Dyke (noun) – slang for lesbian. It is rude for you to call a lesbian a dyke if you don’t identify yourself as a lesbian but it is OK for a lesbian to call another lesbian a dyke. Sort of like a black person can say nigga but a white person can’t.
If found the homosexuals should be arrested and taken to relevant authorities. It is madness for a man to fall in love with another man while there are plenty of women and there is no need for women to engage in lesbianism yet they can bear children.
-Sunday. November 28, 2010-
Twenty Years Later
Milimani Law Courts
Upper Hill – Nairobi
April 19, 2030
Dr. Zeke Tumua
A sharp knock shoots from the back door to courtroom number 215 on the second floor of Milimani Law Courts. Clothes shuffle as the twelve people in the courtroom stand and bow exaggeratedly to the coat of arms.
They all know however, that they are not bowing to the national symbol but to the egotistical judge. One Dr. Rev. Hon. Rtd Gen. Zeke Tumua.
The court clerk hurries to his table just as the judge strides into the room, his gown trailing him and his defiantly receding hairline hidden conveniently by the judicial wig he so proudly wears.
As fifty-one, Dr. Zeke Tumua is the epitome of pride. He stands at the bench in front of the court room (the bench isn’t the bench that you laymen are thinking about. It’s the judge’s desk at the front of the courtroom. You’re welcome.) and stares at the people in his court.
Nobody sits before he does. Nobody can.
“He wants us to bow again.” One of the more experienced advocates of the high court whispers and bows. A colleague follows suit and another and soon enough, the entire court is bowing like a Japanese saying arigato to a respected government official.
Almost the entire courtroom.
There are two ladies in the dock who look like they could care less. They are still seated, staring at the judge blankly.
Dr. Tumua raises an eyebrow with what’s supposed to be surprise, but comes off as a childish pout instead. “Guards,” he addresses the two prison guards flanking the two ladies, cuffed to each other. “Why are your prisoners still seated?”
Maybe the question the judge should be asking the guards is, “Guys, why the hell are you still tucking in your thick green cardigans in 2030?”
One of the burly male guards grabs one of the ladies by the collar of her prison gown and yanks her to her feet roughly. Since she is cuffed to her colleague, she ends up pulling her up too and they both hiss as the cuffs eat into their wrists.
“Ah,” the judge sighs, “That is better.”
He looks to the people in the courtroom and as if on cue, they bow a third time, this time even further down than they had done the first couple of times. He nods approvingly, a sly smile touching the corner of his lips, his ego satisfactorily massaged by people with tens of law degrees between them.
And that would have been the end of it, hadn’t he noticed that the accused ladies did not bow.
“Guards,” he groans, “Do you know what day today is?”
“Friday, Your Honor.” One of the guards, the older and senior one replies.
“Friday.” Repeats the judge as if he has been enlightened on a subject he was not aware of. “Friday. What kind of Friday is this?”
Guard: The good kind.
Someone in the courtroom chuckles and the judge throws a terrifying glance in their direction. “Bailiff, if anyone in my courtroom chuckles or snickers or farts or so much as twists a muscle on their faces, consider them held in contempt and hurl them to jail until Tuesday morning.”
The bailiff, a man with a tummy so large that he has no business drinking another bottle of beer, nods enthusiastically and offers the courtroom a, “Teacher-just-put-me-in-charge” glare.
Judge: The good kind of Friday you said?
Asks the judge to the guard.
Guard: Yes your honor
Judge: What is so good about it I wonder?
Guard: It is called Good Friday, your honor.
Judge: It is good because it is called Good Friday?
Guard: Yes your honor.
Judge: Guard, what is your name?
Guard: Officer Kennedy Mahakogo.
Guard: Yes your honor.
Judge: Why does your name sound like an insult, Officer Kennedy Mahakogo?
Guard: I don’t know your honor.
Judge: That was a rhetorical question. You do know what that is, don’t you? Officer Mahakogo?
Guard: An insult, your honor?
Judge: No! You dimwit! A rhetorical ques… (Sighs from frustration) Ah, you know what, forget it. You said today is the good kind of Friday because it is called Good Friday?
Guard: Yes your honor.
An elderly advocate shifts his weight from one leg to the other and leans forward on the table because his arthritis doesn’t allow him to stay on his feet for so long. And the judge is too busy interrogating the prison guard to care about his arthritis.
Judge: If I said that your mother is a whore, would you agree with me just I said that your mother is a whore?
Guard: Yes your honor.
Judge: (Surprised) You would?
Guard: Yes your honor.
Judge: Why is that, I wonder?
Guard: My mother is a whore your honor.
The person who chuckled earlier chuckles again.
Judge: Bailiff, please take that bubbling child who won’t snickering like a little virgin in my courtroom to the cells. Lock him up with the faggots.
Bailiff: We executed the last of them last month.
Judge: The last of whom?
Bailiff: The gays, your honor. We executed the last of the gays last month.
Bailiff: I’m sorry?
Judge: Faggots. We call them faggots now. If I’m going to slip a knot around your neck and kick away the horse, there is no use being politically correct when addressing you, is there?
Bailiff: No your honor.
Judge: So all the faggots are dead?
Bailiff: Yes your honor.
Judge: Well, I guess if there is a God in the sky, I’ll sign the death warrant for the last remaining dykes today and hopefully they too will be dead by three in the afternoon just like Jesus. (Snickers) Let’s hope they don’t rise up on Sunday though. Lock the laughing guy up in the zoo with the lions or something.
A young man in a sharp suit bolts out of the courtroom and his shoes can be heard clacking on the floor as he runs off. The bailiff chases him out, even though everyone knows that he can’t catch the younger and fitter runner.
Judge: I sure hope he wasn’t representing someone accused of a serious offence.
The laughing advocate who has just run away from court was in fact representing a man accused of murder. But the accused isn’t aware that he no longer has legal representation, because he was killed in police custody last night. His advocate, unaware of this development, was here on a habeas corpus mission. Poor bastards.
Judge: Your mother is a whore?
Guard: Was, your honor.
Judge: Changed her ways, did she?
Guard: She didn’t have a chance your honor.
