The day before yesterday, my daughter turned 18. Tomorrow, she will write her final Kenya Certificate of Secondary Education (KCSE) paper at Ng’iya Girls National School.
She will return home in one piece. I hope so. Really hope so. And I hope and pray that, wherever our girls are, they will return to their loved ones unharmed; physically and psychologically.
The day before yesterday, though, a girl didn’t return home. Her loved ones are at their wits' end. They don't know her whereabouts. But, from what is happening in the country - with each passing day - they are living in heightened trepidation.
This missing girl was, one exhilarating act after another, proudly penning the story of her life. She had just turned a page and her family was, as the slang goes, “seeing the turnaround from 18”. And now the grand finale they all hoped and prayed for has gone up in smoke.
Which is callous, y'all. Absolutely callous.
Just the other day, my daughter was a baby; my baby girl. She is a big girl now. A big girl who is growing into her own confident self and, I hope to Jesus, becoming everything she was created to be. But just the other day, another girl was murdered. She is and always will be someone's baby; some dad's baby girl. She was going about her life. Dreaming. Becoming.
But all that was brought to a brutal end - not by a man - but by a monster. For, only monsters can perpetrate such heinous acts. Only monsters, devoid of conscience and blind to consequences, possess the comportment to snuff out lives.
And now, once more, this country will never know the roaring possibilities that were contained in that silenced seed. It was an acorn that was meant to sprout into a massive forest and bless this country with provision, protection, and prosperity. Goodness me, this country will never know the priceless solutions it has lost.
And that is tragic, guys. Extremely tragic.
The day after tomorrow, my daughter will be free. Or so she will think. Well, that's the mindset all form four leavers have, a second after they write their last paper. But she is not free. Neither is she safe. Ditto all the 2024 students of Ng’iya Girls National School. Heck, all our girls are not safe.
Not with everything that is going catastrophically wrong in our country. Not with the increase in femicides. Our girls are not free to roam their country. They are not safe to visit even the people they trust. They are not free and safe to live their lives.
And that is horrible, my people. Very horrible.
Two days ago, my daughter became officially recognised by the government as an adult. Now, she can make her own decisions and the government will hold her accountable. Not that she hasn't been making her own decisions already.
I am a different breed of “buda”. I give my kids free rein but with responsibilities. They are free to come to me with anything and everything - without fear - and they know they will not be guillotined, but guided.
Two days ago, though, somebody's daughter was officially certified dead. Now they have to make decisions for her. They have to speak boldly and loudly for her. They have to eulogise her. And humanise her. They have to defend her against victim-shamers.
We are living in a time where murder victims are made to pay for the crimes of their murderers. Where they have to answer why they accepted the invite. And why they took the fare. Murder victims are being categorically told there is no free lunch. And that they will pay for their innocence with that little nametag on their frozen toes.
And that is insensitive, folks. Completely insensitive.
