(In your arms)

You’re texting with your girlfriend. Right at the time she’s from job. It’s around 7pm. She tells you she misses you. Of course you miss her too. So you decide to give her a call. To hear her voice, so she can walk without texting. She might fall, except it wouldn’t be for you.

She picks up the phone call, and for the first few minutes, you both say hi at the same time. You both ask each other how are you doing at the same time. Both of you giggle. Takes a deep breath. Before words come out from your heart, “baibe, I’ve missed you.” She laughs, no, she smiles while flipping her hair sideways, you can imagine her perfectly well, the way her dovish eyes dim when she smiles. “I’ve missed you too.” She says.
At the time you want to bade her goodbye, to tell her to get home safely, she disrupts you. “Baibe, someone is following me.”. You don’t get it clearly at first so you say, “love, what’s wrong? “.
“Some guys are following me. Let me get to the light.” She says. Right at the time, you picture it out. The dark alley she’s always told you about. The one that things tend to happen at night. The one, at some point in time, you both had a quickie on. On the phone you hear your girl’s heartbeat racing. You hear her footsteps heightening. You picture out the guys racing after her. Except, you’re not sure if he’s one guy or if they are many.
She hasn’t hung up the phone yet. So you ask her.
“Baibe, are you safe? Are you okay?”

Even though you know that’s not the question you should be asking. Even though she knows, you’ll be on the phone, at the same time you’ll be putting your leather jacket on, armed with your pen knife, and you’d tell her, “baibe, I’m coming to get you.” But no.. no.. no.. you’re waiting for something bad to happen. You want to know if she’s okay so you wouldn’t bother going for her. And if something goes wrong will you be there.?
She tries to respond. But faintly. She gasps. She tries to scream. You feel her voice fading away, as you hear a thud on the phone. It’s like someone slapped the phone out of her ears, so it went dangling down to the thicket. Your baby girl tries to scream, but she’s suffocating. Huge hands are blocking her mouth. The arms are holding her firmly, and she tries to fight them off. She tries to kick them off. You can hear her struggles through the voice. You can see your baby girl in danger. Vexed. You shout. But the phone dies away.

Your girl throws her legs in the air. You can picture it out clearly. When hands suffocates her screams in her throat. When hands tries to undress her, to pull out her white pants off. You put your jacket on, take a flashlight and call a cab. You get to the dark alley, all the while trying to call her back. But the phone rings, and no one picks. On the dark alley, it’s dark. Silent. You can still smell the perfume of your girl. Yes she was here, but where is she now? You give her a call, and the phone rings around you. You put on the flashlight, and the first sight your eyes catch is her handbag on the ground. The next is just one doll shoe. The next, is a piece of hair. And each sight tores you deeply. It was a struggle.
“Baibe are you here??”

You ask, even though you know no one will respond. You’re alone in this alley and all your calls reverberates.
You hoping maybe she’s still here. That maybe at the far end of the alley she’ll be stuck. Head bowed down. Hands around her knees. She’ll be sobbing. And you’ll hear those soft sobs, you’ll make it to her and hold her. Tell her, “baibe, it’s okay. I’m here now.” Even though you know that you’re late, that the deed has already been done. Fear grips your soul like webs of spiders on a fly.

You hoping maybe you can trace her scent. You close your eyes and focus all your senses on her. But her scent has been tainted by the assailant’s sweat. It’s like you’re on top of the highest building, calling her heart, trying to trace where she is, but the traffic intercept through. There are too many heart beats in this city. So your efforts are fruitless.
You circumnavigate the scene. Before you pick your girlfriend’s left overs. To make sure she’s not there. Stranded, you don’t know what to do. Somehow, it hits you that you’re in Africa, and sadly you’re in Kenya, and the Police are the ones you trust the least. You don’t know who to reach out to. You have the gut to call her dad but you don’t have his number. Fear weighs your lips, just at the time you figure out you should call your bestie to come help you out.

You dial his number,but a call comes through. A strange number is calling. So you compose yourself, and the first thing that you want to say, is not just a hello. So you shout, “I want my girl back before I give you your money.” But the voice on the other end is cool. So feminine.
“Hello baibe. ?”

“Love is that you? Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m okay baibe, I’m at home, I’m scared. Where are you.?”

Before answering you hesitate.

