If the past could be changed...IT WOULD NOT EXIST

A time like today, 2018, I only had 30 bob between me and poverty. It did not matter. It was at 2.40am and had broken up with my then boyfriend of 5 years. I had listened to my ego and walked out of the then so called home without remembering it was very late. We were living in Kahawa Wendani although I was a second year student in Kenyatta University, 11km away. I waited outside the door expecting that he would at least come out and sooth me to get back. Instead, he loudly shut the door behind me and switched off the lights, retiring to bed. We had been cohabiting, although I had secured a hostel near the institution where most of my belongings were. However, I had opted to live along my boyfriend than living alone in my small single room. This was the fateful day that I had to go back to my single room apartment as I used to call it. My only problem was, my emotions had played me and I had moved out at the middle of the night. My boyfriend had been abusive for long. This day, he was crueler. How could he close the door behind me at the middle of the night?

I swallowed the bitter pill, walked down the stairs without knowing what to do next. At the gate, I found the gateman sound asleep. I had to wake him up so that he could open the gate for me to exit. I never had a thought of spending the remaining part of the night at the stairs for my safety. I had made a decision to just go. This was after standing outside my boyfriend’s door for more than 1 hour waiting for him to open the door for me. Fast forward, the gate man opened the gate for me, and to my surprise, I got a motorbike man who claimed to be working for the night shift. I always count this to be a miracle. Because, how, at that wee hour, there were no locomotives operating. That street was not one of the best. It is in a filthy, dirty and horny-women filled hood outside town. A place where stray dogs play hide and seek with dirty and malnourished babies whose mothers' whereabouts are a mystery. This is a place where you have to mind every of your step or else you'll comfortably slide on another's digestion remnants all the way to your house. Not a good place to live in, this one. While walking through the street, you have to mind your pocket, else, in the next few minutes, it would be limping.

I trusted the bike man to ferry me to the other side of the small town where I could go through the footbridge filled by street children sleeping and thugs. He delivered. I alighted the motorbike at the foot of the flyover footbridge. I had a cloud of fear in me. I was not sure if I could survive getting to the other end of the footbridge safely and sound. I had a lot of hope that from nowhere, I could get a matatu that could take me to Kenyatta University main Gate. I was sure I wanted to die on that footbridge, only that I didn’t know how. All of a sudden, I felt peace, I felt a lot of courage inside me. I did not know why. But all the way, I felt a kind of calmness from within. Some kind of inner peace. I felt like the whole world was cheering me to keep going, and the many voices in my head told me that I was about to make the BEST decision EVER in my life. To die. A lot was happening. My mind was clogged. I wasn't thinking straight. It still isn't.

And even when I was walking through the footbridge which took me more than 30 minutes-but on the usual days, I take approximately 4 minutes- I started getting excited at the thought of dying. Then somewhere midway along the footbridge, I was sweating profusely. I felt brighter. At this point and time, I wasn't thinking about those close to me. I did not think about my family. Above all, I did not think about my little brother who was yet to get enough of his sister’s love. Not once did I think about them. It was all about me. It was so selfish.

At first, at the flyover, I walked all the way from one end to the other in silence and deep in thought. Even if my heart was now racing fast, I was ready to jump over any time now. On Thika Super highway, there were still some vehicles moving at the innermost lanes. Then something strange happened. As I, at one time stood staring at an oncoming truck which my mind quickly registered as my ticket to death, I realized that I was crying. Two streams of tears were coming from my eyes. And one got to the corner of my mouth. I licked at it. It was salty. Very bitter. My body shook for a second. I bolted. I started thinking. By now I was tightly holding on the rails of the flyover, ready to jump over. My target truck had since passed. Until now, I don’t understand why the street children were not distracted by my movement. May be they were sleeping, who knows.

Then I thought. If I jumped, someone would be daughter-less and another would lose a friend, though I had lost quite a number. Almost all. I knew news would spread fast. Grief would be all over. Questions would be asked. Theories would arise. Fingers would be pointed. Bottom line? I would be long gone, lying somewhere, unconscious and unaware of it all. And soon, I would be six feet under, gone and forgotten. Like everyone else that had gone the same way.

And then, as more tears ran down me, I got a 10 bob coin from my pocket- no remaining with only 20 bob- and threw it down on the highway and I watched it fall freely now that the night was filled with moon light. I imagined myself falling so. I shook at the imagination. In one quick wave of thoughts, my mind raced back to my life. How I grew up, the sacrifices my parents made, my sisters and little brother and how they badly needed me. And here I was, about to harm myself and exist no more. And then while there, lost in thoughts, a street child walked past me, I couldn’t tell whether she was one of those who were sleeping around or not. She passed me, so dirty, wearing torn clothes during that cold night and tightly holding on her glue bottle with one hand and a dirty half- filled sack on the other hand. She seemed okay and very strong no matter her situation and her condition.? This was my turnaround moment. Intermission.

That was how I regained my senses and consciousness back. That was when I decided I will not sacrifice my own life for the world. That was when I resolved that I was not the first person to make mistakes in life. I realized I was so young to die. And die for others. And from that day, I resolved to be blind and deaf to all negativity sent my way. And I decided that since I had lost all that was dear to me, I had nothing to lose by starting all over again. And I resolved to be good again. And that I would always and quickly push away that which was negative and damaging my inner self. I walked down the flyover stairs, and miraculously, I got a matatu with a few drunk men, I was not afraid, I was determined to start over. I asked the driver to drop me at Kenyatta University Main Gate. He was not drunk, he was collected. He agreed and did not charge me. I walked through the Kenyatta University Main gate towards my single room apartment. Fear had no place in my heart. Until today, I can’t tell where the courage to walk- through Kenyatta Market to my room- came from. Amidst thugs and pickpockets roaming around the street. None of them touched me. I will forever count it as a miracle.

People of this world will always wish for your downfall. People are stressed out there. And given a chance, people will say and do anything they can to bring you down. And they will be a happy lot. Your friends will laugh with you when together and laugh at you when they see you going down. True friends never exist. Kenyans will troll you, bully you and pin you down. They will create stories and rejoice when they see you giving in and giving up. No one cares a thing about you. No one gives a hoot about your feelings or what you are going through. Even your so called lover. They will quickly throw in a jibe, a cajole and say anything to let off their problems and troubles. Kenyans will team up to cheer you to your death. But I got a simple message for such persons.

I am alive and kicking. I am healthy. I am happy. I currently have two-year unshaved dreads that I will never shave. Not shaving actually. As a reminder of the past. I am better, stronger. And for the friends I lost, I am better without you. I have since Stayed alive without our talking and engaging. You can keep stalking since the unfriend button is way too painful for you to hit. Things did not go your way. Sorry.? And for those who were ready to type unending RIPs on my wall, please save it. God is not a pleaser of mankind. And next time, stop behaving like God's Deputy to judge others. And no, If I offended you back then at one point or another, I will not suffer. And bad things will not happen to me.