Posts Tagged ‘Kenya’

So let’s assume Jesus came back today. Or tomorrow. Or you know, whenever. Christians have been waiting for Him to come back for over 2,000 years now, while Atheists claim 2,000 years is too long to wait for someone to come again (yes, full pun intended). Personally I do not mind the wait.

As an Engineer I have learnt one thing, never rush things. All you can do is wait; hopefully the wait won’t be as long as waiting for Kanye West to apologize to Wiz Khalifa for insulting him using a 2 year old. In hindsight (LQTM) Amber Rose did do Wiz some justice… And as someone pointed out, that is why you have to pay for child support.

Anyway, back to the point; If Jesus were to come back today. A few friends and I, brilliant bloggers as well, had this argument yesterday. As expected, most were for the idea that Jesus should come back already, while the faint hearted chose not to participate at all, labelling us Atheists. But come on, we have all read the Bible. His coming has been anticipated more than His actual birth.

Regardless, the discussion continued, for those that stayed anyway. The initial view was that if Jesus were to come back today, He would be imprisoned. He would be labelled a political blogger out for blood with unsubstantiated claims of miracles out to oust the current regime (that we are tired of anyway) and He would be labelled an unpatriotic Son Of Kenya. Because God is Kenyan. Smh. In fact, He would be stoned, not like the  Stephen-Stoned-To-Death-From-Weed type, actual stoning. And pastors would be behind it because all the money they collect to ‘give to Jesus’ would be claimed by Jesus, legally. Well, that’s what the church is about nowadays anyway, right?

But then someone else argued that Jesus would be respected because He would perform miracles. The general consensus however, was that only one miracle would stand out. And your guess is as good as mine was. It wouldn’t be the ability to cure AIDS or to raise the dead back to life. It would be more along the lines of dethroning EABL, KWAL and Keroche Industries.

Yup, Jesus would be the perfect fit for Kenya if He could re-do the miracle at Cana. And I am sorry Meru people, I really do mean MIRACLE not MIRAA-CO. Afterall, Kenya is a drinking nation, second only to South Africa. Nigerians tell us they swim in pools full of liquor as Kendrick directed them to so they really aren’t in contention… Plus we don’t believe them. If they said they swam in oil, perhaps we would believe them.

I digress. If somehow Jesus would turn water into wine yet again… It was agreed everyone would follow Him. Not on Twitter, nor on Facebook and neither on Instagram… None. It would be a physical following. The kind that would have me be a water boy for Him, a job I would serve very diligently, as i pointed out. We keep saying hoes are thirsty, but we both know you would be thirsty as well. After all, it would be Holy Alcohol; which would be safe to drink because He would never allow your liver to get damaged. Talk of the Holy Spirit…. Wait, what?

Which brings me to the other point. As a Kenyan, we will always be business minded; someone somewhere would try to get Jesus to turn their local dam into a brewery. Well, personally I know I would. It would be a goldmine! Because the infrastructure already exists. He would deliver the beer through pipes right into people’s homes from their taps. Doesn’t matter what type of pipe you would have, PPR, GI… it wouldn’t matter.  Imagine it! Beer in taps.

So on that note, I am kindly asking all potential investors to consider my offer. I am registering my Beer In Taps Company Limited next week in anticipation for Jesus’ coming. You shouldn’t be scared of the legal constraints because we have no law against it, yet.

In short, what I am asking for is your money and your continued support. The government told us to be entrepreneurs and create jobs after all, right?

I DREAM

Posted: December 24, 2015 by ketihapa in Kenya
Tags: , , , , , , ,
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I will dream we will be better than this

Someone said my dreams are valid. That same person went ahead to feature in a Star Wars movie, but not before she got Mexicans trying to fight for her after she won an Oscar. She dared to dream, and her dreams came true. I am not sure having people that have chilli with everything save for sex counts, but yeah, her dreams came true. They came hard and fast (no pun intended), all because Lupita dared to dream.

