Kagaa village in Ol Kalou, Nyandarua County is in shock after a Class Eight pupil was defiled by a man who allegedly dug a hole into the room she was sleeping in last night.
The girl has since been admitted to hospital in critical condition.
Nyandarua county commissioner Boaz Cherutich who confirmed the incident said that girl’s mother woke up from her bedroom after she heard a commotion from the girl’s bedroom.
It was then that she found a man who immediately fled from the room.
“This is a very bizarre incident as the man had dug a tunnel to access the room late into the night. It is the mother who heard the commotion and woke up only to find a man in the room” he said.
He noted that the mother alerted other neighbors who helped take the girl to the hospital.
“She had blood oozing from her private parts and the doctors have assured as that she is now stable” noted the county commissioner.
Meanwhile, he said that police have launched a man hunt for the man who is known to residents.
“We have information linking a man who is known in the village to the incident. He is a known drug addict and might be the one who defiled the girl” he said.
Written by James Munyeki
In high school, a relationship can last only a few days or weeks, enough to get one through the social events of the season, which in this case were the Spring Formal and the Powder Puff Game. Today, I cannot recall which came first. I know this: I attended both the kegger that followed the game and the formal dance with a rapist. My rapist.
He was the captain of a sports team and was regarded as having a shot at a professional career, even if he also was clearly deficient in the brains department. I liked him simply because I was concerned at the time with being popular, and dating a sports captain was an automatic ticket to the in crowd.
I was also uncomfortably a member of the Most Likely to Succeed crowd, and dating a high school sports star was becoming a habit for me; I’d previously been dating another less-than-brilliant young man who ranked high on the rosters of both the football and baseball teams. He was no prince of morals either; he dated me behind the back of his “real” girlfriend, who ultimately was crowned homecoming queen.
But we left the keg party to drive to the house where he lived with his parents and pick up some eight-track tapes for the party. I had consumed a little bit of beer at the party just to fit in, as I didn’t like beer and wasn’t accustomed to drinking. I felt drunk, unstable on my feet.
A COUPLE OF YEARS LATER, I ENCOUNTERED MY RAPIST ON SPRING BREAK FROM COLLEGE AT A HOMETOWN BAR WHERE MY DAD TOOK ME TO DEMONSTRATE WHAT A “GROWN-UP” COLLEGE STUDENT I NOW WAS.
We went in through the garage; no one was home. He pushed me down onto my back on a sofa in the family room, pulled down my pants and forced himself into me. I recall feeling acutely aware of how weak my arms felt, like jelly. I still recall the sensation of utter helplessness. I could not push him off. I recall saying “no” several times. It didn’t matter. He kept going and was done quite quickly; he pulled up his pants and in mute shock, I assembled myself and we got back into the car and went back to the party.
I vaguely recall that the dance came afterthe rape and that I attended it with him despite the rape, because I was trying to maintain the facade that I was so cool and nonchalant about sex that the attack had not upset me.
Over the next several days my mind was preoccupied with only one thought: What would I do if I were pregnant?
My parents were very strict immigrants from Eastern Europe who set a stern curfew, had complete confidence that I would attend a top university and regularly checked for signs that I’d been smoking cigarettes when out with my friends. We had never discussed sex, and I knew that although they were loving and supportive, they would be shocked at the idea that I’d had any sort of sexual relations with a man.
When I got my period, I was incredibly relieved. At the time, I felt pride at my cavalier attitude about the attack once my anxiety about pregnancy was relieved. By that time, I’d consumed a lot of literature from the ’60s, including Portnoy’s Complaint, and thought my sanguine attitude was simply because I was cool and cultured.
MY ATTITUDE AT THE TIME WAS THAT THE “POOR GUY” WAS SO STUPID HE KNEW NOT WHAT HE HAD DONE.
A couple of years later, I encountered my rapist on spring break from college at a hometown bar where my dad took me to demonstrate what a “grown-up” college student I now was. My rapist asked me to dance and I accepted, congratulating myself on my forgiving nature and again, my “cool” attitude about sex. My attitude at the time was that the “poor guy” was so stupid he knew not what he had done. I tend to still believe that.