Judge: How so?
Guard: She was convicted under the Morality Enforcement Act of 2027 and sentenced to death.
Judge: Oh. Well, (smile cheekily) one more whore down then, aye?
Guard: Yes your honor.
Judge: Who is the good judge that did this country such a great service as to get your mother hanged, Officer Mahakogo?
Guard: It was you, your honor.
Dr. Tumua beams with pride.
Judge: Oh! Good for me! (Nods and smiles) Gooooood. For. Me! If the courtroom would be so kind as to clap for me please….
He puts up both hands like a priest at the altar, praying for the Holy Sacrament, and looks up at the ceiling as the reluctant court occupants clap for him.
Judge: Now, everybody bow once more, (turns to the guards) dykes included, to the great Coat of Arms.
A whole fifteen minutes after he entered the courtroom, Judge Dr. Zeke Tumua finally asks everyone to sit down and settle down to listen to the urgent matters of the day, that got everyone yanked out of bed on Good Friday.
Republic v Lulu Faraja and Handa Gasira Criminal Case 845 of 2013
Lulu is twenty six years old. Her partner in crime, currently cuffed to her, is Handa who will be clocking the dreaded 3-0 in ninety-four days. She doesn’t like thinking of the time left between the present and her thirtieth birthday in months because that seems so close. Three months. Hell no. Ninety four days sounds better.
But the way things are going, she is giving up on the thought of ever hitting thirty.
As the court clerk stands to read the charges, she holds Lulu’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Lulu looks at her and Handa mumbles, “I’m sorry.” to her.
“I’m not.” Lulu whispers back and smiles. A smile that Handa interprets as more sad than brave.
The Court Clerk holds the file and reads out the charges as Dr. Zeke Tumua listens, with a grave smirk on his face. A face that betrays the feelings he harbors towards this case.
As the court clerk reads on, something along the lines of, “Lulu Faraja and Handa Gasira, on April 18, 2030 in Nairobi’s Dandora Phase II Estate, you were found wearing clothes normally worn by lesbians, walking together, holding hands and generally behaving in a manner to suggest that you were lesbians, contrary to Section 23 as read with Section 24 of the Morality Enforcement Act of 2027.”
With each sentence, Dr. Tumua’s face contours into a painful grimace, passing judgment way before the charges have been read out in open court.
Once the charges have been read and the file has been passed to him, he addresses the two ladies. They are both wearing prison uniforms but these are specific uniforms for people who have been charged under the Morality Enforcement Act (MEA).
They are an ugly shade of brown with the words written across the chest, “As a gay person, I have chosen to relinquish my human rights.” At the back, is the sentence, “I am worth less than the rope they will use to hang me. Praise the Lord.”
Judge: How do you plead to these charges um, (he consults the file for a name) Handa Faraja?
Handa: Not guilty your honor.
Even as she speaks, the judge is already rolling his eyes.
Judge: It’s Good Friday. I am supposed to be home preparing to go to church with my family. Instead, I am here in court because the law demands that I try cases against morality as soon as the culprits are arrested. Now, I should warn you. If you try so much as breathe in a manner to suggest you are wasting my time, time I could be spending in the house of the Good Lord instead of here with you cunt lickers, I will use all the power I am bathed in under the law to make your deaths as painful as possible. Do you understand?
Handa: Your honor, I think you are a hateful man who…
As the judge was speaking, Handa’s chest was rising and falling with every breath of anger she was taking and Lulu could tell that her partner could hardly wait for the judge to finish talking so she could pour a little bile on him.
As soon as she begins talking, Lulu elbows her gently in the ribs.
Handa: (Whispers to Lulu) What?
Judge: Handa Faraja? Are you guilty or not?
Handa: Not guilty.
Dr. Zeke Tumua drops his pen impatiently and casts a hateful look at her. She was arrested last night so she still looks fresh. Her skin is still glowing and her hair, purple and pink braids with the sides of her head shaved, still look radical.
She has both a nose ring and another ring at the bottom lip and the judge suspects her navel has a ring too.
Judge: What color is your hair? Or what’s left of it?
Handa: Purple and pink judge.
The judge writes that down.
Judge: How many rings do you have on you?
Judge: How many?
Handa: A total of twelve on both ears, one on my nose and one on my lip.
The judge frowns, as if disappointed that she doesn’t have rings on the navel and another place he’ll have to repent for even thinking of.
Judge: Is that all?
Handa: Why? Do you want to strip me naked for a search?
Judge: Officer Mahakogo?
The officer stands erect.
Guard: Yes your honor.
Judge: Hit the dyke over its head with a club or your gun butt if it speaks out of turn again.
Guard: Of course your honor.
Judge: Handa (pauses) and why the hell do you people have such ungodly names anyway?
Handa: Us people?
Lulu: Baby, don’t.
Handa: Us people your honor?
Judge: Yes. From my experience, you can smell a faggot and a dyke from a far based on their names alone. But that of course is neither here nor there. Thank God we now have a judiciary that convicts criminals based on evidence against them as opposed to the embarrassingly bizarre names given unto them by their ignorant parents.
Judge: Handa, I have witnesses, (peruses his file) six of them to be exact, who can testify before this court to the fact that you were seen in Dandora Phase II last evening, holding Lulu’s hand, placing your head on her shoulder and, (reads this part out loud straight from the file), “laughing as she looked directly into the Second Accused’s eyes in a manner to suggest illegal, ungodly and immoral attraction to another member of the same gender.”
Handa: (Chuckles) You know what, this is ridiculous.
Judge: Bwana Mahakogo!
The guard needs no prompting. His smacks her across the head with his baton and she shrieks, blood pouring down her face.
Judge: You will respect this court lady. You are lucky the constitution still calls for a fair trial or you and your abominable friend there would have been hang last night. Were you or were not seen holding the second accused’s hand?
Handa: (Mutters) I was.
Judge: (Writes) And did you laugh loudly at her jokes?
Handa: I did.
Judge: (Looks up) I am sure there is supposed to be a very respectful “your honor” somewhere in that sentence.
Handa: I did your honor.
