For 24 years, I never tested for HIV. I didn’t see the need. I was healthy, vibrant—and honestly, I didn’t think it could ever be me.
But a few days after my 25th birthday, everything changed. I tested positive.
I was a beautiful, fast-living girl. I loved the flashy lifestyle, even though I couldn’t afford it. Most jobs paid peanuts, but some men offered more—much more—for just a night or weekend.
Amina, my best friend, was my Nairobi savior. She paid most of the bills, took me partying, and constantly reminded me to “use your beauty well, like I do.”
Amina isn’t your average girl. She’s jobless but classier than most career women earning 100K a month. Her money comes from men. How many? Several. The most notable is Mr. Rogers. He’s married but Amina doesn’t care. She’s there for the cash, not commitments.
If poverty had a scale of 1 to 10, I’d rate myself an 8. Nairobi was chewing me alive until I finally agreed to give Amina’s lifestyle a try. She was supposed to hook me up with a decent man 
maybe one of Mr. Rogers’ friends.
At that point, I was dating Alpha—who was just as broke as I was. But I figured I could manage both. I loved Alpha, but bills had to be paid.
One night, Amina called me for dinner in Westlands. She introduced me to Mr. Smith—a fine black man in his late 40s. He wanted only fun and a discreet arrangement.
And so, we met. We had fun. I got my money. I continued dating Alpha.
Soon, I moved to a better neighborhood. That raised Alpha’s eyebrows, but I told him I’d been promoted at work and was doing side hustles. Reluctantly, he believed me.
But the tension grew, and eventually, Alpha left. Mr. Smith wasn’t giving me love, I still craved affection.
Then came Louis. Loving, loyal, and ready to settle. But I wasn’t ready to drop everything for love. What if love failed and I lost both men?
Louis gave me an ultimatum: choose him or leave. I chose to leave.
But I was still searching for attention, something Mr. Smith never gave. That’s when I met Darius. He was different: calm, stable, from a good family. I saw forever in him. So, I ended things with Mr. Smith.
Darius and I were perfect—like something out of a Hollywood movie—until I started getting sick.
Nothing major, just strange symptoms. One day it was a rash, the next a fever. Sometimes I lost weight, other times I had flu that lingered. Nothing specific—just a rotating list of odd illnesses.
Darius and Amina urged me to visit a hospital. I’d taken enough over-the-counter meds.
Amina accompanied me to a private clinic along Ngong Road. They ran a blood test.
A young doctor later called me into a private room. Everything was negative—except HIV.
We repeated the test. Same result.
The doctor gave me counseling, but I barely listened. I nodded as he spoke, my mind spiraling.
I told Amina. She seemed unfazed.
“You didn’t commit a crime,” she said calmly. “You didn’t know. You didn’t force anyone to go raw. A wise man tests first. It’s not the end of the world—I have it too, and I’m okay. I always suggest protection. If they refuse, to whom brain is given, sense is expected.”
I sat there stunned. Amina had it too.
But where did mine come from?
Was it Mr. Smith? He was married—probably had someone else before me.
Could it be Alpha? He looked faithful, but who knows what came before?
Maybe Louis? He was committed—but he had a past.
Or Darius? Sweet, loyal Darius… but even he had someone before me.
In the end, Amina and I made a pact: keep it a secret.
Everyone must carry their own cross.
What if I told one of them and he turned on me, accusing me of knowingly infecting him? I wasn’t ready for judgment.