All it took was a last glance... for me to bid a previous world goodbye… to the people I knew were never going to treat my children well when I was dead.
They thought the fear festering deep in the darkness they left me in was what made me wake up in the pool of blood I found myself in.
The gasp of breath flooding my lungs on that day was the first reminder of the greatness within me... waiting to be unleashed by my compass...showing others who saw fear and betrayal they stand firm because they've got no excuse to lose hope.
Especially on themselves...
I had dreams to fulfil deep down, alongside things to learn like the fact that Papa Wemba, in his song, said "Take me by the hand..." instead of the way Kenyans just heard the gibberish, 'chikibadiee'.
Those were the days when we Kenyans came up with words that we could pronounce in place of the actual things being said in songs, making us among the most misunderstood yet unique Africans to exist on the continent.
My name is Adrian, and before I left Kenya, there were times I looked around and saw how many people's spirits died down as their hair came close to being white during the Ruto government, with some even knowing flight when responsibility came knocking on their front doors.
Before the time a Kenyan president was no longer going to have the name Kenyatta, it was getting clearer to me that a great deal of things were going to be expected from Kenyan households and even after Flight 507 unfortunately crashed down, we were preparing to become the most misunderstood of generations, letting temporary pleasures be the best of teachers to us instead of wise people who were there before we were born.
However, in many households, the ones who were there before we were born were nothing short of toxic, manipulative, narcissistic and downright abusive.
Many of us grew up knowing we were always wrong, and never right, so the moment we grew up but weren't rich or famous, we were treated the same way our children were going to be treated when our inevitable expiry dates were going to be revealed.
Considering on that day everyone around India was seeking the blessings of Brahmacharini by wearing white, and even decorating everything around themselves with white, what was mostly being sought after was something I had begun to manifest after staying with Manish as his turn boy.
Manish wasn't that much of a staunch believer of Navratri, but the festivities were interesting to me.
The day of Brahmacharini was represented through white, a colour they knew represented peace and purity, alongside knowledge, wisdom and enlightenment.
I would have found it strange how, if Navratri was a public holiday in Kenya, Kenyans who had white hair never manifested peace, purity, or wisdom but tried to show many, especially the ones younger than them, how enlightened they were and how much they knew.
Brahmacharini was an interesting day, and to tell you the truth, there was an unbelievable sense of calm around the area as we continued with our work, with Manish the one who drove off the truck to places I sincerely was never going to understand, even if there were white decorations around.
Like Kamathipura, which was established over 150 years ago as one of the 'comfort zones' for British soldiers during colonial rule, and now was well known as Mumbai's oldest and largest red light district.
"With an estimated 20,000 sex workers here, according to a documentary I once saw on the BBC," said Manish.
We had just left Sonagachi, a red light district close to Kamathipura which attracted both local and international seekers of temporary pleasure. Sonagachi reminded me of Pangani, considering the unbelievable fact that many women in Sonagachi masqueraded as women who did laundry for bachelors for a fee, something I grew up seeing in estates in Kenya to the point where I wouldn't describe any other way a Kenyan young man learned about sex.
Many of the places were filled with dirty alleyways which reminded me of Kibra, the slum we old-school kids still called Kibera for transgenerational reasons. Kibera also had its fair share of hookers, though, in the slum's case, the overpopulation has resulted in some women resorting to opening up their legs to local customers in tiny iron-sheet single rooms, in front of their kids. So, it's no surprise to any Kenyan if someone who hasn't gone through circumcision knows a great deal about Bedminton, and poses too.
Kamathipura had a maze of dingy alleyways which were overlooked by gleaming skyscrapers, which showed the same thing the skyscrapers in Nairobi CBD showed many who lived in slums and middle-class neighbourhoods.
The filthy rich, combined with the political class and anyone related to them, overcame poverty for life, something even the middle class complained about.
