Sauti Kwa Ukuta

Housekeepers were doing a maintenance check on a random Tuesday and I was caught in my university hostel room with a couple of empty alcohol bottles. Some of the bottles were just for aesthetics — I use wine bottles as flower vessels — and two were mine, I have to admit that. I wasn't given a chance to explain myself and the bottles were also empty, so… I was summarily evicted from the room on the spot.

Because I had absolutely nowhere else to go and couldn't afford a private apartment outside campus, my boyfriend offered to let me secretively stay in his room in the men's hostel. Looking back, those were the toughest days of my campus life.

For the rest of the semester, my life became a terrifying game of hide-and-seek. I had to sneak in late at night and wake up incredibly early to slip out before anyone noticed. It could be a whole other bunch of trouble if I was caught at my boyfriend's room by their custodian. Every single day was a struggle; even using the shared bathrooms felt deeply unsafe and uncomfortable because I was a girl hiding in a strictly male environment. The constant paranoia and anxiety of being caught by the security guards or harassed by other guys in the hall completely shattered my peace of mind.

The irony is, the intense stress of that whole situation made me drink even more alcohol just to numb the constant anxiety and forget how uncomfortable my life had become. I did this almost every day. I had my favorite spot downtown where I used to go buy relatively cheap liquor. As sad as it is to admit, I have struggled with it; as a result, I have missed classes a lot, some exams, and CATs. I honestly don't know if I'll ever graduate. But this is my first step toward fixing things: sharing my story.

I am twenty-six years old, and right now, I run a small, busy stall in Nairobi selling smocha. The best smocha in my mtaa by the way. Smocha is basically chapati wrapped around smoky sausage with kachumbari. I go the extra mile with my smocha — I add ketchup and avocado. That's why mine is the best. It is my honest hustle, and I love it.

But my journey didn't start last year; it started at the Coast, kule Pwani. I studied my bachelor's at a university in Coast and also attempted to start my life after school there — if you see me here now you know it was indeed an attempt. I first learned how to use heroin when I was in my third year at the university. I won't lie, it had a tight grip on me.

I came back to Nairobi at 24, in search of employment opportunities, as I wanted to start life afresh. Adulthood had started settling in — responsibility and everything. Getting employment in Nairobi is as hard as the coast, so I landed casual jobs, but severe withdrawal would kick in. The body aches, the sweating, the intense shaking, and the overwhelming sickness made it physically impossible to keep the casual work. When the cravings and pain would get too heavy I would relapse, then try to stop, then relapse again. It became a cycle of trying to work, falling sick from withdrawal, and relapsing to survive.

Everything changed when I discovered the harm reduction clinic in Ngara that offers Medically Assisted Therapy. Starting methadone was the turning point of my life. It took away the agonizing withdrawal symptoms and also the constant craving in my brain. I gained the stability to plan, and look at me now. I'm running my own business. I can say Methadone gave me my function back. It has been a journey for the books.

My relationship with weed is very interesting. I don't smoke it every day, but it helps me get the urge to eat food sometimes and that's what I love to use it for. When I was in my final year at the University, I used to use weed in some of the evenings just to cope with intense academic anxiety and stress. At this point, I had moved from staying with my parents to the University hostel. This was to save time spent commuting and easily access the Library. I loved our Library.

One night we were coming back from eating supper and I was in the company of a few friends from class outside my hostel. While going in, I accidentally dropped my lighter at the entrance and the Custodian saw it. It was a male custodian on duty that night. He asked me to provide my student's ID, go to my room, and bring him whatever I was smoking. I didn't have cannabis at that time, but I had the scent on me and he had the lighter and my student's ID, which he swore could be used as evidence — I was going to be suspended for 1,000 academic days.

Instead of reporting the incident right away, he cornered me and threatened me. He explicitly told me that if I didn't give him a sexual favor right then, he would call the security team and write a note that would be used by the Administration for my 1,000 academic day suspension. I was paralyzed with fear. Being in my final semester, I felt I had no choice and couldn't afford to be suspended, so I complied with his demand. Afterward, I was completely overwhelmed by guilt and disgust.

Because of that pain, I decided after a few days to pack up and go back to my parents' house — at least I had a place I could still go to. What if I didn't have a place to go to? What choices could I make? Am I safe anywhere as a woman using drugs? The bottom line is someone in the position of Authority took advantage of my vulnerability. That kind of abuse of power is completely separate from the school rules I had violated, and should never have happened. They should have given me a chance. I made a mistake, but it did not permit him to weaponize my vulnerability against me.

I am a gender-diverse person; my personal pronouns are They/Them. I get bashed about my pronouns a lot, but I really don't care. I use drugs occasionally. I am incredibly careful about it; I eat healthy, drink a lot of water, I exercise (recently enrolled in a gym), I take care of my mental health, and also recently enrolled for a new course. I don't have an addiction and I don't use substances to escape.

For me and my friends, using prescription downers like Rohypnol or Diazepam is just a choice we make once in a while during weekends to unwind, relax, and connect at parties where we can fully be ourselves, dress how we want, and use our 'They/Them' pronouns safely.

The danger for us doesn't come from the substances; it comes from the system. One weekend, a few friends and I were leaving a venue in Westlands when we were randomly stopped and searched by local security guards right outside the premises. I had two blisters of Diazepam in my bag, just standard medication. But because of how I dress and express my gender, the guards immediately weaponized it. I believe I was an easy target because of how I express myself and my gender, because I was completely sober and calm.

We were intimidated, profiled, and mockingly hurled slurs at my gender expression, and they threatened to call the police to lock us up for drug possession. As a person who identifies as They/Them, the threat of being thrown into a police cell is a threat of extreme physical and sexual violence. You know we had to pay them to let us leave — hilarious. The entire experience was violating and deeply unfair. I did nothing wrong, I wasn't harming anyone, and I was very calm, but the stigma around who I am and what was in my bag gave people in power a license to abuse me.

I have been drawing and painting since I was a little girl; I strongly believe I was born with a brush in hand. I am a visual artist, and I also study fine arts at the University. My apartment is also my studio, and this is my sanctuary. I love, love the smell of turpentine — my whole apartment smells like it. My canvas comes to life here, and my soul feels completely free. I use my art to speak of body positivity and also the beauty of our community. My artist friends also come to my studio and we create beautiful pieces. I also identify as a WUD (Woman Using Drugs).

We look like creatives — at least I look like a creative person. With our dreadlocks, you know, how we dress, and we also tend to work unconventional hours. The security guard at our place has a massive problem with all this. He is convinced that my studio is a 'drug den.' He has turned his suspicion into a tool for daily harassment.

Every single time my friends come to visit or collaborate on a piece, he intercepts them at the gate. He forces them to open their bags, thoroughly digging through their sketchbooks, paintbrushes, and personal belongings under the guise of 'security checks.' This is something not done to any other visitors. It is humiliating, exhausting, and a complete violation of our privacy.

I have learned to stay completely calm, document his behavior when necessary, and remind myself of my rights as a rent-paying tenant. I won't let his profiling push me out of a space I love. My studio remains a place for creation, and we are going to keep making art, regardless of his unnecessary checks at the gate.