Bloody Easter!

Good Friday. Or so I thought it’d. Nothing in life had prepared me for what I encountered. It was a normal day. I woke up at noon, like I always do on weekends. I laid on the bed, staring at my phone for about half an hour, checking messages and scrolling through phony pictures on Instagram. Instagram, a place where people try to be better version of themselves, everyone trying to be better than the next guy. But that’s a story for another day.

I finally got up and went to get some water for my bath. For those staying outside campus hostels, you know the hassle of breaking your back getting water from a borehole! Some random guy offered to help. A total stranger, I didn’t know if he was genuine, or coz of the short and tight skirt I’d worn. Keep in mind the FISIs are evolving. He carried the water to my door step and insisted on coming in. I knew there was more to it. Being the kind hearted girl I am, not bragging, I let him in. We chatted a little pretty much about everything. The campus politics, mostly on the coming TSA elections. We talked about the economy, the weather, the ongoing students’ demonstration.

Apparently a student had been found dead by his roommates. He was bruised, no one knows what happened to him. Students were demonstrating due to the insecurity around the campus. I thought that was a waste of energy, am not being narcissistic here (condolences to his family). Only a little realistic and practical. I thought the students were just going to shout, like they always do, then go back to enjoying the Easter holiday.

In no time, there was a little commotion outside and shots being fired. That’s when I started getting scared, the students were really putting up a show. Apparently they had angered the police from the numerous name calling. “mlikuwa mkifanya nini time sisi tulikuwa tunasoma preps?” “ona sasa mmepata D mnakimbizana na sisi campus”,those were some of the abuses the students were throwing to the police. They had obviously bruised the police officers ego. All the frustrations of the economy, hot weather and poor marriages were vented on the students, guilty or not.

Now the police were rioting and students were trying to keep them calm, or so it appeared.

Cops were picking the students from their rooms, one after the other like some roaches. I was scared and panicking big time. We closed all the windows and padlocked the door then scrambled under the bed. The atmosphere was pretty tense – awkward pulses of silence, glass breaking, and tear gas being thrown inside the houses. From under the bed I started feeling something chocking, my throat was becoming dry and my eyes were burning. “What’s that?” I asked Nick. That’s when it hit me, it was tear gas.

I had no water in the house, I couldn’t see clearly. Was this the death planned for me? I didn’t go rioting, why am I suffering the consequences? It was becoming hard to stay in the house. So we opened the door, good thing the police had left. The neighbours were out, one lady trying to get her suffocating baby to safety. One man was seriously bleeding, his eyes were blood shot. He painfully narrated how he was beaten by the police. Apparently tear gas was thrown inside his house and when he got out unarmed, the police pounced on him.

Commotion again! The police were back. People scattered, I ran inside the house, it was inhabitable. That white smoke really caught my throat. I decided to step outside, Nick managed to jump over the brick wall and sadly I was spotted by two policemen (they had guns and really big sticks). The beaten guy’s face came to me, I felt his fear and pain. I cried, no I screamed. I could see anger in the police man’s eyes. I’m pretty sure I appeared like a practice target to them. I screamed the more. Weirdly enough they were shocked, but I just kept doing my thing.

They told me to follow them, I had no choice. Two against one. As I got out still crying, there were more cops. The tears did not disappoint thank God. I couldn’t think, I was afraid and helpless. They made jokes, from the way I was dressed to the way I was crying. They were visibly enjoying it. “hii ndiyo kenye tunataka”, one say. They were amused, I was shaken. Am still in shock. I get chills remembering what happened. I sit up when I hear a bang or breaking glass.

That was the day Jesus died, good Friday. I don’t wanna copy Him coz my chances of rising from the dead are like the odds of you winning that latest Sportpesa bet.

Either way, that was a bloody Easter and a lesson learnt.

Lydia Vera

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