Judge: How many hours did you spend in Dandora with Lulu?
Handa: I don’t know.
Judge: (Consults the file) Would you say it was somewhere between four and six hours?
Judge: Probably what?
Handa: Probably, Your Honor.
Judge: In light of the information before this court today regarding the circumstances surrounding your case, this court finds you guilty of engaging in the immoral conduct of lesbianism contrary to Section 23 as read with Section 24 of the Morality Enforcement Act of 2027 and has no option but to sentence you to death by hanging before 3:00 P.M. today. We cannot have you sharing an hour of death with the Son of Man. I wish I could say, “may the good Lord have mercy on your soul,” but God hates you.
He tosses her file aside and picks up Lulu’s.
Judge: Lulu Faraja, guilty or not?
Lulu: Does it matter?
Judge: Officer Mahakogo.
Judge: (Smiles) Ah. Finally someone who isn’t into wasting my time. I will even ask if you have anything to say before sentencing. I should probably also let you know that no matter what you say, I am still going to sentence you to death.
Lulu: You are an agent of hate. I am an agent of love. I am ready to die rather than sit here and continue to listen to the sound of your voice.
Judge: (Loud yawn) Even dykes are preachers these days. What has the world come to?
Whereas Handa seems angry, Lulu is calm. Handa’s anger is fiery and sporadic. Lulu’s is cold and calculated.
Judge: In light of blah blah blah, (turns to the bailiff) do I have to read the whole sentence? Everyone knows Lulu is going to die before 3:00. P.M. today so take them both away, would you please? Oh, and when you hang them, make sure you don’t break their necks. We don’t want them dying too quickly now, do we?
On the Way to the Gallows
Lulu and Handa are chained to each other in the fast moving van heading for the Kamiti Maximum Prison’s Execution Chambers. Execution chambers has rooms containing various tools of killing people sentenced to death including but not limited to the electric chair, gas chamber, the guillotine chamber and of course, the lethal injection room.
The gallows are outside in the compound facing the execution chambers. Right next to the firing squad section where most terrorists convicted of the charge are shot down.
The ladies are silent, holding hands but swallowing any words they might have to say. For what do you say to your lover of over half a decade when you are both on your way to your deaths?
So they have silent conversations; words whispered through their watering eyes, through their quavering lips and heavy breaths.
“No touching!” Officer Mahakogo says from the other side of the aisle.
“Or what?” quips Handa. “You are going to have us sentenced to death again?”
“Hey. I am just trying to do my job here.”
“And I am just trying…” Lulu cuts her off asking her to drop it. It doesn’t matter, but anything is better to Handa than the silence on their journey to the gallows.
The van driver is another fat man who has a predilection for doughnuts, fast foods, roast meat and crates of beer. Severely allergic to the gym or any form of exercise, the man has no recollection of the last time he looked down and saw his penis. Any meeting between his eyes and his junk has to be signed off by the mirror or it isn’t happening.
His short stubby fingers are drumming the steering wheel as they dance to the music in his head and his heavy foot pushes the accelerator to the floor. The van is doing 140km/h along Thika Road for today is a holiday and nobody wants to be on duty. It’s the long awaited Easter Holiday for Christ’s sake.
There is a ringing in his ears that he ignores, followed by the sudden tightening of his chest.
Lulu is trying to look into Handa’s eyes; maybe smile at her but the latter who is seated next to the window has her eyes on the road outside. The sight of passing cars and buildings and trees appears to have more appeal to her.
But Lulu is well aware of what Handa is doing. She would rather not cry about this. This is her way of acting strong.
“Babe,” she calls out softly but Handa doesn’t budge. “Baby, come on.”
Lulu: Don’t do this. Not today.
Handa: I am not doing anything.
Lulu: No use for strength now.
Handa: I don’t know what you want me to do, OK? I just want to sit here, hold your hand and be silent. Please?
So Lulu let’s her hold her hand. She rubs Handa’s palm with her thumb and rests her head on her shoulder. In that moment, as the engine groans and the tires rub against the tarmac, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She is scared, but she finds confidence in that she is not alone.
Officer Mahakogo sees them in that position and is about to yell something about them not touching when a painful groan escapes the driver’s lips.
“Is everything OK over there?”
Instinctively, he stands just as the van swerves dangerously to the left and the tires screech. Vehicles behind it hoot furiously as it makes an even sharper right turn.
Officer Mahakogo steadies himself casting a suspicious glance at the convicts. “Is this your doing?” He looks outside to see if there are people trying to rescue them. None.
In front, the driver appears to be sinking into himself, his hands now on his chest and off the steering wheel. And his foot very heavy on the accelerator. Right before he blacks out, he wonders why he would have a heart attack at forty-three-years-old and who will be transporting the prisoners to the gallows now.
Officer Mahakogo, seeing that the driver is fast losing control of the van, sits back down and snaps the safety belt into place as he hold onto the seat in front of him for extra support. The women do the same just as the van screeches from right to left and on its way back to the right, the left side leave the road and all the occupants hear is the sound of screeching and twisting metal, shattering glass, hooting vehicles and screams of terror.
Handa opens her eyes to a severe pain on her forehead. She hisses and touches it. There is blood. She is hanging upside down with a limp Lulu beside her.
Handa: (Panic stricken) Oh my God Lulu, are you OK?
Silence. She tries to move her arms to shake her but the chains don’t allow for much movement. Outside the van, vehicles have stopped and a crowd is gathering.
Handa struggles out of the safety belt and crashing on the roof of the van which is now upside down. Her head is now starting to throb.
Handa: Lulu, (taps her cheek gently) Baby, come on. Open your eyes.
She snaps Lulu’s seat belt open and catches her as she falls, quickly administering CPR until Lulu comes to. Beside her, Officer Mahakogo is just groaning back to life.
Moving quickly, she grabs his gun, baton and the keys to the chain as the crowd outside starts rushing to the van to check for survivors. She tries several keys until she finds ones to the chains just as Lulu tries to sit up. She is unlocking the chains when the officer says;
Officer Mahakogo: What do you ladies think you are doing?
Handa: What does it look like?
Him: I can’t let you escape.
