Rape Culture, Real Life Stories

K’s Story

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?