So i will dream too…

I dream that one day we will have a country that is defined by love; not greed. Not hate. A country i will be happy to let my kids grow up in. Where they wont have to buy milk for ksh 100 because someone slept with someone to steal money intended for the Youth Service and the government’s only option is to raise taxes to recover the money- not counting some Euro bond rubbish. A country where my kids will be known as Kenyans, not Kikuyu or luo or Luhya or Kalenjin or Maasai or Kamba.

I dream that one day my country will be the best place to live in, and we wont have private developers grabbing lands meant for schools that my kids will attend. Or money meant for laptops to help them become better scholars. And that their teachers will be paid enough to nurture my kids to be amazing people. I dream that nobody will stop them in Nairobi to demand for ksh 200 because they were carrying an over-size paper bag and they didn’t have a receipt with a KRA stamp on it.

I also dream that everybody will have food and water. Perhaps China will get us food and water because my government seems more interested in buying wheelbarrows worth Ksh 109,000 and shutting down websites that report they are outside the country buying Jameson instead of procuring quality vaccines for our kids, more of whom are dying due to poor health care and absence of health workers because the government refused to pay them and instead opted to bankroll expensive flights to heaven (in doubt) and hell and allegedly Mars.

I dream of the day we wont have to buy guns to protect ourselves; that day when my country wont have to spend billions to buy gun when in truth the biggest and fiercest guns have been in our possession all along- the guns called love, understanding and compassion. I dream of the day the media wont have to report that a woman was shot in church and the bullet went straight through her and dislodged in her two year old child, who barely knows how to protect himself and his mother. I dream that one day, i will walk in town and no child will stop me to beg for money because my government ensured all kids go to school. Because they had the hindsight to know that education, hence knowledge, is all the power needed to make my country a better place.

I also dream that one day, my kids will be wise enough to know that Instagram is for girls whose fathers are disappointed of; that Twitter is a powerful tool to connect with fellow human beings, but one that ignorant people can use to force other people to hate other people. That it is a tool that can be used by people borrowing money from their parents to buy bundles to sack Cabinet Secretaries.

Most importantly, i dream of you. I dream of the day i will put a ring on your finger; i dream of the day i will marry you- you can have your grand wedding then. I dream of being a wonderful husband and an even better father to our kids.

In short, i will dream that my dreams will come true, because i realize that a man without a dream is just a bad dream.

I hate October

October. I always hate October and to some extent, September. Too many bad things happen around these two months. A quarter of the world dies during these two months; wars, suicides, road accidents, laughter… Ok, wait, I am not sure laughter fits there. Then there are tragedies. Houses collapsing, teachers not getting paid, children opening school to study for four weeks (never mind that parents will still pay for the entire term), Kenya beating a team 5-0 then failing to reproduce that form at Kasarani, Airtel cars- that we’re supposed to win if we use their services stalling on roads and causing traffic jams. My neighbour announcing that we can longer be friends because his girlfriend thinks I am better girlfriend to him than her (SMH), never mind that we cooked beef at his place once and we were all drunk. In short, I hate October. Rocktoberfest can’t do anything to absolve this.

And this October still wants to be miserable. For starters, the promised El Nino that was to keep me indoors instead of having to wake up at 5 in the morning to go to work hasn’t happened yet. Only Mombasa citizens have had a taste for it so far. And it didn’t even last three days. Then there are rumours Airtel will move from Kenya soon. I don’t even use their services, but imagine how much Safaricom will charge us once their biggest rival here is gone? I foresee a day when Kanjo will partner with Safaricom and we will be required to pay for public toilets using airtime. And don’t even get me started on the fact that our leadres are fighting. And from the look of things, this will not be okay. Then there are wheelbarrows that civil servants can only afford to buy if they save up for a year. And MCAs that award themselves six million on a whim. And half built markets that cost millions.

I hate October.
And I haven’t even talked about the elephant in the room; that Njoki Chege wants fat women held responsible for their cheating spouses simply because they are fat. I know I shouldn’t wish it on anyone, but the day that insensitive, Subaru hating, insecure, bile loving… (I have ran out of adjectives, sorry)… poor lady gets a husband, humanity will have failed me. Fat people don’t choose to be fat (most of them anyway), it just happens. Some people just have better metabolisms. And some people are just idiots.

