamolism I really want my brain and my heart to be in tandem.
    I’m glas she’s happy though.

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  235. Dressing your devil is hilarious. Am trying to dress mine hahaha. This sounds like a question you’d ask in a date thas’s not going well while trying to turn things around, crazy….

    I wonder what other things go through Biko’s mind.

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  238. Am still wondering at what point she got divorced with the “insane” guy and married the younger guy….And how she went about convincing the “insane” guy that a divorce was the only way as he seems abit obsessive……

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  243. This things do happen, like they used to tell us in our tender ages, marriage is not a bed of roses… We ignored them and chose to taste it ourselves and now we got stories to tell… Lol!!! The whole story sounds familiar…

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  247. I salute her parents for a great upbringing . the kind of parents that let you make mistakes and still show and guide you to the right path, not admonish and shame you.

    Enjoy your marriage girl.

    I hope someday, my kids can own up mistakes and admit them without shame.

    No one owns a life manual, we all grope in the dark, hoping for a fine landings

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  248. Seriously,the things that disturb Biko!
    Does he know about these old men and their lack of erections or should I leave that out in the article?” I say. “We don’t want to rock this boat.”

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  255. From the Micahs to Pied Piper, this is a happy ending – even had time to notice that there is a progress bar as I scroll the page while reading. I don’t need to say I have read it about three times since Thursday last week

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  261. This was heavy! It is only through life’s experiences that some of us get to find our baring and fly high or find our true purpose in life. She was quite tender though, thanks to Family that she is where she ought to have been before assuming the red flags.

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  267. Seven good years living in hell, she must be a very strong woman. Finally she is happy, the universe has a way of balancing things.

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  270. What is love? No, honestly……WHAT IS LOVE??

    I’m 40 and been with my husband now 20 years and I can’t honestly say that I know love. I read all the stories and the comments that follow…….comments about true love mara happiness and I wish I could experience what that is.

    Anyway to each their own…………..but I can’t help feeling that I am not living yet. I mean what interesting thing has happened in my life that I can tell about? Or perhaps it’s midlife crisis. The insistent itch for adventure. To taste the excitement of life without worrying about societal pressures. Took me turning 30 to be jealous of a penis…………..if I were a man I would have unlimited social capital but that’s not to be. In another lifetime perhaps.

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  271. A story of many scenes told from second person and first person. Real life experiences for women.Suffering . To keep their marriage. I liked the mentioned sex parts and the car….Symbol of new things. Great work!

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  274. Who also thinks the guy’s mother is the source of his tribulations? But that ‘Kenya School of Moaning’ takes the cup.

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  275. A bottle of pills is a verry distinct red flag but the second case is a huge red billowing sail,love is surely blind.
    Classic case of emotional abuse coupled with religious fanatism and a hint of domestic violence.Hope she makes a full recovery and learns how to love anew

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    1. Every time a woman leaves an abusive situation like that, my heart wells with joy! I’m glad you found happiness at last.

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  284. When i read such kind of stories i see them more as testimonies. God cares for our happiness and He sure wants us to experience it no matter how long it takes. This lady has been thru’ so much and dealing with rape then when you think you found your safe place it only turns out you jumped to the fire. Am happy that she is finally because honestly she deserves it. God bless you ma

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  285. Oh my heart!

    I do really hope the gut gets appropriate help.

    But as for the lady and her kids……it’s nice to always find a happy place to prosper in.

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  292. Wao! 3 years later I’m here but I’m amused. A happy ending..
    We share something with the Somali old man.

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