She Thought Her Ex Had Changed But He Was Still A Malicious Man Who Wanted His Revenge

I stepped out of the cab on Springview Street, right next to the Kasarani police station, with my big pink suitcase and thrifted Chanel bag in tow. In a shopping bag, I carried fish that was carefully sealed to conceal any smell. My mother had purchased the fish with her chama money, and prepared and fried it as a token of gratitude for my good friend, who had helped me secure a job in these challenging economic times.

Brian had randomly called me last Wednesday, referring to my tweet.

“I came across your tweet, looking for a job. Have you managed to find something?” he asked.

“Sadly, not yet. But I’m still hopeful,” I responded.

“Well, could you share your resume and portfolio? There’s a vacancy at my firm, and I could put in a good word for you,” he offered.

“Are you serious?” I asked.

“What? Are you surprised? Trisha, I can help an old friend,” he added.

“Thank you. It’s the least of my expectations,” I replied calmly.

“I expected that. But hey, if you want the job, share your credentials, and I will put in a good word. Have a good afternoon!” He hung up.

To say I was surprised would be an understatement. When Brian and I broke up, he didn’t handle it well. He started by calling my then-boyfriend and threatening to hack him with a machete, left harsh comments on his social media pages and moved from stalking me to stalking my friends, family, and the men I dated after him.

Stalking didn’t seem to do much for him, so he resorted to blackmail. Unknown to me, Brian had been recording our intimate sessions. When that video slid into my inbox that evening, I was paralyzed. How did he have naked pictures and videos of me? When did he record me, and why didn’t I know about it? I was furious but also scared when I called him.

“Brian, I will sue you!” I threatened when he picked up the phone.

“Finally, something that makes you pay attention. I’m in luck because I have a variety,” he said, ego evident in his voice.

“What do you mean by ‘variety’?” I asked, shocked.

“A collection of videos, if you may,” he answered confidently.

“Are you insane?” I queried. By now, my heart was racing and my imagination was running wild.

“No! You’re insane for leaving me, Phoebe! Stop this nonsense and come back home!” he thundered.

“Or else what?” I retorted.

“Or else you will unite Kenyans on Twitter. Do you know how this goes, or should I explain?” He bragged.

“Don’t you dare…” I screamed before he interrupted me.

“Oh! You dare me? Huh? Did you just dare me?”

“Don’t be dumb, Brian!”

“And she calls me dumb. The nerve! Hang on a second”, he hung up.

Brian ended up sharing my nude photos on Twitter and Telegram, along with a sneak peek of one of our videos. The pseudo-accounts were easily traced back to him because he had been dumb enough to use his emails and I filed a case against him in court. Even though the court ordered the videos deleted, compensation paid, and a public apology issued, it still wasn’t enough. I never regained the respect I once had, and people continued to talk about my body as they pleased.

The man I dated right after Brian dumped me. He said his parents couldn’t fathom their cultured son marrying a porn star. His traditions also demanded that he marry a virgin, but since my business was already out in the open, he couldn’t bring home a girl with an already tarnished image. I was heartbroken. No man wanted to publicly date me after the incident. Since then, everyone just wanted casual dating, while I longed for a serious relationship. But that’s a story for another day.

I received a call from the firm where Brian worked. The caller asked me a few questions, complimented my impressive resume, and informed me that someone in the firm had vouched for me. However, he insisted that I would have to come in for a physical interview, for the sake of protocol.

“We don’t want to raise any eyebrows. For the sake of accountability, you will come for the interview to avoid questions,” the caller said.

“What if the other people on the panel don’t approve of me? What happens?” I asked.

“Rest assured, the job is yours if you have the required expertise. Just prepare to get started as soon as you relocate here,” he replied.

“Okay, thank you very much. I will be there,” I responded. I was beyond happy, barely registering the lengthy speech that followed, expressing how grateful they were to have me on their team.

I called Brian soon after the call, thanking him profusely for his kindness, despite the way our previous relationship ended. He offered to send me the fare and suggested I could stay at his place for the first month of the job. His mature apologies made me believe he had changed, or that he was a better man. Getting back with him was still never an option.

As I boarded the overnight bus to Nairobi, I felt a mix of emotions. I couldn’t help but question my sanity for trusting my abuser, but what if his offer was genuine? Job opportunities were scarce, and my mother’s house felt increasingly cramped. I hadn’t disclosed Brian’s involvement to anyone, expecting him to disappoint me, and I wasn’t ready to face that with my friends and family again, who would never approve of his help.

My phone rang as I paid the cab driver. It was Brian.

“Hey, the cab just dropped me off. Where are you?” I asked.

“Can you describe where you are?” he inquired, sounding somewhat anxious.

“Springview apartments in Kasarani,” I stammered.

Laughter erupted from his end of the call, growing louder and more irritating by the second, before he finally said, “You honestly thought I would do anything for you? How foolish can you be? You’re the biggest fool!” He bellowed. He went about calling me names, spewing nonsense about how I would never get ahead in life, that karma was on my case.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I had just given my abuser another chance to cause me more pain. Brian kept talking, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I had made a fool of myself. In my mind, I started wondering who I could call to my rescue, and then it hit me as the fish in my bag began to smell like I had been clowned.

This story was partly inspired by a post on Twitter.

Fear MEN!! At all costs my sister’s FEAR MEN!!
2 weeks back an ex of mine called me and said he came across my tweet some time ago where I was looking for a job, so he asked if I’ve managed to find anything. I told him sadly nothing so far I even moved back home (EC) permanently.

— Mizpah (@Mizpah_Ms) August 19, 2023