Wairimu

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The group of women was rowdy. At the back were the ones who had somewhat dressed modestly. In thigh-high mini skirts and tops that were shy of their bellybuttons. In the middle were the ones that were in lingerie type wear and in the front most of them were in small strings that covered their private parts but their breasts were exposed for the world to see.

Wairimu was in a lacy swim suit. She was in the front line with the eccentrics. She was carrying a banner written,  'I will dress how I want' she was in the front because she knew that is where the media would be and she hoped very much that her father would see her in the news.

The group hooted and howled, some women stopping every now and then to dry hump a street-light-pole or a tree. They carried spoilt eggs, tomatoes and cabbages and they were all heading to one place. Parliament. They were threatening to pass a dictatorial bill keeping women from wearing their mini skirts.

They walked in their nakedness and some in their high heels, cursing men and the world for failing to respect women enough till they got to the gates and started throwing their eggs, tomatoes and cabbages. After five minutes the entire place looked like a pigsty with most of the ladies covered in tomatoes giving them a gory look.

The sound of a gunshot was heard. Then smoke appeared. "Teargas," someone shouted. Another gunshot. More teargas. The ladies scattered but not too far because behind them was a police tank spraying water at tremendous speeds. Water that could rip your skin right of your body if it touched you.

Wairimu was rubbing her eyes. Still chanting, 'I will dress how I want,' with the little energy she had left. It was chaotic. Some ladies had fallen while trying to run in their high heels as if it wasn't common sense that you needed to remove them first before tapping into your Usain Bolt.

"I will dress how I want," she chanted not really seeing where she was going because the teargas had blinded her vision. "I will dress how I want," she mummered, walked to steps and hit hard, solid iron. It was a police patrol car. The next thing she felt were ice cold handcuffs wrapping around her delicate wrists.

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