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FacialKnight, Rape Culture
The only place that didn’t have these incidences posted on them was probably on the back of cereal boxes. The videos were everywhere. Social media outdid itself in this regard. You couldn’t switch on the internet on your phone without having your WhatsApp notifications going off the hook.We have been subjected to all manner of emotion. Anger, pity, apathy, abject disbelief, at the scenes of women being stripped and sexually abused with such fervor that you would be excused if you thought that this was our national past time.I am ashamed to be a man in this country. I hang my head in embarrassment, only to lift it begrudgingly and have a wee look at the horizon, hoping to find an answer in the amber sunset of human decency in our nation. After the protests, hash tags and reluctance of the government to take a stand on the matter, we are all still left wondering, where this beast emerged from or whether we have been housing it all along. A couple of weeks back, I was in a debate with my sultry partner in crime, Minx. She was of the opinion that most men have an innate violent predisposition towards women. She pulled out the stats, quotes from victims, a very compelling poem. It was a very spirited argument. Though I saw the sense in her statements, I was quick to counter that it wasn’t all gloom and doom, that some men are evil the same way some are good. She wouldn’t have it! In the end, we agreed to disagree. A couple of days later, the first stripping took place. Then another followed, this one more fatal as the victim lost her life.I called up Minx and apologized. She was right. Are we the barbaric nation we have been portrayed as? Or is there something a miss? I contend that we are in this cesspool, because we are a very sexual nation but are trying our best to deny it. As a country, we are on the verge of being over sexed. Look in the dailies, not a day will pass without some thick-assed girl posing as the new It Girl in town. Our news presenters are more models than they are anchors. When I’m watching the news, I wonder what is more breaking, the news or the anchor’s bra straps as it struggles to maintain that cleavage. Porn is sold “chini ya maji” by those guys still selling 50-in-1 DVD collections. Lets wander into social media, if you’re a girl and your avi doesn’t scream “Impregnate me!”, guys are unfollowing. They don’t have time to waste bundles on grandma panties and below the knee hemlines.Schools are closed for the year. I cant step out to go to the shop, without having my neck turned by a 15 year old, very buxom girl dressed like a statutory rape charge waiting to happen.The music scene just sells sex like peanuts on the road, the only difference is they now cater to the ladies too. Cue six-packs and gyrating male hips. With all these sexual scenes bombarding our eyes and loins, it’s lost on me how we don’t walk around masturbating or with dildos sticking out of our vaginae. Its a mad house! I’m not going to stand here and preach water then sip Guarana, I’m a big fan of naked women. I support their skin movement, wholeheartedly . What I’m finding increasingly tedious, is the insistence of this society to promote the sexual liberation on paper and in deed, then turn around and scream that it goes against our core African traditions! Tradition?? I think you misspelled “Hypocrisy”. Our Forefathers dressed in skins and furs. The ladies walked around half-naked. It’s only when the white man came into town that we were taught to be ashamed of our beautiful bodies. Our fathers were spot on with the nudity. They placed a higher value on the character of a person more than what garb they chose to cover their genitals with. Those stripping women in the name of guarding our values, please go jump off a cliff, and leave me the parachute. Had you done what you did last week,during the olden days, you would be skinned alive and your skin used to make a skirt for the aggrieved girl. Some men are unwilling to admit that a new age had dawned upon us, but are more than willing to reap the fruits. They’ll pay for a prostitute, stick their dicks in anything resembling a vagina, leer and spank any ass in sight. The only way they would be able to do things like those is because Women have decided to take their sex lives into their own hands. They aren’t bogged down by what a patriarchal society has outlined for them. We aren’t going to make better opportunities for the girl child to learn, become a Wangari Maathai or a Margaret Kenyatta, have her travel to distant lands and fly our national flag high so that she can come home and be told what to wear and whom to fuck. A long frock doesn’t a saintly woman make, and a micro mini doesn’t relegate a girl into the depths of whoredom. Its 2014,we are putting space probes on comets, we have a black man in the most powerful office on earth and I can dial-a-diaper!I think it’s time we came out of the closet. It’s OK to be horny. It’s ok to want to have sex indiscriminately with whoever you please. Coitus doesn’t turn you into Hitler, and being aware of your sexuality don’t make you any less African.It also looks like we don’t have much of a choice anyway but to adapt. The brutal scenes last week, scream of a male population obsessed with the female body. It arouses in them such feral desire, and since they don’t know how to express themselves in a more appropriate manner, they finger and spank the stripped woman under the pretext of safeguarding morality. Everything about a man is designed to please a woman: the strength to protect her, the mouth to talk to her and make her feel beautiful, his courage, to woo her. Even our dicks fit snugly inside her, all to please this queen. And as servants to royalty, we have failed our liege and disgraced the kingdom. A woman was formed from man. So you can’t hate women, because it ultimately means you hate yourself.

