KAREEM : Episode 2 Bruised, Not Broken

Bruised, Not Broken

Kareem’s fight for survival deepens in Episode 2 as he battles rejection, betrayal, and brutal street life. From failed football dreams to a violent ambush set by a trusted friend, this gripping chapter reveals a young man’s resilience in a world that keeps trying to break him. Pain fuels his awakening.

The first time Kareem returned to the pitch after his injury, he wore a quiet smile. The sun warmed the bare earth beneath his feet, the same brown sand he once danced across with fire in his left leg. Now, every step was a reminder — not of failure, but of fragility.

The boys welcomed him back, clapping his shoulder, tossing him a ball like nothing had changed. But everything had.

He tried. He ran. He kicked.

But his foot didn’t obey like it used to. The pain was subtle, but the betrayal was loud. His pace had dropped. His touch was slower. The rhythm was gone.

Kareem sat on the sidelines before the match ended, sweat dripping, his eyes distant. In his mind, his coach’s words echoed: “You’re more than your leg.” But at that moment, he couldn’t feel it. All he saw was a dream slipping through his fingers like fine sand.

With a heavy heart, he returned to the only place he once found purpose — the mechanic garage. But as he walked through the dusty gates, the smell of grease and iron no longer greeted him. The place had changed. A new sign hung at the entrance in bold lettering. The garage had been sold to an Indian businessman.

He walked in anyway, hopeful. But the new faces turned him away.

“No space,” one of them said. “We hire our own.”

Kareem nodded. No argument. Just walked away. That evening, home felt colder. The walls thinner. His parents were there physically — for once — but emotionally, oceans away.

“You’ve wasted your life,” his father snapped, flipping through papers.

“You had chances,” his mother muttered, more to herself.

They never asked why he quit football. Never asked how the garage slipped away. They just judged from a balcony they never climbed down from. His siblings barely looked up from their phones. Something inside Kareem hardened.

The next week, while sitting outside a dusty kiosk sipping soda, he overheard a group of young men chatting about matatus. The vibrant, chaotic Nairobi matatu culture was known for its music-blasting buses, neon lights, and loud conductors — touts — who ruled the streets like kings without crowns. One of them noticed Kareem.

“You, bro. You look too clean to be broke. Why you wasting away here?”

Kareem said nothing. Just watched them laugh.

Another chimed in. “You strong. Come with us tomorrow. Be a tout. Easy money.”

And just like that, Kareem stepped into a new world.

The matatu stage was a beast — crowded, loud, electric. Kareem learned quickly: how to shout stops, open doors while the van rolled, collect cash, avoid kanjos (city officers), and charm passengers. He looked too polished, too good-natured, too well-spoken. Fellow touts teased him.

“What’s a rich boy doing in our gutters?” one asked.

“You mocking us?” said another.

He smiled. But inside, it cut deep.

They didn’t know. Nobody did.

For weeks, he hustled. Morning till night. Rain or shine. But one night, after a long shift, while walking home under the orange streetlights, shadows stepped out of an alley.

Standing before him were five boys. Faces masked. Words few.

“Everything. Now.” One of them shouted at Kareem

They didn’t know Kareem had grown up fighting shadows bigger than them. Didn’t know about the streets of Kawangware. The silent battles. The anger.

He tried to reason with them, but his words seemed to hit on deaf ears!  One of them shoved him. Another pulled a knife.

Kareem’s instincts exploded.

A punch — fast, sharp — sent one sprawling. A flying kick, the kind he’d practiced in football drills, connected with another’s chest. His fear turned to fire. He ducked a swing, elbowed a jaw, spun and kicked again.

Blood. Grunts. A knife grazed his face. Another pierced his thigh.

But he didn’t stop.

He roared like a lion caged too long.

When it was over, three lay groaning, two had fled.

Kareem collapsed.

Everything went black.

He woke to the beeping of a monitor. White walls. Clean sheets. IV in his arm. Pain in his body.

His eyes opened slowly — and saw them.

His mother, hand to her mouth, tears brimming.

His father, back turned, looking out the window, glasses in his hand, jaw tight.

Siblings seated, phones tucked away, eyes wide with guilt.

Pretending.

Faking concern for the son they once ignored.

The doctor walked in. Kareem listened. Words like “infection risk” and “stitches” floated in the air.

“Do you want to file a police report?” the doctor finally asked.

Kareem shook his head.

“No.”

He didn’t need justice from a system that never defended him. He needed peace.

A week later, he left the hospital.

He never went back to the stage.

He blocked the friend who had dragged him into that world — the one who had set him up. Betrayed him. A boy Kareem once called “bro.”

He sat outside his house that night, the Nairobi sky stretching endlessly above him.

His thigh still ached. His heart still bruised.

But something inside — something buried — felt alive again.

Not angry. Not broken.

Just... awakened.

“He didn’t need justice from a system that never defended him. He needed peace.”

“A week later, he left the hospital.

He never went back to the stage.”

[End of Episode 2]

Next Episode(3) Preview: A chance encounter sparks a new chapter for Kareem — one that might take him far beyond Kenya’s borders. But with hope comes temptation... and a test of the heart.