Handa hands the baton over to Lulu and holds on to the gun.
Handa: (To the officer) I have the gun so I don’t take orders from you anymore. (To Lulu) Come on, we have to get out of here.
Lulu places her hands on the floor to rise up but the shattered glass cuts into her hands. “We have to move baby, come on!” Handa says, her eyes darting around for an appropriate exit.
Lulu looks from her bleeding palm, to the officer who is now trying to gets away from his seat belt, to the driver who is slumped over the steering wheel, to the tens of feet outside the van trying to find their way in.
Handa: For what?
Lulu: We need a change of clothes.
Lulu: We are wearing clothes that say that we have no rights. And there is a probably very homophobic crowd outside. I would rather leave this van naked than step into that mob in these clothes.
Handa: (Pointing the gun to the officer) Strip.
Handa: Your clothes. Hurry up please. (To Lulu) Go check on the driver.
She needs no prompting. Careful not to be cut by anymore glass, Lulu hurries over to the driver who is slumped over with a grotesque expression on his face.
Lulu: Oh God, I think he’s dead.
Handa: Do you think you can undress him?
Lulu: He is fat!
Lulu: I can’t wear his clothes.
Handa: You don’t have much of a choice!
Officer: Even if you get out of this van, what then, huh? You can’t get far.
Handa: Shut up! And hurry up with the clothes.
The officer, now kneeling in front of Handa hurriedly takes off his clothes, all but his boxers and Handa chains him up and wears his clothes.
Handa: Are you almost done? We don’t have much time.
Outside, the crowd is working to get into the van to hopefully save some lives when suddenly, they back off as they come face to face with Handa’s gun.
She is crawling out through the window, gun first and Lulu is very close behind her.
Lulu: I don’t like this plan.
Handa: We don’t have a plan.
Lulu: I don’t like this plan of not having a plan.
Handa: Five minutes ago, the plan was to die. I think I like this unplanned plan better.
They are out now, with Handa pointing the gun at the semi circle of the mob in front of her. In their oversize prison guard and driver uniforms, they so obviously look like convicts but at least now, nobody knows what their charges are.
Handa: We don’t want much trouble. Just a little. We need a car.
“We don’t help criminals.” Someone yells from the mob and Handa fires a round in the air. Some of them scatter away and the two girls run to a waiting Subaru Imprezza with the keys still hanging in the ignition.
An Indian guy, seeing them heading for the Subaru yells, “Not the Subaru! Not the Subaru! It has a faulty engine!”
Handa: (Getting behind the wheel) Of course the Subaru belongs to the Indian.
Lulu: (Settling in the passenger seat) Go! Go! We don’t have time for your wise cracks right now.
Jabari Club of Losers and Lowlifes
With a bottle of Gin, sliced lemons and a flask of hot water on the table, Ochi is seated with his eyes glued to the television where a channel is breaking some news.
“In case you are just tuning in, a lesbian couple has just escaped legal custody. The two women Lulu Faraja and Handa Gasira were sentenced to death for crimes against morality under the Morality Enforcement Act this morning and were being taken to the Kamiti Execution Chambers for hanging when they murdered the driver and escaped.”
A picture of two beautiful women pops up on the screen.
“The police are advising members of the public to be extra vigilant as the escapees are armed and dangerous. A reward of five million shillings will be given to anyone who might have information leading to their recovery, whether they will be alive or dead.”
Ochi: Ladies and gentlemen, that is how you legalize extra judicial killings.
The bartender leans close and says;
Bartender: I thought such people were all dead or cured in this country.
Ochi: Apparently not.
Bartender: Right. You smuggled the rest of them out of the country for a profit.
Ochi: This is the club of losers and lowlifes, so spare me the judgment, OK?
Bartender: I am just saying.
Ochi: Even I thought they were all gone to be honest. These must be the last ones left.
Bartender: They would make a catchy title if someone were to write about them. (Parts his hands in the air as he reads an imaginary title.”) “Last Dykes Standing.”
Ochi: They are not standing though, are they? They are running.
Bartender: So, “The Last Dykes Running”? Doesn’t sound so catchy, does it?
Ochi: Still, “Last Dykes Standing” sounds like the name of a cheap action flick starring Jaden Smith.
Ochi: Exactly. (He takes a sip of his drink, cringes and smiles like he is in the middle of a eureka moment.) “The Last Dykes of Nairobi.”
Ochi: “The Last Dykes of Nairobi.” It is genius. You can have it for free if you ever decide to write about them.
Bartender: I don’t know. That title just sounds off. It has zero sophistication and it sounds like a twelve-year-old came up with it.
Ochi: Well deal with it. It sounds just fine to me.
Bartender: Ten thousand shillings says they don’t last till the end of the day.
Ochi: Well duh. The government just promised five million shillings to anyone who will point them out dead or alive. I would kill them for five million then take their bodies to the police station and everybody is dying for a little gay blood right about now.
Bartender: So you won’t be making the bet?
Ochi: You want me to bet you ten thousand shillings that they survive the day?
Bartender: Only if you have the balls.
Ochi: Make it fifty thousand. I have to warn you though, I will find them, keep them safe till after midnight tonight then kill them.
And just then, the door bursts open and the two women rush in and shut it behind them. Handa sticks the gun out in front of her asking urgently;
Handa: We are looking for Ochiel Kaya? I was told this is his normal hangout joint. So which one of you lowlifes can point me in his direction?
Ochi: (With his hands up.) I am not sure he will be smuggling any lesbians out of the country any time soon.
Handa: Oh yeah? Why not?
Bartender: (Whispering with his hands up too) What are you doing?
Ochi: Being a lowlife. (To Handa) Let us cut the theatrics ladies. There is a prize of two million shillings for your heads. If you have five million shillings, I will smuggle you out of the country. I know for a fact that you ladies won’t kill me because I am the only smuggler who would even consider getting you out. So put the gun down and please, call me Ochi. Nobody calls me Ochiel Kaya anymore.
The ladies are at the lawn at the back of the club, sitting on a couple of swings, gently rocking their bodies as the early afternoon breeze accompanied by warm sunrays caresses their faces and arms.
