Prisonner

The sun outside must be scorching hot

See it through my tiny window

In here am cold, freezing cold

Should get up, go out in the sun

Still sit here and wait

Waiting for the sun to come to me

Or for my muscles to grow stronger

Too starved to move

Eye the cold porridge by my door

Dismiss it for another hour

Shut my eyes and listen

‘thud, thud’ heart still pounding

Faintly but steadily

Pull in a bountiful of air

A familiar stench stings the nose

The lungs are grateful

Eyes open slightly

Stare at the dirty wall

Wonder how much longer,

This nightmare must go on...

21

 It’s my birthday, not your birthday. It’s ma birthday, not ya birthday.

   So am now at that age where ladies supposedly  stop counting. That age where you start keeping your age a secret and a decade later you are still twenty one. Thing is, I ain’t afraid of aging, just not yet. I want to get to the other side of my shadow. To that time when I will see while seated, what young people can’t see standing. I am eager to see how I will age. Will I have achieved all my dreams in half a century. Or maybe I still got a century to live! Oh my,  will my mirror still reflect unfaltering beauty even when my face is wrinkled and my stance not as erect?

I’ll try my best to live up to Proverbs 31:30

Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;

but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.

 I happen to be one of those ladies who string along a big chunk of their childhood into their adulthood. There are childhood fantasies I still dearly believe in. Some memorabilia I cherish. Memories I hold close to my heart. Moments I not only reminisce about but try to relieve as well. But this is about being twenty one. That magic age that qualified one to vie for a parliamentary seat. The 2010 Constitution scrapped that bit. A piece of the magic in turning twenty one was scraped out. No, I’m not complaining. 

I know this post sounds a tad bit confused, I hope 21 won’t be an age of confusion. No, please. I have enjoyed the past twenty years. As I reminisce, I will describe my life by quoting and paraphrasing Charles Dickens in ‘A tale of two cities’ albeit in an entirely unrelated way:

         It was the best of times, it was the worst of times;

         It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness;

         It was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity;

         It was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness;

         It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair;

         I had everything before me, I had nothing before me;

         I was going directly to Heaven, I was going the other way.

Key to my soul

I love to play silly application games on the web. These kinds where they ask stupid questions then at the end tell you something about yourself. And yes, I quite believe the things they say about me. It’s like I'm discovering new stuff about myself and learning more about my favorite person in the world (that’s me of course). So recently I did this ‘What’s The Key To Your Soul’ game on Facebook and the answer pretty much delighted me.

It read something like:
“You are a worker. Your hands tell people your "status"… You are an outstanding artist, which always shows your strength and emotions … With your hands you can change anything and … blah blah blah”

Us women have parts of our bodies that we feel are our best or strongest points. Each woman has parts she’d like to flaunt or show off because she feels it’s the most adorable part of her wholly adorable body. Like eyes, boobs, hips, legs, sometimes even toenails. I’m an attractive woman, with lots of gorgeous features, but after taking this quiz, I discovered that my hands are the key to my soul!
Awesome!

Except… recently, I don’t like to let anyone see my hands. My hands used to be very pretty. But of late, they have become quite fragile and every time I wash my clothes, utensils or do anything that involves using soap, they develop an infection or whatever this is.

Tiny itchy pimples appear and then shortly after they begin to burst and give off some clear liquid. Then they dry up and as they heal, some of the hard skin peels off. At first I thought I had leprosy, but then my fingers didn’t fall off and it didn’t spread to the rest of my body.

They are an ugly site so I don’t want anyone seeing my hands.

I’ve seen a medical practitioner and the cream they gave does work. So it gets better. But considering I still have to use soap while taking a bath every day and doing house chores, the cream is like a hankie in a hot field. It won’t shield you from the sun but it will come in handy for wiping the sweat. Now this is not a cry for help, far from it.

I’m excited about my hands being the key to my soul. So from now on, I’ll take proper care of my key. As soon as I can, I will see a dermatologist. I hope to get a permanent cure or at least a diagnosis of what ingredient in soap I should shun. But for now, I’ll not give up on this cream, it’s my straw in this drowning river, so I’ll clutch tight.