Kamathipura had creepy alleyways which were filled with a huge number of women standing around shops and various iron-sheet alleyways, with some smoking their decisions away to earn a rupee or two using temporary pleasure, while others drag their temporary loved ones inside more dirty alleyways, so as not to be recognized for their sins.
Manish had already been here, so once again, I kind of stood out.
"Don't worry, bro," said Manish as he continued driving. "In Kamathipura, they get used to all kinds of men pouring in from the nearby highway, even if they're not Indian."
"You're telling me this is like an entire town?" I asked, shocked by what I saw.
Manish simply nodded.
"In India, prostitution is normally hidden away," said Manish, engaging gear. "However, in a place this big, you'll never see anyone hiding away their sins. You can see what Mumbai's economy is largely built on."
I hated to admit it, but Manish was right.
Mumbai was simply an entire town built on sins like exploitation. Considering the British established and maintained brothels for its soldiers to use during the 1800s, it was no surprise that the system continued to be fed in Mumbai to this very day.
"When I tell you it's their families who are responsible for trafficking them here, believe me, Adrian," said Manish. "In India, don't be fooled by how Bollywood shows how families are connected. Here, blood stopped being thicker than water long after the British left."
It was a haunting statement, but he did have a point.
***
Sometime into the night, as I looked up at the night sky, I couldn't help but wonder why, instead of building each other as folks from third-world countries, we sold each other for a single shilling we never regretted earning by means we should be ashamed of.
Here I was, looking up at Indian skyscrapers from one of the most popular red-light districts, where hope would be rare even if it was found in short supply, wondering why we, as generations from third-world countries, never decided to no longer be horse-screwed by first world countries and lifestyles and instead built our places, where, according to many diaspora babies like me, food was simply GMO.
Manish was busy with a few Indian girls that night, who had some shades of white on their saris.
For some reason, despite there being a feeling of calm in the atmosphere, I couldn't help but feel like something somewhere had gone wrong.
I couldn't place my finger on it, but I had a disturbing feeling within myself.
In Kamathipura, most girls who marketed themselves, especially to whites, used the term, "I'm 100% virgin" to auction themselves to whoever will be the highest bidder.
Many of the girls in Kamathipura were between 12 and 16 years of age, with some making sure they've hidden their ages whenever confronted by police officers.
That age bracket was among what kept Indian red light districts like Kamathipura going, with some earning up to 2,000 rupees, which was around 24 USD.
***
Madhya Pradesh,
Neemuch-Ratlam Highway.
Considering the British were the people who colonized India, everyone knew for a fact that drivers in India kept leaving. Deepika understood this as she grew up, though at that moment, she only needed to cross the road before her elder step-brother Zahir saw her.
She had taken a brief moment to catch her breath after she took flight, upon realizing with horror what Zahir, her father Rahul Muhammad and other relatives wanted to do with her since she was a virgin.
Deepika was to become a khilawadi; a prostitute who sat on a bed frame outside a shop at 11 pm waiting for truckers.
Considering the shocking fact that prostitutes in India never had any rights, since this wasn't a recognized profession in India, in the two districts of Mandsaur and Ratlam, prostitution was something socially acceptable, and woe unto you if you were the firstborn child, and you were a female.
Deepika had sworn to never get into the world of red light districts, because she had dreams of going to school to study journalism, however, she hadn't known at first that her biological mother, before her death, worked in Bhiwandi, a red light district, before she met her father.
Deepika lived knowing only half of what truly happened to her mother, and the moment she turned 17, she began noticing a great deal of men staring at her so much.
However, it was what she overheard between Zahir and her father which alarmed her, knowing that they were discussing how Deepika was going to go down the same road her mother did, only this time, her own family were the ones to benefit financially from her activities in the brothels.
Considering she was still a virgin at 17, her friends from school had begun ridiculing her, with some female friends even asking her what she was waiting for.
Deepika crossed the road after some trucks passed by and then started walking down an alleyway.