But my rapist? Well, I found an item in the local police blotter: He’d ended up in jail on a petty theft charge. His bright athletic future never came to fruition. As for me, I went to law school when I was 28 and still never told anyone what happened to me. I worked hard to be published in the school’s law review — my topic was Rape Trauma Syndrome, inspired by an Indiana case in which the jury acquitted the defendant of a rape charge because the plaintiff had shown insufficient trauma.
The jury had been allowed to hear evidence that she’d gone out dancing in the days following the attack. The case outraged me. I knew from experience that it is eminently easy to pretend, even to oneself, that the attack “was nothing.” Yet, I still told no one of the motivation behind my interest in writing on criminal law, a field I did not pursue. To this day, although I mention the article on my résumé, I delete the reference to its title.
So before Dr. Christine Blasey Ford’s letter to Dianne Feinstein was revealed to the general public, I’d recently begun telling the story of how I was raped at the age of 16 by a boy in my high school class. I had kept the story a secret from everyone in my life for nearly 40 years, with the exception of the young man I briefly dated as a freshman in college.
I never told my parents; I never told my younger sister, with whom I am still very close; and I never told any of the women with whom I was very close friends in high school and college. I never told any of my current girlfriends, until close to a year after the Harvey Weinstein allegations became public. I still have not told my sister, who knew the perpetrator. I want to shield her from it. I still have not been able to tell of it to a man I have been regularly dating for the past five years.
But I still remember the attack as if it just happened. I remember the sensation of terrible weakness in my arms and that I said “no” many times and was ignored. I remember that there was a pool at the house where the party was held, and that’s where the keg was located. It was a lovely, balmy night, typical of the town where I grew up, and I’m pretty sure the shirt I was wearing was light pink and had frilly cap sleeves.
And I still remember the cul-de-sac on which the rapist lived, and that no one was home, and details of the “rumpus room” where the rape occurred. I’m pretty sure he drove a gray Honda Civic, which was a relatively new model at the time. I remember vividly what he looked like. His name, of course, I will never forget.
Need we sacrifice our good men in altars of anarchy?
Need we accept mediocrity from our leaders due to tribal jaundice?
Need we turn a blind eye on events until it affects us?
I am tired.
The problems of Nigeria can be solved by our leaders, if only they could stop thinking through their noses. I have reserved my comments on the political happenings in Nigeria for some time because it has been discovered that nothing we say, as the masses, matters when the half-baked excuses for leaders make their half-baked decisions.
In Nigeria, today, it is Herdsmen; tomorrow, it is Boko Haram; and other times, it is one form of insecurity or the other. Is this the point where everyone takes up arms, since the organizations set up to protect lives have failed woefully? Is this the point where we substitute Buhari for biblical David by yelling to the wind the words “We have no inheritance in Buhari, the man from Daura, to your tents O Nigerians!” ?
Speaking about President Buhari, I say this in no uncertain terms: “Buhari has failed.” He is the most tribalistic ruler we have ever had in Nigeria, and what baffles me about this whole scandal is that his loyalists find out ways to derive a plethora of positives from Buhari’s multiple faux pas. It is not uncommon to hear them giving answers to questions like “Why is Buhari ruling without ministers?” with some tacky reply of this manner “He is doing so because he is still observing the situation, so as not to select the wrong individuals.” Really? If a president has no idea on whom to work with before he gets elected, then, he should probably retire to a farm. It is high time we stopped making excuses for mediocrity.
It is highly appalling that Buhari’s solution to the herdsmen’s menace was to introduce RUGA. On a less volatile day, RUGA is actually not a bad idea, but in the current state of affairs RUGA is not only insensitive, but also, stupid. Will RUGA bring back the lives that have been lost to the herdsmen’s blood lust? Will RUGA console the families of the deceased? Will RUGA replace the millions that have been lost as crop produce by farmers to these individuals? The answer is NO! Instead, the installation of these settlements will be a slap on the faces of those affected by these herdsmen. Why should evil be repaid with amnesty? Why should chronic murderers be allowed to live among peace-loving individuals?