I hope you’re starting to see why October isn’t my favourite month, ever.

Never mind policemen who are more interested in money than actually saving your life or offering you any help at all. It’s worse in October because it is a dry month and the farmers don’t really have any food to transport to the market; most of them are preparing their farms for the short rains. Which means that there are fewer people hiring cars to transport their produce, which leaves the cops strolling around town for anyone with anything that looks like luggage; and if you don’t have a receipt for it, you are either forced to pay at least Ksh 300 or go to jail for ‘theft’. Like most of them even see the irony. You don’t believe me? Try carrying a bag full of stones on Luthuli Avenue this month and watch yourself branded a terrorist who stole stones from a government building. And we all know how many government buildings are on Luthuli Avenue.

Then as if I don’t already have enough on my plate, there’s my brother. I love him to death. He is tall, funny and an awesome brother. He is the kind of person that would jump off a cliff if there was any chance his jumping would let you live if you only had one piece of rope between you and that rope wouldn’t support the both of you. He is the kind of person that will find you lying on the ground, in pain, from where a snake bit you and he would literally suck it out without minding what the poison would do to him. But.

There is always a but.

You see, he is what women call a player nowadays. He has too many exes. Most of them are beautiful, young things. And very naïve. As the good brother I am, I always try to be friends with them, because I know being friends with his girl can only get me closer to him. But they are naïve. Too naïve- I don’t try to hit on them, ever- but they are too naïve. Take for instance yesterday. I had been feeling a little down following disappointments in my company and when something great finally happened, I thought I would do something for myself. So I bought myself congratulatory meat. Nyama Choma. Then this lass walks over to me and says hi, she actually says hi. I remember her vaguely but she looks familiar. She tells me she is Ann and she is an ex of my brother’s. I smile. I remember her now. I invite her to my expensive nyama choma and order the waiter to get her two Redds Vodka bottles. Two turns to four. Then six. Then she blackouts.

So, here I am, a small, very young girl by my side and a half drank bottle of Redds Vodka. I gulp the remainder and try to wake her up. She doesn’t budge. I do what any self-respecting man would do. I try to get her home. I know she lives in Kasarani, so I decide to get her in a cab. But a cab will be too expensive, especially for an ex that isn’t even mine. I decide to get public transport. Kasarani isn’t so far away. So I pay my bill and drag her off the table. By now, she is basically a zombie. I take her arm and try dragging her towards the stage. Then the worst happens. The cops show up. I won’t bore you with the details, but this is how the conversation went down:

“Do you know this man?”

“Yes”

Do you know where he is taking you?”

“NO.”

Let’s just say nobody likes a man with a drunk woman who doesn’t know where he’s taking her. My Ksh 1000 will attest that we learnt this the hard way. And that is how I was unable to go to Sarakasi Dome to watch a play I had been waiting to watch for two weeks. I hate October.

That Girl…. 🙂

Recently, my girl and I have been fighting. (Not physically, we are both tiny and physically incapable of doing any real damage to each other, never mind that we are both from Nyeri.) You see, Ivy, that is her name, is independent and very lovable. She always has been. She is, in my opinion, the epitome of a goddess. She is tall, slim (her arms look smaller than any Kisii man’s plate of ugali.) and she has this awesome smile that could make you fall in love with her in an instant. Then there is the way she laughs you could swear her laugh will be on the playlist in Heaven. She is a lightskin but she can make you an awesome stew of beef (don’t trust her sausages tho) while at the same time making you question what you ever did to God to deserve her. They say that the easiest and shortest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but I could swear Ivy is the shortest way to my heart. Sorry ladies.

Anyway, the whole reason we have been fighting is because she got a job in Uganda, Kampala to be precise, and God knows we were unprepared for it- almost like a scary pregnancy. She got a job at one of the most awesome places I can think of and I don’t think I need to mention that her job is more awesome than the boob job the Kardashian family invested in- Kanye West will understand what I mean. She gets to meet all these great people, and her boss pays her to convince them that they are awesome people. I know, right? Her boss basically pays her to have fun and get free drinks. I envy her all day (I know you do too) but as an engineer, naah. My job is better. At least I get to meet old people and hope I will age more graciously.

