Insight of a Kenyan Girl

My favorite coping mechanism has always been a smile. Whether fueled by anger, pain, hurt, or happiness, I donned it like armor, an impenetrable shield that hid the vulnerability beneath. It wasn’t because I was particularly strong — far from it. In truth, I often crumbled in the solitude of my bathroom at 3 a.m., my tears staining the floor beneath me, as silent sobs filled the silence. Yet, I kept smiling, masking the turmoil. But on this particular occasion, the smile I wore was genuine — I was elated that he was gone.

A few weeks before, I had officially met him, though, in truth, he had already left an impression long before that. He had a peculiar bounce in his step — not the kind of swagger you’d expect from someone trying to impress, but more akin to someone whose childhood had been marked by hardships, a subtle reminder of a past weakness. It wasn’t something he’d openly acknowledge, but I could sense it — the subtle manifestation of a boy who had been taught to walk straight despite carrying the weight of his past. He wouldn’t remember, but I had crossed paths with him long before this official meeting, at a time when I had barely noticed him, much less cared. But that was a story for another day, one that I would likely never tell.

For weeks, I watched him. His behavior intrigued me, piquing my interest in the psychological mechanisms behind his persona. I couldn’t help but observe, fascinated by his social interactions. In public, he was friendly, quiet, a people’s person, seemingly perfect in every way. But as the days went by, the cracks in his facade started to show. Beneath that pleasant exterior was a hidden temperament — an arrogance that refused to stay buried for long. He was a man who, despite trying to appear humble, could not hide the unrelenting desire to boast of the comfortable life he had built for himself. His subtle arrogance wasn’t just about wealth, though. It was about power. He had tasted it, and it had irrevocably changed him.

Through his success — his company, his family, his status — he had crafted a world that seemed perfect, a world that many would envy. But with the power came an underlying shift, an elevation of his ego to the point where he could no longer see women as equals. To him, women were to be admired, perhaps, but never treated as his equals. They were tools, objects to be admired but never respected. His belief in his superiority was clear. He carried an unspoken conviction that women couldn’t function without men, that their worth was intrinsically tied to their relationship with a man. It was a toxic, misguided sense of entitlement, and it disgusted me.

He didn’t even respect the sanctity of marriage. He justified it by referring to a misguided belief that Muslims could marry four wives, despite being a Christian himself. He was a hypocrite in every sense of the word, hiding behind religious justifications to validate his own actions. But what struck me even more was his assumption that I would simply fall into line. That I would willingly bow to his will as others had, simply because of his position, his power, his influence. He assumed that I was just another woman waiting to be swept off my feet by his charm, but he was gravely mistaken. I was not raised to submit, to be another passive woman in his collection.

I remember the conversations I had with my siblings, who loathed him with the same intensity I had come to feel. Our family had its own dark history with marriage and relationships, and in many ways, I was carrying the weight of that legacy. But despite that, I knew that this man was not worth even a moment of my time. I had made it clear that I had no interest in him. I openly spoke of a nonexistent boyfriend, one whose existence I fabricated just to ward off his advances. But he wasn’t deterred. Instead, he lavished me with good food, and I ate generously, all the while watching the man who prided himself on control become visibly frustrated by my refusal to adhere to his expectations. It was an almost amusing sight — to see someone so accustomed to having their way utterly perplexed by a woman who was indifferent to his charm.

I changed for him, purposefully. The things he loved, I discarded. He hated makeup, so I wore it. He loved boots, yet I wore sandals. He believed he was wiser than my nonexistent boyfriend, but I simply didn’t care. I wasn’t driven by emotion, and his proclamations of love were nothing more than empty words to me. When he said he had fallen in love with me, my heart didn’t swell with emotion. Instead, I wept — not for me, but for his family, his children, and most of all, for him. For the man who had never learned respect, never understood the value of equality, and never once stopped to consider that love isn’t something you can control or possess. It is given freely, or not at all.

Though the lavish meals and time spent together at work were pleasant, I eventually had to put an end to it. I did it in the cruelest way, watching as he, the man who claimed to love me, became visibly angry and frustrated as his carefully laid plans unraveled. He didn’t deserve me, nor did he deserve the patience I had once afforded him. His failure to manipulate me into compliance was a bitter pill for him to swallow, and in the end, I was the one who walked away, knowing I had acted in the best interest of a beautiful woman and her children — a family he had no right to disturb.

But despite the cruelty of it all, I had made someone very happy, and perhaps that was enough. The change that had taken place in him, or rather the realization that I wasn’t the woman he could control, might have brought him lessons — though I doubted it. Fate, as it always does, has a way of teaching us in the most painful of ways. He had underestimated me, and in doing so, had set in motion a chain of events that would eventually undo him. Anger, frustration, and a sense of failure overtook him, and as I stood there, I realized that in some strange, twisted way, I had found peace. Even though it had cost me something precious, I had emerged from it stronger, wiser, and ready to take the reins of my own life.