Handa: I can’t believe we are going to Tanzania of all places.
Lulu: I like Tanzania. They don’t kill gay people.
Handa: Yeah, but it ain’t home.
Ochi: Then you dykes shouldn’t be running, should you?
They turn around and see him standing behind them, watching as they swing beside each other. He has a couple of passports and other travelling documents in hand including Tanzanian identity cards and some cash.
Handa: Can I ask you something Ochiel?
Ochi: Please, call me Ochi.
Handa: No, I won’t call you Ochi because I don’t know you like that.
Ochi: Jesus. What crawled up your ass and died?
Handa: What’s with the language, huh?
Ochi: What language?
Handa: Do you know how many times I’ve heard you say dyke since we met a few hours ago?
Ochi: Nope. But I have a feeling I’m about to be enlightened.
Handa: Sixteen. That’s how many times.
Ochi: What are you sitting on?
Ochi: That thing you are sitting on, what is it called?
Handa: Look, whatever game you are playing here, I am not interested. I think you are dirt.
Ochi: And I think you are one judgmental, entitled and despicably unlikable human being. (He throws the documents and the brick of cash he was holding at them.) Collect your shit. We leave at dusk.
The documents and the cash scatter at the ladies’ feet and Handa can’t hold back a groan. She is on her feet before anyone can do a thing to stop her. She stands right under Ochi’s face and looks him in the eye.
Ochi: (Not moving an inch) Your breath stinks.
Handa: Are you sure that’s not the smell of your rotten brain?
Lulu: Guys come on. Do we really have to measure the length of our genitals right now? When there are people hunting us down like animals?
Ochi: (Softly to Handa) You should listen to your girlfriend.
Handa: I will. Right after you apologize to us.
Ochi: For what?
Lulu: Handa, stop it.
Handa: (Faces her) I don’t want to. You know what, I won’t stop it. I am real close to hitting thirty years of age and I have the government, the church, the prison wardens and even pedophiles, telling me, an adult of sound mind, which other consenting adult to love and have sex with. (Points at Ochi) This loser here smuggles people out of the country. Murderers, rapists, doctors who sell children’s organs on the black market, people who have committed serious cases of ethnic cleansing, people who don’t like women breastfeeding in public, he takes them and smuggles them out of the country. For cash. And I am supposed to chill and let him and his like to dictate who I love? Ah ah. I won’t stand for it anymore.
Ochi: So what are you going to do about it lady? Because from the looks of it, you are running. You are just another little girl who got wired wrong somehow and is now running and is bitter at the world because of it.
Handa: Call me a dyke one more time. See if I won’t make you bleed on my way out of the country.
Lulu rolls her eyes. Not because Ochi said it, but because she knows Handa will react. And Handa reacts. She takes a swing at Ochi’s face but he ducks and slams an open fist against her mouth sending her staggering and bleeding.
She might have stepped in for a second round but Lulu grabs her.
Ochi: Those things you ladies were seated on when I came here are called swings. The things we wear to cover our bodies are called clothes. The water that falls from the skies every now and then is called rain, and women who have sex with other women are called dykes. I didn’t make the rules lady, I am just following them. Now pick up your shit, get ready, we leave at dusk.
Handa is breathing hard and licking the blood of her torn lower lip. She spits and yanks herself away from Lulu.
Handa: This isn’t over.
Ochi: Then you are even dumber than I thought.
The TV Broadcast
“Hey ladies, there is a little something about you on TV.” Ochi yells over the sound of Dr. Zeke Tumua’s voice on TV.
The ladies hurry into the bar and on the hoisted TV screen is Dr. Tumua’s shiny face and an everlasting forehead and a smile that Handa considers unbearably smug. He is giving a press conference outside what appears to be the Holy Family Basilica.
“Today is a very dark day for our nation and for any God fearing nation in the world. It is a double tragedy for Kenya especially because it is not only the day that we get to bury our Lord and savior Jesus Christ in whose blood all our sins are washed away, it is also the day plagued by the escape of two women who defecate on the very notion of the love of God and the laws that govern this country by engaging in unbiblical activities with each other.
“These vomit inducing stains on the fabric of humanity are Lulu Faraja and Handa Gasira and I have authorized the Morality Enforcement Agency to bring them in using whatever force necessary, dead or alive. Members of the public are encouraged to assist in this because we are a nation of outstanding human beings and we cannot stand for anybody who threatens to corrupt our children with ideas of lesbianism.
“Anybody caught assisting them in anyway will suffer the same fate as them. God loves us all but hates gay people. Who are we to love what our Creator hates? Is it not a display of arrogance for man to go against God’s wishes? For is it not the Book of Psalms Chapter 50 verse 18 which rebukes people who collude with criminals by saying, ‘you made friends with every crook you met, and you liked people who break their wedding vows.’? We must resist these people, we have come too far in the path of righteousness to go back now, so I say to all, let these dykes not see another sunrise!”
There is silence in the bar long after Dr. Tumua is done with the speech. His words hang in the air like horrible stench.
Ochi: Whew, the man sure does have a way with words.
Handa: Of course someone like you would say that.
Lulu: Let’s not fight again, aye people?
Ochi: I like you. What are you doing with this one? (Points at Handa with his lips.)
Lulu: I will not stroke your boner by having that conversation with you, thank you very much. Now if you will excuse me, I will go to the back, catch some air, and try to forget that I have just been called a vomit inducing stain on the fabric of humanity.
Ochi: Hold on.
Lulu: What now?
Ochi: The price has gone up.
Handa: Where do you even get the nerve?
Ochi: In case you haven’t noticed, the risks have climbed significantly higher. Now my life is on the line too.
Handa: Your life was on the line the moment you took our five million. You knew the risks.
Ochi: (With a deadpan expression) The price has gone up.
Lulu: By how much?
Ochi: One million.
Handa: Ah, come on!
Lulu: Fine! Anything else you need from us as you enjoy the orgasmic experience of milking us dry? Our kidneys maybe? How about our goddamn heads while you are at it?
Ochi: You people have quite the mouths on you.