“Uuuhm, I’m at the alley. Came to pick you up.”
Immediately she hears it, she sprung up from her couch, and forgets of her fears.
“Baibe, get out of there now. Those guys are still there. They’ll kill you. Get out right now..”

“What…!”

She’s now begging you.

“Get out now.!”
As soon as she finished her sentence, you hear heavy footsteps behind. You can’t turn around to look, for there’s another in front of you.

“Babe, alright, I miss you. I’ll call you back.”

You hung up the phone and put it in your pockets. You walk straight to the guy approaching you. He blocks your way. You push him aside. But he decides to throw a punch. You block it and you give him a heavy one on his face, he loses balance. But he doesn’t move. He is tough. He throws another punch, you duck it, and hit him on the ribs. He coughs.
The other guy comes to the rescue. With a baseball bat, he tries to hit you, you elude it, and give him a round kick on the jaw. Followed by a fist on his skull. The other guy regains his steadiness, pulls out a machete, you take out your pen knife, jump to his face and slit his cheeks all the way to his lips before he uses it. He grunts. The other, tensed. Lays down.
You walk over him, but not before giving him a kick on the stomach. He groans. You pass over him, as you try to make it out of the alley. At the exit, 3 more men emanates. Scary faces. Serious faces. Scarred faces. With clubs and empty whiskey bottles.

You back pedal. Trying to calculate an escape route. Off guard, the guy laying down, catches your legs, holds on to it. You kick him on the face, but he tightens his grip on you, till you fall down. Pulling out your pen knife, before using it, the 3 men, Steps on you systematically. One on your balls. The other in your stomach. The other on your jaws. With heavy boots, they grind your jaws. You feel your teeth biting on your tongue. You feel your eyes mixing with your lips. Blood oozes out. Mixes with sand. Empty whiskey bottles breaks on your skull. Baseball bats numbs your limbs. You breathe your own blood. You’re subdued. Broken ribs. Broken limbs. You can’t feel yourself. It’s all bloody hell in this dark alley.

Before they let you go. A call comes in your phone. It’s your girlfriend. The guys takes out the phone. Switches it off. Your girlfriend thinks maybe you’re already asleep. So she sends a goodnight text. But doesn’t get a Delivery notification. So she goes to sleep. The guys ransacks your pockets. Takes everything out. Takes off your clothes. Leaves you laying there. Naked. But you’re tired. You can’t move. You can’t feel yourself. So you just lay there.

Only to be woken up by murmurs of crowd. You open you’re eyes, and it’s not dark anymore. It’s in the morning. The crowd have gathered around you. Indistinct murmurs. From their faces, they are asking themselves, “is he dead already? Someone call a police.” You feel like carrying your hands up like you always did when the teacher often asked a question. Just to tell them you’re still alive. But you’re weighed down.

It’s 7 am. Your girlfriend is heading to work. She decides to pass by the scene. And somehow grateful that it could’ve been her lying down there. At the scene, she sees the sight of your penis, flaccid resting on your groin. She says. “Oh no!” She moves closer through the crowd. Her eyes sets gaze on your wrist, she sees the wristband she gave you. She says, “it can’t be true.” She moves more close and sets eyes on your face, and she drops her files and whatever she carried. A sharp pain runs through her womb. Slits through her bowels. Remembers the first time she fell in love with you. Your eyes meet. As tears conjures in her eyes.
She runs through to you. Shouting, “baibe. ..baibe. .baibe. ..”
She’s holding you now. She’s got your head resting on her laps. You feel nothing at all. The pain averts you. You’re smiling. You’re struggling to synchronise something. She’s telling you, “Its gonna be fine baibe.”
You’re struggling to say something. You’re saying, “You’re beautiful my love.”

She’s screaming to the crowd. “Someone call an ambulance!!”
They are just staring at her. ‘Cause she’s now screaming. She’s crying. She’s holding you. You’re feeling good. She’s feeling the pain. She’s got fear on her lips. You staring at her, it’s blurry vision.
You struggling to say something. You saying, “I love you.” Her tears falls on your lips. She’s saying, “don’t speak.”
You stare at her. You see clouds. You lay in her arms. She’s screaming. The crowd watching. She’s feeling the pain. you’re feeling complete. At peace.

Her cries becomes distant. You’ve become familiar with the cold.

*****