***
"WE CANNOT LET HER DISAPPEAR LIKE THIS!" yelled Rahul Muhammad, Deepika's father.
"I assure you, Father, she will not disappear for long," replied Zahir, while over the phone.
"Do everything you need to do to bring her back," replied Rahul. "She cannot be as naughty as her mother was."
As he hung up the phone, Zahir understood a clear fact; now that Deepika was missing again, she wasn't going to let herself be found by anyone from her family.
She was going to learn from previous mistakes, considering she had tried to run away from home a few years ago, in search of her late mother's family or relatives.
***
Covering herself like a Muslim woman wasn't going to be beneficial for Deepika, so she left her face exposed.
She turned right, going down another alleyway, before a drunk man stopped her on the road, thinking she was a prostitute.
Deepika tried to walk away but the drunk man was insisting, and in the process, she pushed him off so hard he fell into the left side of the drainage, which unfortunately, was filled with a great deal of sewage which had flowed from the other neighbourhoods during the rainy seasons.
Deepika walked away in a hurry, knowing that men like those never hesitated to rape women out here, using violent force to make women subdue to their demands.
She found herself on a highway, where, as she walked on, she began seeing stalls where women and girls sat outside, either chatting or just waiting.
It was similar to the highway back where she ran away from, only in this case, there were few bed frames outside the road for the women to sit on late into the night.
Her intuition was what her compass became that night because she suddenly felt a slap echo across her face.
"Do you honestly think you are going to run away forever?" said the unmistakable voice of Zahir.
She didn't care whether he was behind or beside her; she cared about getting as far away from Zahir and her father as possible.
She took flight, crashing into a hawker's stall, and as Zahir followed suit, Deepika got into another alleyway, running for dear life. She managed to get onto a highway, and in the process, her clothes had been torn up, thanks to how she had crashed into the hawker's stall, getting cut in some parts of her body.
She didn't think twice as she saw a truck passing by, and she jumped into the back, hurting herself in the process by injuring one arm.
The truck kept on going as she caught her breath, noticing how she had begun bleeding thanks to cuts on her body, and some pain on her left arm.
***
I could have sworn I heard the commotion in the back of the truck as I continued to drive, and for a moment I thought it was probably some drunk who hitched a ride in the back, something even Kenyans occasionally did.
However, the feeling came back from my intuition, especially after I heard how badly someone landed at the back end of the truck.
After some time, I slowed the truck down and decided to look into the back end of the truck.
When I opened up the back gate, I was shocked.
A young girl, whose clothes were drenched in blood, was seated in a cowering position on the left side of the back end, clearly trembling.
She was significantly young, and she was having some difficulty with the usage of her left arm.
"Please…please help me," she said out loud, looking up at me with beseeching eyes.
For a moment, I was speechless.
When I extended my hand to her, she grabbed it with her right hand, showing significant pain and suffering because of how she landed so hard in the back.
At that moment, I didn't know what I was doing, but I made sure she was sitting on the passenger side before I ignited the truck.
I knew for a certain fact, that Manish was going to be surprised by what I came across as I was delivering the truck back to where we picked it up in the morning.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Deepika," she replied.
"What happened to you?" I asked, trying to reduce some bleeding.
"I can't go back," she replied. "Please help me…he's coming for me."
"Who's he? Your husband?" I asked, thinking it was probably a husband who had beaten up the woman.
"No…" she replied. "He is my step-brother Zahir…"
Something about how Deepika said his name showed me that this woman was running away from serious family issues, and considering that in India, blood stopped being thicker than water, I wasn't surprised by why she almost died taking a lift on the truck.
Her skin was significantly dark, something which, to me, wasn't something alarming, but to people like Manish, I had no idea what was coming for me in India.
***
"I already know the number plate," replied Zahir. "She took a ride on a truck, and because it was a bit fast, she probably got injured trying to get a lift."
"Find her, and bring her back here, Zahir," replied Rahul, before he hung up the phone.