Lulu: You will have your extra two million. I would even give you the world if it would make you shut up.
She goes over to the bar, grabs a bottle of wine, a couple of glasses and heads back out.
Lulu: Coming baby?
Ochi: Are you going to pay for that? And for the fact that I had to close the bar down for the day because of you two? Even had to send the bartender home.
Handa: You talk too much.
Handa and Lulu walk to the bar again with the now empty wine bottle in Lulu’s hands. She dumps it on the counter and retrieves another –
Ochi: Not only are you vomit inducing stains on the fabric of humanity, you are also alcoholics. Great.
Lulu: We are only slightly inebriated you sad sack. (Casts a long stare at him as if noticing him for the first time) Is there something wrong with your forehead?
Ochi: (Taps his forehead) Why?
Lulu: It looks someone drove a bulldozer all over it.
Ochi: I guess when you say you are slightly inebriated, you mean you are grossly drunk; and not in a sexy way.
Lulu: Is there a sexy way of being grossly drunk or are you just another homophobe who can’t quip?
Ochi: And I thought you were the nice one.
Handa: If she were nice, we wouldn’t be together. Whose head do I have to chop off to get some music played in this place?
Lulu: Oh yes. I am in the mood for some.
Ochi: I could help you out with that. (He winks.) Wink wink.
Lulu: Even if you were a woman, you wouldn’t be my type. You look like the result of an unholy union between an old and lopsided Bedford truck and a tortoise.
As Handa laughs, she finds a DJ section at the corner of the club, from which she searches a song and hits PLAY.
Then as the speakers softly come to life, she starts walking slowly back to Lulu, passion etched into her face as she lip synchs Don Williams’ “Senorita.”
As she and Lulu slow dance to the music, Ochi watches at first with mid curiosity and then with cautious enjoyment. His foot gently taps the floor and his finger taps the table.
“Senorita,” he sings along, “Passing by, pardon me if I stop and ask you why, someone like you would love someone like me.”
The girls can dance and he notices that Lulu is very responsive to even the slightest touch and Handa is quite the confident lead.
Handa: You can dance with us if you want.
Ochi: I think I will just enjoy the view from here, if that’s alright with you.
Handa: You know, every now and then you come across someone who tries so hard to be a jerk and fails so catastrophically that the result is atrociously embarrassing. I never thought I would have to suffer the pain of watching a good guy act bad, but unfortunately, I have.
Ochi: That isn’t in reference to me, is it?
Handa: What if it is?
Lulu: I should probably leave you two to get a room.
Handa: What is your problem with us?
Ochi: Other than the fact that you are wired wrong?
Handa: I will let that pass, just so we can get to your answer quickly.
Ochi: All I have to do is smuggle you out of the country. I don’t have to like you as I do it.
Handa: I don’t want your affection. Just a little respect will work just fine.
Handa: Why what?
Ochi: Why should I respect you?
Lulu: Guys, we were doing so well for a minute there. Do we have to do this again?
Ochi: Yes Handa. We were doing so well. Do you have something against peace?
Handa: When it is pretentious, yes.
Ochi: OK. I will bite. Why should I respect you?
Handa: Because I am a human being, damn it!
Ochi: You know what that buys you in this day and age? Absolutely nada. So why don’t you shut up, before you really start to piss me off?
Handa: Yeah? And what do you become when you are really pissed off, huh? The Hulk? I hate people like you who benefit from conflict. You are worse than that Tumua guy.
Ochi: Let me ask you something lady. Why did you stick around when all other gay people fled the country or started acting straight, huh?
Handa: Because I could.
Ochi: What’s changed?
Handa: You don’t see me acting straight, do you?
Ochi: Nope. I see you doing worse. I see you running. I don’t have a lick of respect for runners. I will smuggle you out, not because I like you or respect you and certainly not because you are a human being, but because you have the money. Now that that is clear, please shut up before I smack you in the mouth again.
Lulu: Must be so easy to be you, huh?
Ochi: That means you too. Potty mouth.
Lulu: What would you have us do?
Ochi: I am just a lowlife smuggler lady. What the hell do you care about my opinion?
Lulu: I don’t. But if I did, I would want to know what you would have done differently if you were in our shoes.
Ochi: Well, tomorrow is the World Gays and Lesbians Day, a holiday Kenya hasn’t celebrated since 2025 thanks to Dr. Tumua and cronies. If you were to publicly celebrate it, that would be…
Handa: Suicide. That is what that would be. Suicide.
Ochi: Well, if my opinion mattered, I would opine that the government is under the impression that all gays are dead or have left the country. But I, being a smuggler, know that many of gay men just straightened up and married the first girl that smiled at them and their lesbian counterparts did the same. If we were to make an appeal to those people to join you in the day’s celebration, that would make a statement.
Handa: Thank God your opinion doesn’t count.
Lulu: And how would we reach them? It’s not like we can create a Twitter Hashtag saying #JoinLuluAndHandaTomorrow so we can all commit mass suicide.
Ochi: Why not? You escapees are already trending on social media. You are the Last Dykes of Nairobi. You are famous. Use that. Your hashtag could be in the evening news and by morning, literally everyone in the country, scratch that, in the whole world, would be aware of the plan.
Handa: And the plan being what? Show up at some place and get gunned down by Dr. Tumua and his Moral Police Force? Very smart. Absolute genius.
Lulu: Baby, we have been running since the National Gays and Lesbians Unit lost that case in 2018. When Dr. Tumua moved to parliament to strengthen anti-gay laws and promote his hateful rhetoric, we kept running. When we started being executed by the government and stoned to death by people in the streets, you and I kept running. And now they are coming for us and we still run? I am tired of this. I want to take this fight to them.
Handa: By lining yourself up in the street to get shot?
Lulu: By celebrating the World Gays and Lesbians Day. By showing Dr. Tumua that I exist and by showing those of us who closeted up that there are some of us who can still stand up and be counted.
Handa: You mean stand up and be executed. You aren’t seriously considering this, are you? You have heard what Tumua says. “You can’t fight the government. You’ll lose.”
Lulu: I wish I had some smart quote to throw back at you but I don’t. This is too real for a sound byte. You can leave if you want, but I really hope you don’t.
