The Damage

Its has been three weeks since I let myself get into this very elaborate form of personal enslavement. Please don’t get me wrong… I am not doing so badly. I mean, there are worse things. Things as bad as being robbed violated or assaulted by the man with whom you are living with or the one you are plain fucking. In these three weeks, I have come to believe in the power of vanity and invincibility. If you are rich and/or powerful enough you can have and do anything that you desire, no matter the price.
So, I was leaving the office yesterday, when I passed by the office… going in the usual manner: and I haven’t told a soul.
There are people I would like to tell, though, but I do not know how to start; how to explain it. But also, my pals are beginning to ask questions. To be curious: they are tired of my unexplained absenteeism, my sudden interest in Westlands: But hey, this is where we meet for a few moments of sex then some serious talk on all things men with mistresses talk about: their work, their favorite football club, in this case for him, it is Arsenal. And he does have a nephew or somebody, who works at the club who brought him memorabilia…. No wait, he has been to the stadium and watched live football. Wow, if I could get an express ticket to watch Manchester, just a trip to the Theatre of Dream, My! That would be heaven.
Anyway, after having to lie yet again to my friends as to my need to leave early, I go to the office, and this is nothing as bad or sick as anyone outside can tell. We actually have a lot to talk about. When you put aside the threat and forced engagements, this guy is great. Loves his children, his wife, his work, his soccer!!! And yes, he only sleeps with one other woman at a time, and if I were to even remotely believe him, he is still very good friends with his ex-mistresses, most of whom, are married.
He makes a pseudo-proposal, or that’s how I see it. Two years. Two years he can be with me, and in those two years, he can do whatever he wants, I just need to make myself available and presentable (that is said with a suggestion that I should go out there and buy myself some clothes), and, to avoid this very cruel city of Nairobi, he shall guide me because I need a guide. He shall help me get a job. On that note, he says I must resign from my current employer.
Not should, maybe, whatever, just resign.
And yes, we are going to Limuru.
Like I said earlier, it is not a bad life, not at all.
As a woman who has been assaulted an abused, and a poor girl, coming into contact with this all powerful, all mighty man, who has the power to have you arrested, buried and sunk in the deepest ghouls of hell, you pretty much appreciate any crumbs of goodness and appreciation that are thrown your way.
The irony is that, once you forget the terms of the deal, and get down to doing the duty of once a week fuck, accompanying the man to endless evening meetings at the Jacaranda and other hotels, going to Gypsy for Saturday football and Klub House for Friday’s Chairman’s table dinner, then it is kind of rosy. And funny thing, at the table, the men are of different sizes and power levels, and the women…. Look at the current girlfriend of one of the powerful men over there. She is so nice and cuddly, and I can barely afford to sit next to him. He shocks me on our way back: as we drive home, he asks me of my impression of her. I give an honest evaluation that I did not think she liked me very much of course she didn’t, he responds kindly. She is very, very, very; mad at me (meaning me).
They were having a secret affair, at the same time she was seeing the Chairman.
I am drunk, but I am not that drunk. When a man is so callous as to tell you that you have to fuck him, but he is concerned that his ex-mistress hates him because, as he put it, they were having a private affair since the Chairman is a very powerful man (and he is), and here he is expressing his concern. Puleez!!~! Spare me the tears.
So this is the kind of man, who wanted me to have a mandatory HIV test with his very good friend the doctor (I can’t mention his name, Mel, he is not a main part of the story, and I never saw him anyway…) and he was screwing with the chairman’s mistress!!!! Man, this is pathetic.
So, we are going to Limuru. And it is a beautiful place. There is this client who has a place coming up, and we are going to visit. My biggest problem is: who the hell am I? I could be going to meet people I respect with a man… anyway; I do not have a choice. So we set off for Limuru in the afternoon.
Driving a BMW in the country side is fun, if they let you go beyond the speed limit. I enjoy the ride
Like I have said twice before: it is not such a bad life when you have all these things that a nice and bright and shiny and lovely and beautiful. When things are like that and the above, you tend to forget why you are there. You maybe suffer from a few nights of insomnia after every fuck, but, when it is a trip to Limuru, or a nice evening at the Norfolk, and this is the best; an afternoon and early evening at the Gypsy watching football, there is something nice and beautiful and bright and shiny and maybe lovely in this sick, very sick arrangement.
So, as we take in the beautiful scenery, I wonder what I am still doing with him. Surely, e must be terrified that if I told his wife or god forbid, hi daughter, he would get some backlash. But something about the casual confidence and the sure manner in which h relates with everyone makes me scared and unsure.
I am not an unsure person. But when life has beaten you and handed you some painful chunks in such large portions, so fast, in the form of the men I your life, you kind of get unsure.
So, we arrive and have a nice time. I realize that there will be no way out. I must live out the two years. I must persevere. I will go along. I will give in.
But I will no longer be unsure.
I will collect evidence.
I will tell the world, one day. Not today, but one day.
I will destroy the man. Not because it is a deserving punishment, but because, as life goes, someone sometimes must bear the brute force of the sins of others.
For all those men who have taken women’s lives and hung them to dry.
For all the ones who live in great pain, unable to act, unsure. For them and me.
He will pay. And I will see to it.
So, on our way back, I get a camera and recorder. I was unsure, but I am intelligent, cunning and I can suck it up.
So, I am so totally glad I had the trip to Limuru to get to clear mind. It certainly made me somewhat… damaged.
I have taken a leap into a place of lies and deception, of blatant scheming… and that is the last bridge between sanity and insanity, between whole and damaged.
I am damaged. Deal with it.