Around election time 2013, an older girlfriend of mine invited me to her place for dinner and drinks. Except for two that had come as a couple, the rest of us knew no one else there apart from the host. What made it worse for me was the fact the everyone there was older than me, and looked it. I was ignored but didn’t really mind. Besides, I was there primarily to cook the biriani stew they were about to consume. They’d talk to me eventually. The chicken was delish, the liquor flowed, enough passion fruit martinis and tongues loosened considerably. What had started as an awkward evening of people talking niceties and exchanging business cards turned into a rowdy party of people competing, exchanging crazy stories in their loudest voice and making extraordinary claims of sexual prowess, most aimed at the young pretty thang in the room, me. So many stories were told! Too many laughs. Many lessons lessons were shared. It was an extraordinary evening. I took it all to heart and proceeded to forget most of the details of that night. Only one story remained with me. It was neither funny, nor inspiring. It was in fact, downright disheartening. Let’s call him K. He was gorgeous and despite looking 25 was actually 20 years older. The sight of his 2nd issue ID card brought shock to all our faces. He became the alpha at that point. All of us realized that no story we could ever tell could compete with his vast experience. We shut up and proceeded to be awed by how nasty the 80’s really were. We laughed and laughed… The story that chilled me to the bone was one from his teenage years, when he was still in high school. Starehe Boys’ to be specific. There was a function in their school and they were excited! Girls everywhere! Their preferred girls’ school was Pangani. He was, young, horny and ecstatic. There was no way he’d ever find the confidence to talk to any of them but their very presence would fuel his wet dreams for the two months before their next school holidays. A few hours into the function and he had a chance to sneak out of the school hall. He met up with a friend that had two girls in tow. Showing them the rounds. He joined them but he was too quiet. Not the perfect wing man. His friend suggested they pass by his class and they picked up a few more hangers-on. 5 boys in total and only two girls. K’s heart plummeted. There was no way he was getting near any of the girls at this point. Listening to them talk, hearing their ringing laughter would have to be enough. On they walked until the ring leader suggested they go see some isolated part of the school. The rest agreed. K went along. They got there and the ring leader asked them to cover him. He took one of the girls, pinned her to a tree and started kissing her. She seemed to be game with the whole thing until he started lifting up her skirt. Then she started struggling. He called out and one of his friends went to help him keep her still and silent against the tree. Her friend, who’d been standing guard with the other lookouts started causing a raucous and two boys subdued her, holding their hands to her mouth. K was confused, wondering what this was all about, until he saw the ring leader unzip his fly and force his already stiff penis into the poor girl standing against the tree. From the contortions of her face and the tears that started pouring from her eyes he could tell that she’d been a virgin. Less than a minute of pumping in and out and he was done. His friend that had helped him hold the girl down was next. A few minutes and he too was done. They took turns on her. Taking their pleasure. K came last. He hesitated, knowing it was wrong. One look at all the rest and he knew he had to. Peer pressure was real even then. All he remembers was that it was extremely wet in there! It was his first time and he didn’t last longer than 30 seconds. He spent the next few months paranoid as fuck! His heart beating a mile per hour at every morning assembly, expecting to be called at any time to answer rape charges. The announcement never came. She hadn’t told. Neither had her friend. It was his first ever rape. Considering my mother was in Pangani at around the same time these idiots were roaming and violating poor girls, this story touched me personally. We all know the statistics. 1 in every 3 girls will experience sexual abuse at least once in her life. Have you ever really thought about what this means? Your mother, sister, cousin, friend, lover. Your daughter, nieces, neighbours. These women live with a story they can’t tell anyone. One where they were taken advantage of. K says that he found out later that they weren’t the only one that had raped girls that day. These stories were given as conquests, tales of victory, in the dormitories late at night, over dinner and breakfast in the dining hall… Even as he told us the story, I could tell he didn’t see it for what it was. Evil. He was kind of proud of what he’d done. His ‘first’ rape. Implying there were more. How many rapists roam the streets? Do you know that your friend/brother/husband/boyfriend/son/nephew, might be one? An unapologetic one? So much disregard for sexual rights. Will it ever end if even grown ass highly educated men propagate the culture? These men that we expect to teach our sons. I’d really like to know what you think so please visit our comments section below and leave your thoughts there. What do you think we should do to change this hopeless reality?