I am hurting inside. I am in mental and emotional pain. What I feel cannot possibly be put into words even by the most prolific wordsmith in town. The pain, the anguish, the distress, the confusion, the desolation… (A concoction of insalubrious feelings)!
The killings, the murders, the lootings, the torchings, the lashings, the perfidy, the larceny, the … (my mind is going round and round in circles). Someone please do help bring sanity to my being.
I have seen it: my dear Kenyan brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers and children cut down by the machete; shot to death and left to rot in the streets; burnt in their houses and in the churches; thousands of men, women and children bounding, with whatever belonging they could salvage, to God knows where; the hopelessness and despondency pasted on the faces of my country men.
I have heard it: the wails of terror made by the children; the screams of horror made by the women; the sighs and stifled screams made by the men; the shouting, screaming and struggle of the women who are being raped and left for dead.
Someone please do tell me that I am just dreaming. Please tell me that this is just a bad dream and were it not for the long night, then, it would be over.
This is not the Kenya I knew; and, optimistically, is not the Kenya I‘ll wake up in tomorrow.
And before I pen off, please don’t ask my tribe; I am a Kenyan.
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