GBV survivor emancipates herself from vice.

Two females in a house hold of ten.

Just mom, me myself and I.

Between us we did all the cooking, washing

and minding of our two cows and two acres.

Dad spent most of his time at the village square 

Reading Taifa Leo, playing cards, drinking.

When home and not sleeping, harassing or beating mom

My brothers spent their time, either picking tea

or tuning girls in the village.

Whenever they were home,

Harassing me to wash their clothes

sleeping or demanding food

I decided to elope with the first boy who proposed.

Karis was my elder brother’s friend

tall and handsome. The dream of every village girl.

I told him I was running away from violence at home.

I was tired of all the fighting, the harassing, the noise.

He promised to love me all his life.

He swore with his dead mother

he would never lay a hand on me

All he wanted was a friend, he said.

We would be real partners in the marriage.

Just as in the movies, he promised.

Six years and five children later, again ran away

This time from my own home.

I was tired of the violence.  Don’t mistake me.

Karis kept his word. He never hit me.

Still tall and handsome, the dream of many girls.

But you see, Karis had money now. Lots of it.

They say, with hundred shillings notes as fuel

you could cook githeri and he would still be rich.

He takes these girls to lodgings in town.

Didn’t care till last night. He brought one home.

To my house and my bed.

My mother said it’s witchcraft.

The priest said, it’s the devil.

My brothers say it’s the money.

The doctor said I have an STD once again.

He said he wouldn’t treat me

It was a waste of national resources 

This time I had to bring the man I sleep with.

He said it was the law. Partner tracing he called it.

Karis said, it was not possible,

All his women could form a line

from here to Mombasa, he said.

The nurse said she could give me the dawa

as long as I did not sleep with Karis again.

Next time, she said, I would get an incurable STD.

I wanted to be as far away from Karis as I could.

You see, I can’t say no to him.

Its against my feelings, culture and religion.

That’s how I was recruited for the job abroad.

It would pay well. Very well the agent said.

With hope and excitement boarded jet plane

Arrived, passport taken, locked up

Within a week, I knew what the job was.

I could not keep count of the men.

They paid well. But that’s not what I’d expected.

I ran away once more, jumped through the window.

I told the ambassador must be a misunderstanding.
The work was not what had been recruited for.

They were many, many men, I explained.

He said I was one among many.

The group was for victims of violence.

I thought of my mother.

She had been beaten many times.

As for me, no one had ever laid a hand on me.

No, I was not a victim of violence.

As for victims of sexual violence, I knew one.

My friend was raped in the coffee plantation.

No body had ever raped me.

What I need is a group for run aways.

People who have run away from exploitive homes.

Run away from witchcraft, money and the devil.

From jobs they were not recruited for.

If you know of such a group, please tell me.