Age of Innocence

The age of innocence.

It is long gone. The innocent aren’t even innocent. Crime everywhere every time. We can’t help ourselves. Our prisons are overcrowded with the innocent and the not so innocent. No one can claim they are innocent. No evidence can be proven. Everything is being fabricated. The age of innocence was lost with our ancestors. Those many years back, we are going about the world pretending to be innocent but deep down we are all aware we ain’t.

I for one know I’m a dark soul.

I get angered easily, I love being loud and being heard. I don’t like being told what to do but I adhere to instructions. Not so long back, a guy approached me and asked me to repent after reading one of my posts. Only one. I got angry. He was asking me to repent on my innocent article, I asked him to read the rest then maybe he would drag me out of the flames of hell himself. He didn’t. As a comeback, I went to his blog and read his post. It was the only long read and I couldn’t understand why he was on to me. He writes about the Pokomo and Tana River county. How we are lost to the Western culture. He sent me the link himself and I wondered if he was pointing me out because I’m not Pokomo and I don’t reside around Tana River county. I don’t even worship the Western culture.

A lot has transpired in my life and I believe writing it is the best cure. I don’t have a county to transform, Sonko is doing it for me. I lack the leadership skills to lead a people to a specific course. We can’t all restrict ourselves to how not-so traditional we are and condemn it. You cannot peep into my writings and decide whether I am or ain’t as good a person as I’m supposed to be.

I’ll stop writing though and repent. Thank you so very much for your sound advice.

I lived in the age of innocence once until I was taken straight out of it. It ended for me. I don’t see it in anyone anymore. Maybe little children below 2, the rest aren’t really innocent.

They appear to be. We want them to be.

The day in which my innocence was grabbed from me, I had just stepped into teenage a month or so ago. I was a little moody and my body was showing all the tell tale signs that I was developing into a young woman, probably fertile. I was on holiday and one day was remaining for schools to re-open. I had been on my up and down travels and that night I was to spend it at my father’s then wake up to head to school.

I hadn’t been there a while and I found a new house help. She was tiny, I was thinking along the lines of child labour. Her body didn’t guarantee her adulthood. At all. She looked innocent. That’s what she wanted everyone to see, it was her cover.

As the good girl that I am, well mannered, very cultured, I went to help her out in the kitchen. She covered the stew and left it to steam up. I can’t remember her name, I don’t want to. If I focus really hard I know I can. It’s best not to. She looked right into my eyes and the words that followed should have sent me a signal. Run!

Uko na matiti kubwa. 

I looked down at my chest then smiled sheepishly. I walked out of the kitchen. I should have walked out of the house. And straight out of town. Little did I know she was mentally preparing me for what was to come a few hours on.

Later that night, we went to bed. I had to share my bed with her. If I had known better, I would have taken the floor. What could possibly happen when two innocent female bodies lie next to each other? After one has openly declared the others breasts to be lustly huge. That’s what I should have thought too. I could have saved my light innocent soul.

I was drifting to slumber land when I felt hands on my ‘matiti kubwa’. The first survival instinct was to scream, a shrill one fit to make the deaf hear. Surprise must have gripped me real tight because no deaf people were said to have heard anything after. Big fail..

Nishike ama nikuchune! 

A little threat, isn’t it? I decided to be hard-headed kiasi and not abide. She kept her word. With tears now, I placed my hands on her tits. They were small. I couldn’t comprehend what pleasure she was deriving from this. My hands were stagnant on that skinny chest, hers were very busy with excitement and exploration. She must have done this a lot. Practice makes perfect but this wasn’t perfect for me. I didn’t like it. I was being raped out of my innocence.

I couldn’t sleep thereafter. I thought I would tell the whole world of what had transpired the night before.

In the morning, I was asked how my night was. Should I tell my dad I was raped. By the innocent looking house help? I hadn’t told him of my other near rape, mother said I shouldn’t and I hadn’t. Now he might believe me but then what? Fire her?

The night was fine. 

I packed and went to school. The next time I was home, she wasn’t present. I think she raped a person who could speak out this time. I saw her on the streets once, she didn’t remember me but I did.

She robbed me of my innocence.

I’m no longer innocent, she took it away that night. I let her, next time I should scream.

I will scream.

My age of innocence had been shut down unexpectedly fast.

I was now exposed.

 

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