The Death of god and I...

The eye tearing stink of death that accompanies any living animal is a clear reminder of the vicious cycle of death that every day lives among us. Some of us die young, others live a whole life. However, the definition of a whole life is relative depending on the quality therein.
Please allow me to post this blog so late in the day, because I have been in the most awkward situation of my life. I am no killer. I do not wish an untimely death on anyone, whoever they may be. However, I came across a certain GM, who seems to be in the same situation. This woman/girl is the perfect easy to kill candidate.
She is vicious.
Now, she is no rabid animal, but she can inspire many attacks in any woman’s life than anyone I know. She is a hero, fearless and always speaks her mind. She is also fearless, which makes men and women who may seek to dominate her have a really hard time liking her, and hence want to kill her or beat her… just to stop her. Well, I am yet to see a first one to try and succeed. So, she called me late last night and congratulated me on my article. Reason… Mr WG was so touched by our article, he could not think of anyone else who would try and oust him… who would take him head on. But I am here. And she wants me to proceed, because he has made threats on her before, that if this time he does kill her, he will have a lot of people… and I mean A LOT to answer to.
Let us say that, that statement cause me to spill hot cocoa on my, ooops! Her former laptop, which as now you all know, is a great source of information. After a little blanching and delayed heart attacks, she told me that Mr. G has threatened to have her killed. Coming from a long trip from Kijabe, she slept immediately. Someone on a private ID called her and assured her that he has been contracted to cut her neck….
So, I know I can write the story, and GM will get killed. If she does, we are hoping Mr.WG, in the need to protect his deviance can go to any length…. Even the wrong person, whose biggest mistake in life was to inspire this story… and I will have contributed. Sorry GM, if you wanted to save your skin, you’d have done as we’d asked as early as Oct.

Please refer to her story later in the blog. Back to my story.

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So, I decided to pursue the legal issue that initially put me in this vicious grip. I spoke to him about it, knowing h would keep his word. I mean, any man who says he keeps his word a thousand times over, must keep his word, alright? As we sip hot beverages from Steers Muindi Mbingu, I remind him kindly that I am in great need to finish up the legal matter. I would like my freedom as well as start planning for the future.
The immediate answers are both disturbing and somewhat expected.
“You know that this is a cruel city?” he asks in a nice, warm fatherly voice. So what? It may b fatherly, but damn… my father is younger.
I know it is a cruel city. I am sitting in a BMW having hot chocolate and talking to the man who at this time holds my life in his hands. If I had a choice, I would be at home resting. I would be resting because I wake up with the cocks, and comes to the office past ten in the morning unless he has an early court case. Yes, I need sleep because in the last few days, he has been keeping me out with his silly friends until the wee hours and I need my rest.
So it is a cruel city. Screw you. You take advantage of an assured girl who came to see your wife, scared and half beaten by her husband and force her to give you sexual pleasure in exchange for her safety and some possible legal help, which she needs to get out of the clutch of the male husband monster and all you can intone is that Nairobi is a cruel city?
Spare me the fatherly talk. If all the fathers in the world were lie this and took advantage of their daughters friends, we would have more shrinks than lawyers……
“The best thing for you to do, is to wait until I am done wit you. Two years. I need two years, whereby I can take care of you, protect you, and make sure that you forget him, and then you can actually, get legal help. If you ever want to get it, you give me two years.”
I can’t believe my ears. I want to spill the chocolate o his lap and burn him, just to hear him scream. But I restrain myself, short of stopping to breathe, I just suck it in.
So, back to the dead vicious circle.
When a woman is assaulted, to the point of ear death, she has two options. She can succumb, forgive the man and resume the relationship in the false hope that he would never ever hurt her, or she can run away, get help and goal.
I took the second option, since I am a fighter. I took the second option. In taking this, I was led to seek help from anon I thought i knew. Somehow, I knew the right people then, or so I thought.
Then the circle resume. Here I am worse off than I begun.
I am here once again.
In the vicious clutches of another man, wielding worse power. More sinister. Evil. Cunning and more painful than a slap to my self.
I am humiliated, degraded, and god, I want t die.
Speaking of god….
My husband, the best thing about him: he was saved. A believer. A man of god.
Until the day he tried to kill me with kicks and slaps and punches to the gut.
But is survived, made it, got out, having some little hope in god.
Then meeting Mr. Gatonye. His wife so religious. She even prayed for me. And he did too. And in the name of god, took me. In my time of desperation and pain. He took me and forced his will upon me. A will not of physical courage. But a malicious calculation of emotional blackmail and psychological games that had me at a weakened, disadvantaged state.
Today, hearing those words. Knowing that there is no hope. And seeing the great deeds from the men of god. I suddenly realize that I am alone. I have no hope and I will surely die if I ever trust in anything godly again.
God is dead.
And the life-death cycle is a way of eliminating any false hope in life… it means, we have to fight or sink.
I will fight. But not in hope or force. I will fight in the game of cat and mouse. I will be the meek, submissive mistress. I will be living, giving, caring and eve nice. I will forget myself and place my hopes in something tangible. Something I can count on. Myself. The internet, and the unending cycle of life: my death.
I am already dead. I have nothing to loose by going at this fight in full swing.
So, today, the good, nice, decent, moral me dies. So that I can be the good, nice, caring mistress, for the man of god. Who had promised to help me, but feels I need to wait two years up until he can be done.
Two fucking years of temporary death.
Maybe the underworld isn’t all that bad.

Melanie, my bird whisperer tells me that someone else is taking the heat for this blog here. Last night, some goon who claimed to have been helped by Mr. G out of a theft charge called one her and told her that she made a mistake by going after the “wakili”. He was in a way, very familiar. Sounded like some guy who used to hook him up with one of the powerful families he wanted to work for. Funny thing, though, the girl was not scared. She said she had such evidence and witnesses that if they decided to “Cut he neck” as she was told, her death would be a welcomed relief, from the pain and torture his man put her through.
I say, come and join me girl. Tell us who you are and we shall help make the lives of million other abused women so much better. Or maybe, it will help Mrs. G, who is aware of all this, from the girl herself, to stop her husbands madness. Or is the man getting senile in his old age?
What lengths will this man go to protect himself? Another death? Will Mrs. O die (Oh yes, the woman is a married one), or will she join me, and help make this expose? I am the watch dog.
Oh, and this is not the first threat. Her former colleagues in a certain media house and former good friend, whom they split up over the uncomfortable feelings due to Mr. G’s acts, also know and are aware of his threats and spying on her. She even had a stalker. Gal that was me, but it was fun to see how she stashed all these photos and send distress emails to her folks!!!
If she dies, my story is true, and we ALL know who the killer is. Mr. G. Bad Move. VERY BAD MOVE.
My advice to you: You may threaten her, but you do not know me, and will never know me. This woman has been your faithful mistress for a long time. What? We even know about the pregnancies… she had better live to be 120.

But that is another story, for another day.

Keep reading, and keep your emails coming.

Unless he gets to kill me also, tomorrow… comes the day of the darlings!!!!

XOXO
Dirrty Mistress.