So, you can imagine my dilemma when she tried to convince me to ignore my(awesome) job and travel to Uganda. In short, a perfect Texas (or Mexican, if you watch Citizen TV) standoff.

In my mind, I knew Uganda was horrible. All 3 people-including ivy- that can speak English can attest to that. First, they call their matatus taxis, and their banks make you feel like a millionaire when in essence you are a hundred-nare back here in Kenya. They make you have Matoke with everything except sex (thank God) and their bodaboda drivers insist you use a helmet. Plus they could turn you into an alcoholic in a few hours. Tusker is Ksh. 83 for crying out loud.

Eventually tho, she won. And I had to take a 13 hour bus to Kampala. I have to tell you at this point that if you are the sort of person that has to pee every 30 minutes, Kampala is not for you. And the bus does NOT have a toilet on board.And you cannot make the driver stop because he is NOT your girlfriend. Let us just say that I am not a bus person. Anyway, I did get to Kampala ok eventually. It was like nothing I had imagined. (The accent is still a load of nonsense, and apparently we have a Kenyan accent, but…) and then their bands are so epic, they can make dancehall music (or riddims if you are from Kayole) sound heavenly. The women are so polite and respectful; you ask yourself why you were born Kenyan. And their policemen actually shake your hand without expecting Ksh. 50 from you.

I should just say that I had enough fun for years thanks to Michelle and Phill. Ivy will want a mention too so I should tell her thank you at this point.

 

Now, fast forward to yesterday, when I left Uganda. The journey was okay up and until we got to Busia and crossed over to the Kenyan side. Bribes for luggage. Luggage that was so tiny I felt I could have sneaked it in my underwear- NOT condoms. An hour later, the price went up from 3000 to 5000, simply because it got very sunny and someone needed an appeasement bottle of alcohol. And the girl being taken advantage of was from Denmark hence could not really understand Kiswahili. So we refused to let her pay and threatened to get off the bus if they made her pay and to carry the corrupt official from KRA to the police station.

Eventually, I think he realized had more to lose than actually losing the 5000. So we proceeded on our way towards Nairobi. We had won. But it did make me question why Kenyans tolerate corruption when it was pretty obvious nobody liked it. I still can’t understand. May be you people can help me understand.

 

Crowns for Clowns

Hello my peoples. I know what most of you are wondering; WTF has yours truly been? Why TF did he/she forsake us? I haven’t. I have longed to resume blogging and making you laugh for some time now and I am sorry I couldn’t do it sooner. I am not about to make excuses, but I really tried- I couldn’t. In between my final year project (which was awesome) and final exams and the pressure to convince my wonderful parents that I was not going to graduate University as an Engineer (yes, you can call me that now) without a wife, or as they’re called nowadays, bae… you get my point. I will bore you with that story much later…

Anyway, during my long exile I came across one of the funniest things I have ever read, though unfortunately the author signed off as anonymous, and I will share it with you:

 

Once upon a time in the kingdom of Heaven, God was missing for six days. Eventually, Michael the archangel found him, resting on the seventh day. He inquired of God.

“Where have you been?”

God took a deep sigh of satisfaction and proudly pointed downwards through the clouds, “Look, Michael. Look what I’ve made!”

Archangel Michael looked puzzled and said, “What is it?”

“It’s a planet,” replied God, “and I’ve put Life on it. I’m going to call it Earth and it’s going to be a great place of balance.”

“Balance?” inquired Michael, still confused. God explained, pointing to different parts of earth.

“For example, northern Europe will be a place of great opportunity and wealth while southern Europe is going to be poor. Over there I’ve placed a continent of white people and over there is a continent of black people,” God continued pointing to different countries. “This one will be extremely hot while this one will be very cold and covered in ice.”

The Archangel, impressed by God’s work, then pointed to a land in the eastern part of Africa and said, “What’s that one?”