Handa: (To Ochi) Why would you even “help” us? You stand to lose money if you do.
Ochi: You want me to be honest?
Handa: Please don’t get rhetorical with me right now. I neither have patience nor the maturity to handle it.
Ochi: Worst case scenario, you both die tomorrow. I lose my seven million. But then your message reaches and inspires people and the gay among them step out of the closet. The government cracks down on them and they have to flee. Guess who they will come to to be smuggled out. Best case scenario, you die tomorrow. Your message reaches people, there is a big revolution and revolution is always for a man in my line of work. And who knows; your side might even win. Not likely but possible. Either way, I stand to make money out of this because I am a big picture kind of guy. Now, are you staying or running?
The Social Media Broadcast
Facebook Status Update.
My name is Handa Gasira. I am one of the lesbians who escaped custody today. I hate that I had to use that sentence at all to describe myself because I haven’t committed any crimes. Tomorrow, my partner Lulu and I will be at Uhuru Park from 10:00 a.m. in celebration of the World Gays and Lesbians Day. If you have been forced to live in hiding, this is your chance to come out of the shadows and be true to yourself. Come dressed in a white t-shirt to show just how red our blood is, when they start making us bleed.
Join @HGasira and @LFaraja in shoving a huge middle finger in Dr. Tumua’s face.Tomorrow at Uhuru Park from 10. Celebrating Gays and Lesbians Day. #JoinLuluAndHanda.
The Dark Web
FcukTumua001: Bring your guns people. Tomorrow we fuck shit up. #JoinLuluAndHanda
PrettyMe989: It’s about damn time.
Mainstream Media Broadcasts
Female Presenter: In an interesting turn of events, the escaped lesbian couple Lulu Faraja and Handa Gasira has emerged on social media with an all out appeal to hiding gays and lesbians, human rights defenders and the general public to help them celebrated the World Gays and Lesbians Day slated to take place tomorrow at Uhuru Park from 10:00 a.m. This message has infuriated the Top Moral Police, one Dr. Zeke Tumua who has called the appeal a declaration of war.
Dr. Tumua is on TV again saying from the comfort of his office;
Dr. Tumua: This is what happens when our country is corrupted by western nations. We get misguided citizens of this God fearing nation declaring an all out war against their government. Well, I guess we will be seeing them at Uhuru Park tomorrow. They can bring their fellow misguided rats of Sodom and Gomorrah and I will bring my army of moral soldiers. Let us see who leaves that stadium bleeding.
Back in the station, the male presenter says;
Male Presenter: Whew. That is intense. Funny how he generalizes this country as a God fearing nation when there is an active Atheists Guild.
Male Presenter: Lulu Faraja, one of the lesbians who escaped legal custody earlier today has just released a video online, further buttressing her appeal for support tomorrow. Released only one hour ago, the video has over three hundred thousand views on YouTube and is showing no signs of stopping. Dr. Zeke Tumua who is Moral Police’s head honcho has written to Google, asking them to pull the video down and in response, the company claims that the video is not offensive to anyone and will just issue a warning about the content so as, quote, “not to be in contravention with your nation’s absurd laws” end quote.
Female Presenter: For our question tonight, we want to know if you would join the couple in Uhuru Park tomorrow. For this and more, stay tuned.
Lulu: We. Are Trending! We are everywhere. On CNN, BBC, MNSCB, Aljazeera… we are top trending on Twitter and our video is trending at number one on YouTube.
Handa: Great. Our executions tomorrow will be broadcast all over the world.
Lulu: Jesus. Try and contain your excitement.
Handa: Believe me; my excitement doesn’t need any more containment.
Lulu: Do you know what is on my mind right now?
Lulu: Funny. Do you remember that Netflix show, “Sense8”? Mumbi Maina’s character had a line in season two. “I fall in love with people; not with their genitals.”
Handa: Catchy. A little sad not to fall in love with someone’s genitals, but catchy. You should put it in a t-shirt.
Lulu: That is what I was thinking.
Handa: I was kidding.
Lulu: I wasn’t.
Handa: Jesus, you are just full of bad ideas today, aren’t you?
Lulu: I will tell Ochi to put that in our t-shirts.
April 20, 2030
“We are here in Nairobi’s Uhuru Park where as you can see behind me, a large crowd is already gathering. The air here is thick with tension as the people anticipate Handa’s and Lulu’s arrival. The police have already set up their stations, there are protestors protesting against gays and lesbians and chanting their support for Dr. Zeke Tumua.
“So far, there has been no sighting of the same sex couple that has led to this gathering today…”
“… thank you very much Zwahib in the studio. If you are just joining us, we are at Uhuru Park where thousands of people have shown up to bear witness to the first celebration of the World Gays and lesbians Day here in Kenya, a day that hasn’t been celebrated here in about five years.
“The principal organizers of this day, if they can be called that, urged all to come dressed in white tops, but it doesn’t appear like the members of the public listened to them.”
There are police trucks and armed officers have littered the park, strategically placed to quell any chaos that may arise.
“Chaos is growing at Uhuru Park after the police started asking people to leave or they would be forcibly removed. Now, most of the people we have questioned here are not in support of the gays and lesbians and are only here to see how the government will handle what they are referring to as defiance.
“They are reluctant to leave without bearing witness to the activities of the day and are now engaging police in running battles and oh!… As you can see, the police have started firing teargas into the rowdy crows and…”
“At least three people have been confirmed dead in Uhuru Park today after chaos broke out between police officers and members of the public who were interested in witnessing the execution of the lesbian couple. They wouldn’t leave the park when ordered and so the police had to use teargas which led to a stampede that left three dead, among them a fifteen-year-old boy.”
“…a stampede that has led to the deaths of six people so far. Angry protestors are asking where Handa and Lulu are and the couple is yet to be seen.”
Handa: This is a very bad idea.
Lulu: Must be really bad if the dumb one among us deems it so.
Handa: They are going to kill us, you know?
Lulu: Maybe you should leave.
Handa: And go where? Besides, I am not too eager to hit thirty. Twenty-nine feels like a good age to go.
