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Anthony was hopeful, but everyone else held serious doubts. those final moments were so tense that he forgot his ticket before boarding. How to describe it, that moment of initial self-rescue? During the ride back, passengers refused to sit near me.
One covers 164.85 miles, or 265.3 kilometers, between Kisumu and Nairobi, which would require five hours and three minutes on the well-lit, pothole-free, butter-smooth road that exists in every African's dreams for his or her country's future. Eyes open, I tried to push my upper body off the dirt floor but failed. In my stillness I could not gather peace, only rushing thoughts from a counternarrative in which they parted my legs and penetrated me, stabbing my sexuality as mosquitoes danced joyfully to the rhythm of each greedy thrust. A million birds taking flight from my heart, thanks to release by an inner warrior. She walked me to the matatu bus stop, step after step, then slowly reached into her bra and brought out 90 Kenyan shillings for my fare back to Nairobi. They called me "monster" with volume to accentuate their disgust.
He packed the few essentials needed for his five-hour trip, little things that carry weight, like family photographs and a prerecorded cellphone message from his baby sister; he felt soothed whenever he heard her giggles. My first wobbly step took me toward heaven, the open door a threshold to eternity.
What he could not stuff into his suitcase he packed in his heart. Then I realized that I had to cover my nakedness if I wanted to reclaim my damaged body to the world outside. I put the plastic around my body, careful to cover the blood on my legs as best as I could.
The Turkana are Kenya's third-largest tribe and the second largest group of nomadic pastoralists (after Maasai).
The majority live in Turkana District of Rift Valley in the arid northwest of Kenya.
Plus, who could see much of anything, given how dark it was inside?
The Maasai people of East Africa live in southern Kenya and northern Tanzania along the Great Rift Valley on semi-arid and arid lands.
The fence around the kraal is made of acacia thorns, which prevent lions from attacking the cattle. However, due to the new land management system in the Maasai region, it is not uncommon to see a kraal occupied by a single family.The rumored hotspot for gay-positive clubbing was Steps on Tom Mboya Street, where men who have sex with men (MSM) mingled with marginalized folks who could party: tourists, prostitutes and the high-ranking African diplomats who preferred local whores to their well-educated African wives. "Maybe that first kiss could double for both lovers," Anthony thought as the men inched closer, offering to buy his next drink if he cared to stay a little longer and keep them company -- pretty boy. Anthony sat at the bar and ordered his drink, but he was reluctant to look around, in case locals mistook him for a wide-eyed, awestruck "rural greenhorn" fresh off the bus. In reality (wherever reality is), his trip took longer, but linear time, like history, is the Western world's delusion, and no African on that bus cared how long it took to get to Nairobi as long as they were safe with their possessions intact by journey's end. I lay stomach-down on a dirt floor, embraced by darkness. There was blood on the side of my skull, where they'd beaten me with a steel pipe, I guessed. My skull and stomach jerked with pain whenever I moved; even the slightest gesture jolted my suffering to its depths. The spirit regaining "yes" language with each step as affirmation. At the end of the road, I came across a woman, old, tired, overworked, poor. In Nairobi I telephoned my rich relatives, who came to pick me up. They said Nairobi was a cosmopolitan city for sophisticated people, a place where someone as dirt-poor and as rural as I could not survive beyond a week at best. With both hands pressed against the window to frame his world, everything familiar got swallowed as the bus inched toward its final destination, which, according to Anthony, wasn't so much a fixed spot or place but the sweet promise of self-actualization that would come with the freedom to explore his sexuality. Eyes closed, I heard the rush of cars down a nearby road. I'd been dumped in a semi-completed, abandoned house without a door, which meant they could come back to rape me again and again. But to stay motionless was an invitation for rape, more insecurity in a mysterious world where my survival was nothing but a threat. I closed my eyes and pushed my consciousness into a bird. God of a thousand hands stretching to lift the mountain off my back. They said I smelled bad and spoke like a stupid, uneducated farmhand.