“Ah,” said God. “That’s Kenya the most glorious place on earth. There are beautiful beaches, mountains, streams, hills, and water falls. The people from Kenya are going to be very handsome, modest, intelligent and humorous and they are going to be found traveling the world holding good jobs. They will be extremely sociable, hardworking and high-achieving, and they will be known throughout the world as diplomats and carriers of peace and go to the Olympics.”

Michael gasped in wonder and admiration but then proclaimed, “What about balance, God? You said there would be balance!!!”

God replied wisely, “Wait until you see the clowns that will lead them :D.”

 

You ask where I am going with this, right? I will expound. The author brilliantly explained what is happening in our beloved country. I am not about to mention any names, primarily because I don’t want to suffer the same fate as one Wadi. For those that watched the Keter video, you will agree with my sentiments that most of our leaders are selfish, immature, arrogant, corrupt and I-don’t-know-what-to-call-them-any-more. It is one thing to intimidate people with authority (which Keti Hapa doesn’t condone) if you’re the president, not some lowly official that the majority leader of senate has never heard of nor spoken to. No Mr. Keter, we, the Matapakas, refuse to pick your calls. Hell, even the cool kids here declared they don’t even pick calls of nature anymore.

Then, as if we don’t have enough clowns in the administration, there has to be even more in the Church. First it was Kanyari, who took sowing seeds very literally. His philosophy was simple; confuse them till they’re dumb enough to give you a lot of money (and or sexual favours). Now, we have Kiuna. For somebody that was born in a slum, I would she would have more humility, but no. Kiuna warned us poor people not to go to her church, while urging our women to leave us and go live in SQs in posh neighborhood so they can find wealthy men to marry them, that’s what you did, right? I am assuming her definition of poor people is us, us that have to eat cereal (when we can afford it) with forks so as to save milk.

Us, that don’t care whether it was the chicken or the egg that came first, or whether the chicken was crossing the road in order to reach before the egg, as long as its destination is our stomachs. Yes, we that have to go to Nairobi Aviation College and build castles in the air during class so we can get degrees in Architecture to better our lives, or dump our girlfriends before Valentines so we can be awarded degrees in Financial Management. Kiuna, at least you were straight forward… you despise us. I’ll tell you a secret; we don’t care. You can lead your followers like the sheep they are- they go to baa baa shops too, right?- and you can keep boiling the hell out of water if you think that will get you holy water, we got the message.

I could go on and on about the kind of leaders our beloved Kenya is bestowed with, but I don’t see the point; we live in a land where its crowns for clowns. I will wish everyone else a great week ahead and I love you guys.

 

PS:

If you don’t already know it, Valentines is just around the corner. Feel free to consult my guide on how to avoid Valentines. If you do however still feel the urge to celebrate Valentines, please do so responsibly. Don’t choose the types that spend hours on Instagram showing us how much of disappointments they are to their fathers.

Besides ‘The Dog ate my homework, blame it on the alcohol is the next best.

NACADA has today identified the main cause of Kenya’s population explosion, which has seen an unexplainable increase in Kenya’s population from 40 million as of the last census, to 48 million as of December 2013. This is expected to increase exponentially at the same rate to about 60 million by the year 2030.

In a press briefing held at NACADA offices, Mrs. Meakins today said that alcohol has been identified after many months of research to be the main cause of the ever increasing rate of growth in Kenya’s population.

She went on to add that men are not particularly hungry for sex, but like Mary the mother of Jesus who blamed it on the Spirit, we too should blame it on the Alcohol. She further went on to regret a heartfelt apology why NACADA did not take it seriously when Jammie Foxx declared that we should blame it on the alcohol.

As such, Mrs. Meakins has today warned all men that are regulars at parties, clubs, pubs and anywhere alcohol is sold to be wary of any alcohol that is offered by any female. She further went on to add that NACADA will partner with Mr. Mututho to battle Alcohol. Mr. Mututho further explained that 80% of the women in Kenya use this date drug called Alcohol and are in cahoots with EABL. According to Mr. Mututho, the drink is available in liquid form and is relatively cheaply available in all parts of the country.