Lulu: I am not kidding.
Handa: Neither am I.
Lulu: Are you ready?
Handa: (Deep breath) No. I don’t think I am.
They are in the middle of a crowd situated just outside Uhuru Park’s fence that neighbors Uhuru Highway. Inside the fence is a big clearing manned by police officers.
Handa: You remember how excited we used to be about Vision 2030? I wonder what happened to that vision.
Lulu: It came to pass. You are looking at it.
They are in jackets that hide the white t-shirt they are wearing on the inside. On one side of the stadium, the police are chasing some people out of the stadium.
There are people chanting and waving placards, human rights defenders advocating for the rights of all humans gay or not, liberals doing the same, but nobody in sight is in a white top.
There are other police officers perched on rooftops, surveying the place through firearm scope, binoculars and drones, giving continuous SitReps (Situation Reports) and constantly checking in with their command station.
Command Center: All teams check in.
Alpha: (This is a sniper and his spotter perched atop the Intercontinental hotel) Alpha team check.
Bravo: (Situated on the southern perimeter of the Parliament Buildings) Bravo team check
There are many teams and once they have checked in and mentioned that there is nothing to report, Command Center’s radio crackles as the Alpha Team says;
Alpha: I have eyes on target. Seven hundred yards North-North-East of my current location.
In the command post is Dr. Zeke Tumua, his eyes peeling down the screens in front of him.
Dr. Tumua: Can someone please speak English? Where the hell have they been seen?
Handa and Lulu are over the fence and are now slowly walking towards a police truck parked at some place inside the park.
They peel off their jackets exposing their white t-shirts. They wave white handkerchiefs in the air to signify that they aim to proceed peacefully.
As soon as the crowds see them, an excited chatter flies all over as protesters protest with more zeal and supporters chant supportive songs.
“And there they are. Finally, Handa and Lulu show themselves. They are in white t-shirt and are waving what appear to be white handkerchiefs as they approach the police who are pointing their rifles at them and yelling at them to stop.”
“If I believed in the existence of a god in the sky or anywhere else, I would probably be praying right now. But it is events like today’s that kill my belief in God.
As I look at two innocent women walk towards a presumably God fearing police force, I have to wonder which kind of god this is that would visit so much evil upon a people he claims to be his children. But then again, let us all hide behind the “he works in mysterious ways” annoyance and watch as everybody dies.”
Inside the command center, Dr. Tumua is watching the couple on the screen in front of him. Above the couple is a drone that is helping him see them on the screen.
Dr. Tumua: Take them down.
In the field, Lulu takes Handa’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.
Handa: Did I say that this is a very dumb idea?
Lulu: We are just two girls, walking towards the police. Remember to smile. We are too pretty to be shot dead in front of everybody.
Handa, in spite of herself, gives a chuckle.
Handa: You know I love you, right?
Lulu: I figured that’s why you are walking down the green mile with me.
Handa: I loved that movie.
Lulu: Maybe if Hollywood ever makes our movie, it will be called “Dead Girls Walking.”
Handa: More like, “Dumb Girls Dying.”
Slowly, the gap between them and the police who have their guns raised at them lessens.
Handa: It is not too late to freak out, piss our pants and run away screaming.
Lulu: I love you too you big pussy. Keep that white handkerchief up.
Handa: My hand is getting tired.
Lulu: Your life depends on keeping that hand up.
In front of them, the police cock their firearms as a voice yells, “GET READY!”
Inside the command center Dr. Tumua is saying, “Execute.”
Handa: Here goes nothing. I can’t believe nobody else wore a white t-shirt today. Maybe we really are the last same sex couple alive.
Lulu: The Last Dykes of Nairobi sounds catchier.
Handa: I hate myself for this but I miss Ochi right about now.
The voice ahead of them says, “AIM!”
The girls see laser beams on their bodies and on each other’s faces and heads.
Handa: You know what I am thinking right now?
Lulu: That you hate me?
Handa: That I am not as scared as I thought I would be when the time came.
“We are compelled to issue a warning that what the viewers are about to see could be graphic and disturbing. Two Kenyan women are on the verge of being executed live on international TV and there is nothing the world can do about it because Kenya is very important in the fight against the Al-Shabaab and the international community especially the US and the UK dares not intervene in what is referred to as “internal affairs” including the execution of gays.”
The voice ordering the officers is about to yell, “FIRE!” when it stops short.
Inside the command center, Dr. Tumua is losing it. “Why are they not dead?”
Handa is wondering the same when a loud cheer comes from behind them. They turn around and behind them are two more people in white t-shirts. These are followed by two more and then three, and then five, and then ten and then….
“I cannot believe this. There has to be over one thousand people in white t-shirts, standing behind Handa and Lulu with their white handkerchiefs in the air.”
A radio is crackling in the command center as a voice asks, “Zulu to command, Sir, what are our orders? Over.”
All eyes are on Dr. Tumua who is mumbling, “How can there be so many of them left? I thought we got rid of them all.”
“Sir, how do we proceed?”
Dr. Tumua: Stand down.
He says it with a dropping voice and with his chin resting on his chest; he gets in his car, already seeing the following day’s headlines in his head.
The Sunday Standard
“Kenya Celebrates her First World Gays and Lesbians Day in Five Years.”
“Dr. Zeke Tumua’s Lost Battle Against Gays and Lesbians”
“Moral Police Dr. Zeke Tumua Sacked Amidst Chaos in the Morals Enforcement Agency”
Away from him, Handa is asking;
Handa: Now what?
Lulu: Well, we have won the battle but the war still rages on.
Handa: So we don’t get to have our happy ending?
Lulu: We can have one today. Then tomorrow we fight.
Handa: Looks like we are going to need Ochi to smuggle those who left, back into the country.
Lulu: That lucky bastard. And when did you start calling him Ochi?
Handa: When I realized he isn’t that bad. I will still punch him on the mouth the next time I see him though.
If there was a sunset, they would walk into it hand in hand, but there is no sunset. Instead, they do their best to avoid the press and the crowds so that they can find somewhere private and enjoy their day long happy ending before tomorrow comes.