There was a gig happening in Nairobi two Friday’s ago. It was in preparation for the anti femicide protest. The dress code was a dera – in solidarity with all the women who have been killed in their homes. 

. . . Brilliant  . . . 

The dera is now different. At least for me. 

Yes, it is comfort but for how long?

How long until it is one of me, you, us. 

When do we stop being afraid? 

And how do we learn to tell the good men from the bad men? 

Is it time we start carrying around pepper spray. . . another thing we should legalise. 

How do we tell the good men from the bad men when it’s the ones closest who hurt the most? 

Who is the good guy? 
Is the good guy, the bad guy with a really good mask?

I mean, 

*scoffs* 
We share the planet with men. 
Yet, one wrong move and we could wind up dead. 
Society – read, the patriarchy – has told women, they are too ________ . 

Too much. 
Too little. 
Too loud. 
Too quiet. 
Too demure. 
Too ratchet.
Too closed off.
Too worldly. 

TOO. 

And because we exist outside the comprehension of a man, 

then we must die.

This is an emergency. 
A national emergency. 
It should be treated as such. 
Because at the protests, 
women were getting beaten by the police. 
Hit. 
Thrown. 
For saying that we don’t want to be killed for being born female.

Can’t we see that the very fabric of our society is broken? 

Or can we 

and 

no one is saying anything about it. . .   

I want to live outside of fear.