We met at a Hilton hotel in Nairobi at the closing night of December 2016. I was a freelancing journalist
for the first time at the hotel, hoping that a story about the place might inspire any editor to buy my first
article. He was circling the room, taking photos with an expensive camera. A short man with ginger hair
was clearly known because he greeted people by name, but also clearly not liked, because at times people
made small talks about him.
Since professional cameras were something you rarely so plus decent pictures would make my article
more attractive to editors, I waved over the man since he had a sophisticated camera. He sat down the
table. I introduced myself as a freelancer who was interested in his photographs of the hotel. He was
flattered, and mentioned that he was a farmer and that he had photos published in local newsletters.
We arranged to meet a couple of days later, after the pictures were developed. He also told me that he had
boxes of photographs at his place in the country that I might be interested in. he said we could make a
I asked for his number, so he wouldn’t ask for mine, and wrote it down in my notebook along
with his name: Willy. The minute he walked away, two men came over my table. One an older gentleman
asked, “Willy is not taking you home, is he?” I said he wasn’t, and he nodded quietly and said, “That’s
good because not everyone is nice”. The other a young man warned me that Willy’s car had no handle on
the inside of the passenger door-he had removed it. He said sometimes horror stories are real and we need
to protect ourselves from monsters.
The concept of danger was still a theory to me. I’d just say no, I thought it would be the end of meeting
Willy again. We met at the hotel few days later, at about 2pm. He dressed smartly he thought this was a
date. Then I noticed the smell. It wasn’t the farm he talked about. He showed me photographs. What
surprised me was in every photo there appeared a woman. This really shocked me. Willy wanted to
discuss more stories on which we would collaborate, but insisted that we do so at his place.
We paid the bills and waited a few minutes. We ran for the bus. We went miles out of our way to lose
At some point we started laughing again. It was a way ladies did to get away from creeps. We
reached at his place and now I was out of my mind due to his higher displayed hospitality. His house
arrangement of various items was attractive; the cutlery not leaving behind the expensive furniture. I
would say yes for any proposal. He really seemed an organized plus a wealthy man. After taking our
supper, he served me with alcohol where it was a party for the two of us.
I had forgotten what brought me there were the hotel photographs for my article writing work. About 3am I could not believe what I saw. Willy walked near me holding a sword like object. Since I was high on the alcohol I had taken the
previous night, I thought it was just a game since he was also drunk. He hit my back with the slant part of the sword. I was really in pain and agony. I knew I was facing death at that particular moment. He ordered me to move my clothes and he would kill me for any disturbance.
Ipretended I had adhered to his words. He lied on me. I was stuffy. Without wasting time I grabbed his
scrotum tight for my survival since it was my only weapon. Since he was in much agony it was time to
escape. I jumped through the balcony area screaming for help. My right leg had broken. When still sited by the road side, a vehicle approached. It was the guys who warned me of Willy at the hotel. Since it was too late and no hospital facility was near, I had one of them said Kiwanga doctors facility was just 2km from the scene.
They hurriedly drove me there to their facility. I was admitted for a week at their facility. A broken leg plus an aching back I got from Willy beating. The doctors said I was well the first Monday of the second week since my admission. I was discharged from Kiwanga doctor’s facility and headed at my place.
When I watched the 7pm news, the headline was “a murderer on search”. The photos that were displayed
to portray the murderer. They were Willy’s photos, where he had killed forty women plus other rape cases
as the anchor elaborated. I cried with joy because I had escaped death. Credit to kiwanga doctors they really helped me survive from a cruel deed from a person I thought was of substance.
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