Still talking about Buhari’s penchant for exercising illogical favouritism when dealing with the Fulani elements, one cannot help but notice the discrepancy with which he treated Biafran agitators. For holding peaceful protests, these agitators were subjected to the infamous “Operation Python Dance”. If peaceful agitators can be treated like war criminals, then, killers such as Boko Haram and the herdsmen should not be handled with kids’ gloves. If this is allowed to continue, then, we can be safe to call our military a battalion of bullies.
Writing this piece without suggesting a solution will render it useless. The simple solution to these issues is that the federal government should implement the resolutions arrived at the last National Conference. We should go back to regionalism — that is, a system whereby every tribe shall use its resources to develop itself. No excuses should be made for the north this time because they have always not been ready for things that will make Nigeria better. Was it not Ahmadu Bello that countered Anthony Enahoro’s motion for self-governance in 1953 by declaring that independence should be gotten as soon as “practicable”? Was it not Buhari that reneged on the national decisions made at the last conference? This is not a hate speech, it is simply a case of a Nigerian calling out cases where our leaders committed national suicide.
If the government cannot provide the conditions for peaceful co-existence, I will suggest that every Nigerian should take up arms and defend ourselves.
Lastly, I send my condolences to the family of the late Colonel Kingsley who was brutally murdered by the ruthless Boko Haram. May his soul rest in peace. May good men not die because of the carelessness of our leaders. Amen.
I’m sure you are happy now ba? You are fanning yourself for forcefully taking my virginity away from me right?
You were my big neighbor and everyone in my house calls you brother.
My siblings and I always come here to charge our phones because we don’t have money to buy a generator. We sat down most times to watch zee world. Your girlfriend was always so kind to us and she loved having us around. Brother Rapist, your house was our second home.
You drove us to church and back, you were our personal person. You were just too quiet, everyone loved you. We always whispered to ourselves how lucky your girlfriend was and we liked the fact that she was the only one you brought home. You were soft spoken eh, always in your room and allowed us to enjoy your sitting room till you put off your generator.
So that night, around 7pm when I came to charge my phone as usual, I greeted you, plugged the phone and was about to leave. You asked me to get your phone from the room. I rushed in to get it but when I turned around you were already in the room. Your eyes were filled with fire. I have never seen you like that in my entire life. I handed the phone over to you but you licked your lips and pushed me to the bed. Brother Rapist, I begged you, I cried, I pleaded with you. Your senses had diminished. You forced your way into me, slapped me till there was no more strength left in me.
Even when you noticed I was bleeding, you were not moved. You came, grinned and went to the sitting room. I couldn’t walk for minutes and when I finally did, you gave me my phone and pushed me away. I was bold enough to tell my parents. When I saw my Father carried his machete, I knew you were gone for good. Mum accompanied him as he kept shouting and shouting. At some point, I didn’t hear his voice anymore as he came out of your house later with a cheque in his hand. You bribed him with 300k and my Father asked me to wash up that it wasn’t that bad.
My Parents sold their conscience for 300k!!
I noticed your girlfriend’s attitude towards me changed, you told her I seduced you and wanted to force myself on you? Brother Rapist, I’m sure you are happy now, I am also sure you will have a female child. Brother Rapist, imagine if she’s been raped at the age of 5 or even 10. What am I even saying? You might even rape her yourself. Brother Rapist, you got me pregnant at age 16. I couldn’t abort the child as Doctors said that’s the only child I might ever have as there was a problem with my womb. Brother Rapist, I tried pushing, I pushed and pushed. When the baby came out, he was stone dead!! I couldn’t stand it and I died of shock and pain!!
Brother Rapist, you are walking around freely and nobody can touch you. You ended my ambition of becoming the next TYLER PERRY.
I Trust you are happy now?
Now read it again brother Rapist, imagine if I was your daughter and someone did this to me.. Just pause, sit and imagine!!