A Father’s Pain: Life on the Edge ⚫️💔(prt3)
Sometimes life hits so hard, you wish it came with a manual — a step-by-step guide on how to live. Or maybe a glimpse into the future. Or just someone to guide you through it all, to make the journey a little easier.
We all get anxious about life. The unknown is terrifying. Career, relationships, family, dreams — nothing is certain. One moment you think you’ve got things figured out, the next you’re questioning everything. Will you get fired tomorrow? Will your business collapse? Will your spouse leave you? Can you provide for your kids? Will you ever be successful? The fear of what lies ahead can be paralyzing. And instead of living in the present, we end up chasing shadows of the future.
But the truth is, everyone is doing life for the first time. There’s no script. No blueprint. We’re all just guessing — trying, failing, trying again. No one has a path identical to another. Not even twins. We read self-help books, binge motivational talks, and listen to people who’ve walked the road before us, hoping to learn something that will make our journey easier. But we forget that our paths are unique. What worked for someone else might not work for us.
Some seek answers in religion, searching for guidance and purpose. Others, desperate for solutions, turn to darker paths — witch doctors, dark forces — all for the promise of a better life. The saying goes, "Maisha mafupi ya raha" — “A short life full of happiness.” People would rather live 10 or 20 years of luxury and die young than endure a long life of poverty and struggle. In the end, it all boils down to one thing: money.
But let me ask you… with everything weighing on your shoulders — career, family, debts, expectations — if someone appeared before you right now, promising to guide you, to take away the pain and struggles, and make all your desires come true… would you take the offer? Remember, there’s no such thing as a free lunch.
And that’s where my story begins.
The day Gianna was born, she became the most beautiful thing in my life. But life wasn’t done with me yet.
Two years later, on August 29, 2023 — my birthday — I found myself at the edge of the Kenyatta International Convention Centre (KICC), one of the tallest buildings in Nairobi. After attending a motivational forum, I made a decision: the day I was born would also be the day I died.
I sat there for hours, staring at the city below. The view was breathtaking — the city lights blinking to life, the rush hour chaos unfolding beneath me. People moved in every direction, as if possessed by some kind of speed demon, each chasing their own purpose. From up there, they all looked so small. I wondered if any of them felt like I did.
To my right sat a rope, long and thick, tied into a knot that seemed to whisper, “Let’s hang out.” To my left, a small white bottle glistened under the city lights. The label read “Rat Poison.” A black rat lay dead beneath the red warning sign. I picked it up, feeling its cold plastic against my sweaty palms. My heart raced.
I stared at that bottle for what felt like an eternity. My mind spiraled.
“How did I end up here?”
“Why me, God? Why am I the one who keeps failing?”
“Am I cursed? Am I just not good enough?”
I’d tried everything — church after church, prophet after prophet, anointing after anointing. Nothing changed. Seven years of struggle, and I was still in the same place, suffocating under the weight of expectations and failure. My daughter saw me as a hero, but I felt like nothing more than a disappointment.
I gripped the bottle tighter. One sip. That’s all it would take. I raised it to my lips, but my hands were trembling so much that the bottle slipped from my fingers. I lunged forward, trying to catch it, but it was too late. It tumbled into the darkness below. And in that split second, my body followed.
My heart slammed against my ribs as gravity pulled me down. Then, somehow — miraculously — my hand caught hold of a metal beam jutting out from the side of the building. My body jerked to a stop, fingers burning, adrenaline flooding my veins. I clung to that beam like my life depended on it — because it did.
I had been sitting there for more than three hours, trying to decide which was the quickest and least painful way to die. Jumping off the building seemed fast, but what if I survived? What if I landed wrong and ended up in a wheelchair, forced to live a life even more miserable than the one I was trying to escape?
The rope? No. I’d heard stories. The humiliation of a failed suicide attempt was worse than death. People would find my body, pants soiled, eyes bulging, mouth twisted in agony. That wasn’t the kind of ending I wanted.
A gun would’ve been perfect — one bullet to the head, lights out. Quick. Painless. But life made sure I was too broke to afford even my own death.
And now, hanging there, with my life dangling by a thread, I realized I didn’t want to die anymore. My body had reacted before my mind could catch up, and suddenly, I was fighting to live.
That’s when I heard it.
A deep, heavy voice. Calm. Almost amused.
“Do you hang out around here often?”
FUCK ME!
Life. It really has a twisted sense of humor.
To be continued...
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