The drug apparently comes in all forms of containers, ranging from glass bottles, which is the most common, to plastic bottles, cans, or from taps specially crafted by EABL for use in heavy metallic barrels otherwise referred to as kegs. The drug can also be brewed at home by people that are sufficiently knowledgeable from concoctions containing sugar, water and any carbohydrate among other ingredients such as preservatives like ARVs that can be broken down by an array of biological agents, usually bacteria. These local brews are commonly known as Chang’aa, Busaa, Muratina, among various other names depending on what part of the country you come from.

Alcohol is apparently used by most female predators at the above mentioned locations to persuade their male counterparts to go home with them and in many cases, to sleep with them. Usually, as few as five bottles are required and the female only has to ask the male to take her home. She doesn’t need to specify that she wants him to go home with her for a clever invention dubbed as ‘No strings attached’ sex. It is in fact rumoured that one Jonny Walker has been walking around the earth non-stop for nearly five decades now trying to find the woman that first offered him No strings attached sex. Jack Daniels and Jameson are a few other famous men that have in the past fallen prey to this vile act.

It is reported that men are often rendered helpless against this demonic approach, especially because after a few beers lose the ability to determine whether a female was born in the zoo or not. As a result, men have little option but to accept to sleep with women whose faces look like Satan peed on them, whom they would normally not have sex with. These women are said to target these men since it would require a mallet to hit that. It has been suggested that Alcohol was discovered by the descendants of one @JoyceSabali, who is remembered as being remarkably ugly.

After drinking this Alcohol, men will usually not wake up with any memories of the previous night, with one of our informants saying he woke up with the so called ‘dents.’ These females are reported to escape the homes of their victims very early in the morning, avoiding sight by any other male in the region, which is often referred to as the Walk of Shame. At KetiHapa, we suspect he was a poor victim of a fight among Alcohol influenced men to fight for a descendant of @JoyceSabali. Our interviewee, like most other interviewees we talked to, said he woke up with the feeling that he had did something really ugly. We weren’t sure whether he said it with or without pun intended.

Occasionally, a few of these men are coerced into spending all of their savings for Alcohol in a scam that has apparently been going on since time immemorial known as ‘Relationships.’ In extreme cases, a few of these females capture unsuspecting males for the above mentioned No strings attached sex and entrap them into lives of pain, misery and self-pity that they refer to as ‘Marriage.’ It has been discovered that men are much more susceptible to this scam after Beer is administered and sex is offered by these predatory females.

NACADA, in conjunction with Mututho, have enlisted the help of the Kenya Police to try and curb this heinous act and ensure that all men will be free of Alcohol. A nationwide campaign has also been launched to encourage men to avoid Alcohol offered by women in a desperate attempt to manage Kenya’s rapidly rising population. Three hours after the launch of the program, they are seemingly miserably losing, and as one of our reporters reports, most pubs are full and packed to the brim.

TO DIE OR TO LIVE

Posted: September 16, 2013 by ketihapa in AIDS, Rape
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Vera Farmiga, who plays the character Norma Louise Bates in the TV hit series Bates Motel in the episode where she was assaulted.

She sweeps across the room, her gaze tilted at an angle of 90 degrees; you see, she’s lying on the cold, hard floor. She breathes softly, calm, waiting for the inevitable. She’s too weak to lift her already bloody hands now, but she can feel her fingers twitch. In the distance, she hears the wailing sirens of police cars as they quickly approach. She knows she’s slowly losing the fight, but hey, she wants it this way. No pain, no regrets. She’s lived the best she ever could…

********** 1 hour earlier****************

The cup of coffee in her left hand, she picks up the remote control of her 32 inch TV and turns it on, and lets herself fall into the embracing arm rests of her couch. Slowly, she flicks the channels till she comes across something she likes. In this case, BBC News Channel. She takes a sip of her warm, soothing coffee, listening carefully to the beautiful female news anchor. She’s talking about the crisis that faces Kenya if her two principles do get convicted by the International Criminal Court, and the African Union’s efforts in intervening to plead with the ICC to let the accused miss some of their court days in order to carry out their executive duties in the country.

