In Kenya, 'Haki Yetu' was all you needed to say to see chaos in 4K. In India, they didn't need to say Haki Yetu. They only needed a spark, and in this case…the spark came from generations of suffering boiling over to the point where enough was finally enough.
Mzee Ali Mwendo National Hospital, Lamu County.
Bodies lay motionless, semi-covered on the cold floor of the outpatient section, the ubiquitous fluorescent bulb flickering its sterile, lifeless light.
Even funerals didn't reach the level of misery in hospital Outpatient areas.
Cries of "Haki Yetu!" echoed from outside, mixed with chaotic yells, screeching tires, teargas, athletics and blaring sirens. Some bodies occasionally lifted their bellies; some remained rigid; with not a single snore. "She's in the second floor, let's move," said Ruth, leading the way.
'I told you they'd do it,' said one doctor, standing on a balcony with two others.
'You think they'll listen this time?' I asked a young doctor.
'T.I.A,' came the reply from a female doctor, watching as more riot police poured into the streets.
'Obviously the GSU weren't going to miss the party,' said the first doctor, taking off his lab coat. 'You know what to do with your coats, guys.'
I've always found it shocking how, as we continued to degrade, we changed into the identical shells we were warned about.
In Swahili, our time together could have been likened to Wyre's beautiful song "Usuhuba," except in my case, Deepika wasn't playing any romantic games like so many other women I've encountered. Instead, the very people she thought would support her were the ones who ensured she disappeared from India without a trace.
***
It's disturbing to know that none of her blood relatives spoke up for her or questioned the circumstances surrounding her abduction. Everyone knew she had disappeared, but I only learned the horrifying truth about what happened on that fateful night and who was responsible later on.
Realizing that fact helped me realize how caste discrimination in India may quickly render blood ties irrelevant. It's as if racism splits Indian households faster than tribal divisions divide Kenyans during election seasons.
It's mind-boggling to think that Deepika and I spent eight years together, which coincided with the eight years I spent driving trucks in Mumbai. However, I wasn't your average truck driver. Even the Indian government was unaware of my existence.
I was the unseen Kenyan who picked them up once they left Mumbai, and ensured they began their journey to Kiunga Airport in Kenya. From there, they would be flown to Calais, France for additional information on how they planned to risk their lives to improve the lives of their families.
The one thing which haunted me was how some took their final bows months after arriving in Calais, and as a result a determined relative would find me in Mumbai, if from India, or cut off all ties if Kenyan, and I'd be informed about how they'd embark on a solo journey to Calais upon arriving at Kiunga Airport.
However, spending five years in Mumbai opened my eyes to the ugly reality of discrimination. I never expected to encounter it, especially with someone I never imagined would consider exchanging experiences with; a soul I never thought would eventually decide I was worthy of exchanging souls with during the period of temporary pleasure where we all got to be formed, and either carried for nine months or disregarded before three months arrived.
Her narrative was ground-breaking, especially given her daring decision to sue her father and stepbrother Zahir.
If I had attempted such a feat in Kenya, I am certain that my estranged elder brother, Julius, who later became infamous as Julius Iscariot, would have sought to harm me even before the trial commenced. The local blogs would have been filled with reports of burglaries and attacks on our homes.
There will be lingering questions in the minds of my family members as they carry my coffin, wondering about the mysterious circumstances surrounding my untimely departure.
They would have unanswered questions about how I took my last bow sometime before a startling trial in court.
They might claim, through false allegations of stolen household items and fabricated injuries, that I was killed by burglars.
***
I found the church to be the strangest thing.
As the largest landowners in Kenya, they held immense influence and had a significant impact on the formation of the Republic of Kenya. Their extensive network of branches and ventures served as clear evidence of their pivotal role in the country's establishment.
The Presbyterian Church continued to be an odd, but cosy, and genuinely reassuring place, particularly for young people like me who were at a crossroads in our lives, and we were the ones brave enough to keep our tears to ourselves when sending our parents six feet under.
However, there were moments when a scene from a movie suddenly overwhelms you, and your tears remind you that, even though you are journeying alone, you will succeed if you avoid fleeting pleasures that will ensnare and distract you, as well as diminish you until the day of your death.
The ladies, on that day, were busy dancing to the Mugithi songs being played as the reception continued, with some women dragging some of their husbands into the train-like dance movement popular in wedding receptions as Mugithi.
A few metres away, high on a maisonette roof, some construction workers had stopped to watch as the Mugithi dance continued, its rhythmic world getting more interesting.
I could see Samuel had finished his shift and, having gate-crashed the reception, was busy filling his stomach ahead of the hunger pangs tomorrow, and I didn't have to be told why, considering I had already done my part in gate-crashing.
Some Mugithi songs sent a strange wave of remorse through me as I watched husbands, wives, youth, and the bridal party dance on a Sunday, moving in their train-like motion as Kikuyu songs filled atmospheres and ears, making people forget the shock behind how expensive everything around us had become the moment it was President Ruto's turn at State House.
No matter, I thought with remorse... She would have probably loved to include Mugithi in her wedding...if her Indian family accepted darker skin into their circle.
I'm hesitant about how well the Presbyterian Church and the Indians would have connected.
Nonetheless, I had a regretful feeling that her wedding day would have been a bright and exciting interchange of cultural heritage and affection.
I wondered if there had been Bollywood-like dancing at that wedding, remembering the first time I picked Deepika up in my truck.
Would she have danced to both Indian and Kikuyu rhythm, and would both cultures have danced together, smiling at one another as rhythm consoled expensive times, a generation yet to understand another educational system, and hunger pangs thanks to qualifications and a shilling losing value...
If her late boyfriend hadn't taken his final bow so soon, there could have been a wonderfully unique bond that bridged two distinct cultures, all in the name of love, acceptance, and creating new opportunities for the whole family.
The way I see it, I have a feeling that somewhere in the afterlife, there's a specific flat screen which is branded, "KENYA" where many souls are watching with unbelievable awe how we show so many of our topsy-turvy decisions and how we stay so resilient but behind walls that remain silent, reminding ourselves how vulnerable we are within, and how we need to be assured of our purposes before our expiration dates.
Her boyfriend probably gave more souls there details as they watched the Kenyan flat screen up in the afterlife... I thought with remorse, remembering how it all changed after a young Indian woman, filled with blood, hanged on my truck and almost fell off in the process...
Looking back at it all, a question stays unanswered in the minds of many in a whole nation who looked up to her.
Where did Deepika disappear to?
Boy, I had no idea she had seen the Republic of Kenya with her own eyes... and seen more than I had seen since I was born.
***
September 2020.
Mombasa, Kenya
…"It still hurts," said one girl to another.
"Shut up!" the other replied, crouching down on a small bucket.
"You can't be serious," said another.
"Do you see any latrines in this stuffy container?" She retorted in Marathi. "Be grateful you're far away from Mumbai in the first place!"
"Let's not forget whose fault it is we are miles away from home," responded the first girl in Marathi.
"Oh, so you'd rather be where you are the one to pay dowry?" the crouching girl answered back.
"Leave her, Deepika. She's naïve. She'll learn," said another girl who was biting her nails.
Deepika, the girl who was crouching, finished her business and closed the bucket lid, extracting a small jar of hand sanitiser from between her breasts.