I just flew into Kenya on Friday… to be home. I am Kenyan. And proud of it. But I did not vote. Not because I did not want to, but because I did not register from abroad. Why I did not, I will tell you later. First, the very dear and dire matter of post election violence.
I was pondering, to a friend, why is post election violence necessary? What are these people thinking? I could not fathom it. Twenty minutes later, and I can fathom what may be going on. My knee-jerk reaction was to set myself aside from the Wanainchi (the other citizens). And as I sit in my own comfort now, I can fathom an anger that sits within, only to be exacerbated by the frustrations of being lied to, time-and-time-again. To have been promised a way out of living in filth, only to see lavish lifestyles all around you as you go about your day… For perhaps your whole life. Then yes, I can fathom an anger that drives people to throw stones at cars, and/or loot their way to either prison or death.
And the only reason that I am able to articulate what could possibly have been going on in post election violence, is because I was homeless in Europe this year. In the dead of winter, I was kicked out of my apartment because through the wave of an illness that I have; namely Schizophrenia, I became violent without medication and punched my neighbour – a plastic surgery junkie – because I was tired of Dusseldorf‘s superficial ways, and of people masking nose jobs with their „corona masks.“ I was tired of being isolated… And, I needed medication. The Police came, and I was taken to a psychiatric ward, but in the process lost my apartment. After I was released from the ward on January 4th, 2022, I was homeless. And it was freezing. I had some money coming in from my divorce, so whenever a Policewoman suggested that I get a hotel room after four days on the streets, and diminished sleep, I got warm. I stayed at the hotel for three nights but then was back on the winter streets of Germany, as my money ran out. On the third night of being on the streets more money came in and I took a taxi to Venlo, in the Netherlands. I slept almost the whole ride, as I still could not bring myself to actually lay my head down outside: On a park bench, or in the train station, or what have you. So I was sleep-deprived. Because I was not on medication, I did not think to call anyone, but instead, I experienced a slap in the face of a homeless reality that I never once, previous to January 4th, 2022, had ever fathomed for myself. I had worked so hard to always have a roof over my head, when I put my head-to-pillow. Except of course, perhaps when camping.
I was homeless for one month and half in total. I slept in minus Celsius temperatures on metal bus benches, and on the ground outside in a parking lot; and in toilet stalls in a public library and The Hague‘s central train station. I even met two African men separately who offered me a bedroom, but when I arrived at their apartments the story soon changed to their desire for intimacy. I did not want that, so I opted for the streets.
I faced death on more than one occasion, but each time, a stranger reached out with a meal, or a sleeping bag, or an extra coat.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank the Police headquarters in The Hague who saved my life. I would go in there for coffee, and lie to them that my ex‘s house was mine, and that she stole it, then died, and I had misplaced my key! The things that a Schizophrenic mind can make up, is almost criminal! However, I think that they got fed up with me visiting them, and shouting at them sometimes. They even arrested me during this month-and-a-half for lying down outside and looking at cherry blossom buds. They let me go after five hours because I was too grateful for the blankets and the bed. I just slept in jail. But eventually The Hague Police Department sent me to Parnassia Crisis Group, a mental health hospital. Where I lived for four months and received the correct medication.
So you see, there was lots happening! I could not quite get to the Kenyan Embassy in Berlin to register to vote.
Something needs to be done about empty promises.
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