Dear Diary,
There’s a verse in the Bible that says if your right eye leads you astray, gouge it out. Or something like that. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell.
If there is one part of my body that will see me visiting the Fallen Angel in his pit of fire, it is the part responsible for libidos. My eye will be to blame, too, but I think it’s what you do after you see something that’s most important.
In case you don’t know, I stand accused of impregnating a girl from Nyeri by the name of Wacu. In fact, the matter is so serious that a committee of old men visited me in Nairobi. But as it turns out, Wacu is a complete stranger to me. I was her mother’s doctor and that’s how she came to know me, and now that the owner of her pregnancy has disappeared, she wants me to step in and save her from her father’s wrath and that of the village.
That said, it should be easy for me to say I don’t know her from Eve and leave it at that. And that would’ve been the right thing to do. Problem is, Wacu is an extremely beautiful young woman who can also be very persuasive.
“Dr Tom,” she tells me, “I’ll do anything for you. Anything at all, just don’t let them take me back to Nyeri with them. All my father will do is shame me for being pregnant out of wedlock.”
I mean, you do understand, right? Which well-meaning red-bloodied man would allow a pretty young woman to be humiliated for making the tiny mistake of trusting a bastard who impregnates her and then leaves her high and dry? If I deny her, I’ll only be as bad as her traditional father, who refuses to understand the temptations of modern life, right?
So, when the old men ask me once again if I did “break their goat’s leg”, I think back to “I’ll do anything for you. Anything at all” and timidly say I did break the said leg and I’m very sorry. I also ask that if they could kindly let Wacu and I sort the issue out between ourselves, things will work out okay.
That’s where my problems started. The men agreed to leave her and check back in a week to see where we stand on things. That’s when I remembered that I can’t take Wacu to my house because I have a temporary roommate, a co-worker called Jenny whose house is under renovation and who will pray the devil out of me if Wacu comes home. The only other solution is rent Wacu a hotel room for the duration of time we “work things out”.
It’s a genius idea when you think about it. Now I can spend time in the hotel with Wacu, a willing beauty, away from Jenny and her religious fanaticism. It’s a win-win situation. I got Wacu into a 4-star hotel room and she was excited beyond words. But I had to go back to work. I paid for her meals and said I’ll see her after work.
That evening, I came back to a locked room. No matter how much I knocked, she wouldn’t open. Worried, I got a spare key and let myself in and there she was in bed with a semi-famous musician who was staying at the hotel.
“What can I say, Dr Tom,” Wacu said. “He’s a star and I’m weak!”
Trust me, the pain I’m feeling is real hell.