Personally, she could care less. She knows it is probably going to destabilize the country if the president and his vice are convicted by the court, but hey, she knows Kenya, her country has always got through her obstacles. Her Black Berry phone beeps once; a text message from work. Her boss is reminding her of her presentation to the board tomorrow but she knows she’s ready for it. She texts back a single line, “I am ready sir, don’t worry.” She knows how much her boss hates shortened words in texts. All the same, she promises herself to go through her prepared presentation before she goes to bed, as well as take her meds.

She now shifts her attention to the hissing noise in the kitchen, which alerts her that her dinner is ready, or almost ready. Lazily, she drags herself up and towards the kitchen. She’s almost halfway when her dog starts barking. She assumes he’s hungry, as usual, when it stops barking after 20 seconds. She lifts the lid of her brass cooking pot and immediately the smell of a meal that promises to be sumptuous hits her nostrils. She takes a spoon and tastes it to check whether she put in the right amount of seasoning. She smiles to herself; boy does she love cooking for herself. She decides she’ll eat it later after taking a shower.

That is when she hears the scratching noise on her front door, followed moments later by a window crashing, which alerts her of an intruder. Her dog has resumed with its barking. Never the type to panic, she calmly dials the police hotline and requests for immediate assistance, before she picks her kitchen knife. She walks towards the kitchen door, swiftly, in order to lock herself in. Really, she doesn’t care whether the intruder takes any of her valuables; she doesn’t care jack shit about any of those things. She knows that her life is more precious.

Now she’s at the door and firmly but quickly, she shuts it, but she’s a second too late. Her intruder is already at the door pushing at it to force it open. In the end, her frail arms give in and she curses herself for not being strong enough as she sprawls towards the floor from the sheer force; she lets go of her knife in the process. Less than a minute later, a hand is grabbing her and she barely has time to reach out for the knife nor to see her assailant’s face.

“Please, take all you want, just leave me alone,” she says, turning to her assailant. Then she sees the muzzle of the gun facing her face and terror rips through her face.

“Pleeeeeaaaaassssseeeee!!!!”

She starts sobbing.

The man, she’s figured out that much now, lifts his fat palm and slams a slap that easily makes Kidero’s to Shebesh look like child’s play.

“What-do-you-want-?” she manages to say amidst her sobs, but it only seems to make him angrier.

Now, he shoves the gun further in her face and orders her to lie still or he’s going to shoot. Vaguely, she has an idea of what she wants but she finds herself praying that it isn’t it her assailant wants. Her fears are confirmed when he pins her face up on the kitchen table, his huge hands urgently grabbing at her skirt. She starts to scream, but the man fires into the air. He rips apart her panties as he methodically opens his fly to reveal his erection.

“Please, you don’t have to do this….” She begs, but the man proceeds to rip open her blouse and in the process her bra, to reveal her tender breasts; she is now fully aware what the man wants to do to her.

His gun trained on her forehead, the man forces himself into her, as pain spreads through her almost instantly; he has no condom on. She closes her eyes and prays a prayer to God, not for him, but for herself. The man has absolutely no idea what he’s done to himself. She feels the tears trickle down her face, as the man’s sweat drips on her nipples, which seems to get the man even hornier and her grabs at her breasts. It’s too late for her to scream out now, she decides, and waits for an eternity for him to finish.

It doesn’t take very long. She feels his seed splash into her vagina; amidst a moan that would make any porn star jealous from the man. He pulls out, leaving fluid dripping out of her; a mixture of blood and sperm. Still pointing his gun at her, he proceeds to dress up, as she sobs softly, tasting her bitter tears in the process.

When he’s done, he takes one look at her and starts walking away. With every strength left in her, she brings herself to sit up on the table, holding herself.

“Sir, if you’d listened to me when I told you to stop I wouldn’t have to tell you that you’ve just contracted HIV,” she says, once again calm.

Her assailant stops dead in in his tracks and in a spur of anger and shock, fires a bullet that connects with her upper body, puncturing her left lung. He takes to his heels as sirens scream in the distance and as she force of the impact from the bullet sends her to the ground. She is clutching desperately at her wound.

The police arrive just in time to see cough blood, as a medic desperately tries to hold on to her dear life for her. Maybe this is not the end after all, she decides, as she slowly fades into unconsciousness.