Untouched Borders

The city moves like a living, breathing thing—restless, unapologetic, hungry.

Nairobi at night is a beast with neon fangs, its roads pulsing with headlights, its heartbeat the blaring horns of matatus that never sleep. The air is thick with grilled maize smoke and diesel fumes, a scent so uniquely Nairobi it settles into your clothes.

On Moi Avenue, hawkers shout over each other, their stalls overflowing with counterfeit designer bags, knockoff sneakers, and Maasai beadwork. Street kids dart between stalled cars, hands outstretched, their voices high-pitched with pleading. Somewhere in the distance, a preacher yells about redemption, his words lost in the chaos of commerce and survival.

And yet, inside my car, there is only silence.

The leather steering wheel is cool beneath my fingers, my grip tight. The air feels heavy, pressing against my skin. Outside, the rain-slicked roads reflect the glow of city lights, turning Nairobi into a fractured mosaic of movement and color.

Ahead, a truck crawls forward—slow. Too slow.

A thought slithers in. One flick of the wrist. One second of recklessness.

Would it be quick? Would it hurt?

Would I finally feel something?

The weight in my chest presses harder, a crushing, invisible thing.

I used to know who I am. I used to burn with purpose.

Now, I exist in a life that looks perfect from the outside.

A career most dream of—Head of Communication at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I shake hands with diplomats, sit in high-level meetings, draft statements that shape Kenya’s foreign policies. I am respected, admired, envied. I wear sleek blazers and expensive perfume, my nails manicured, my words calculated.

I have made it.

And I have never been more empty.

I glance at my left hand, at the diamond Nathan slid onto my finger years ago. It gleams under the dashboard light, a cold, mocking thing.

Nathan. My childhood sweetheart. My best friend. The man who built an empire and placed me in a golden cage, lined with luxury and love I can no longer feel.

He is everything a woman should want. Rich. Devoted. Charming. When he touches me, it is gentle. When he speaks, it is thoughtful. When he looks at me, it is with admiration.

And yet, I want to scream.

I am drowning in the perfection of our life. In the five-star dinners, the weekend getaways, the house that is too big and too quiet. In the absence of fire.

I do not recognize myself anymore.

The truck’s taillights glow red ahead—a silent invitation.

One turn. One moment. One end.

The thought lingers, dark and seductive. My foot twitches on the accelerator.

Then—a horn explodes behind me.

I jolt back, my breath sharp, my hands trembling. The city blurs around me as I force my foot onto the gas pedal, pushing forward, away from the thought. Away from the edge.

The chaos of Nairobi begins to fade. The congested streets give way to the smooth, tree-lined roads of Karen—a world apart.

Here, wealth is not loud. It breathes in the towering gates, in the sprawling homes hidden behind acres of manicured lawns, in the silence that money buys. No honking matatus. No hawkers shouting for customers. No smell of roasted maize and sweat.

Just perfect roads, towering fences, and invisible security cameras.

My car rolls into the driveway, the automatic gates sliding open like an obedient servant.

Nathan’s car is already parked.

Good.

I hope he sees it.

I hope he looks at me and notices the way my edges are fraying, the way my soul is peeling apart, piece by piece.

But deep down, I already know the answer.

Nathan loves me. But he does not see me.

And maybe that is why, tonight, for the first time, I want to disappear.

I kill the engine.

Take a breath.

And step into the house that no longer feels like home.