I’ll clean my hands and groom them. I’ll take this manicure thing more seriously. My hands will be well oiled at all times, nails well-trimmed and skillfully manicured.
Yeah, I resolve to make my hands a beautiful sight worth showing of and I’ll slyly caress them every now and then. Because my hands are the key to my soul!

 

 

Love ma bed

               Push over that heavy blanket, it’s time to wake up. I don’t like waking up, most of the time. I love going to bed, it’s like watching the sun set. The feeling that wells up inside as I watch the beautiful horizon and the colors that play in the sky. From hot red to orange, as the sun is about to disappear, the colors that mystify the sky induce some exiting ripples in my body. They make me realize that even though the sun is gonna sleep, God won’t. Gives me a reassurance that just because today everything sucked doesn’t mean my hatchet is buried, still, all is well.

My bed, my warm high bed is overcrowded with teddy bears that love me wholly and fluffy purple pillows and clean blue sheets and heavy blankets. It is so warm and cozy that every time I enter it I feel as if angels were gathering around me for a group hug. It’s a safe haven away from all worries, where the evils of this unfair world can not sneak through and destroy me. I have a pink mosquito net around my bed. It keeps out not just those irky mosquitoes but disturbing dreams as well.

Every time I snuggle into my safe haven, I forget all the troubles of today. Some nights, my mind skims through the rough brushes I’ve had, through my disappointments and unfulfilled dreams. Most times it gets too overwhelming, that’s when I rush to bed. In there, I’m free to hope and to fantasize. There are times when I remember to pray, talk and cry out to God. Sometimes I’m too much taken in my human weaknesses, I forget to pray, but I know God doesn’t forget me. In my bed, I let my mind roam free. I know that in there I can cry, weep till my pillows soak wet. I can pull at my hair, throw things around the room and punch at my pillows hard. And no one will know, so my ego, my precious pride stays intact.

Then there are those nights when I’ve had a good day. When I feel good about myself and confident that the world isn’t against me. In my bed I can giggle by myself and laugh ecstatically. I can talk out loud to myself in the dark. It’s like a private resort. No peeping Toms and no nosy Diana’s, so no one will know that am going nuts and my sanity will not be questioned. I think that’s awesome.

Sometimes during the day, I like to sneak back to my bed. I don’t mind that it’s perceived as laziness, I just love my sweet bed too much to care. In there I fantasize about my bright future. I see all things rosy, sweet and smooth. My faith grows heaps as I see my dreams unfold. It’s in my bed that I psyche myself up, convince myself that yeah, I will succeed. Then, I get up motivated to reach out for my dreams, I believe in myself. I will achieve. Those few times I get out prepared to fight for what I believe in, it didn’t just fall from the blue, it was conceived in my mind as I lay on my haven of a bed.

Yesterday, things were damn freaking nasty, so am afraid to wake up today. Besides it’s so cold out there. So I’ll sleep some more, wake up later in the day, or tomorrow even. I hope I’ll be psyched up and rejuvenated when I eventually have to leave my bed.

TREASURE OF AN ANGEL

You may be no royal heir
Like princes of flush times
or great a warrior, celebrated
Fighting merely for pride

Treasure of an angel

Noble men should envy thee
Maidens blush at thy name
Phillosophers sing thee praise
Impressionable youth dance in thy path

For thy are far more decored...

Dear mamma

My dear mother I write this letter to you, because I know my escape will break your heart. I have been your strength and hope, but I must go. I know you will suffer mother. Father will blame you when I leave. He will batter and hurl insults at you. His other wives will mock you. There will be no one to cry with you. Mother you have no son, there will be no one to speak for you. The chief will not listen to your case and the elders will not come to your defense. The village gossips will say it is no wonder that the gods did not give you a son. That you couldn’t even bring up your daughter well. Forgive me for not asking your permission first, but I know you would never let me go. You will be sad and lonely. There will be no one to help you with all your chores. You must travel a long distance to fetch water alone, fetch firewood by yourself, cook alone and clean the compound with no one to help you. Nobody will plough the shamba, plant, weed and harvest with you. There will be no one to massage you ailing back from all those beatings and many years of laborious work. Not a soul will sit sadly with you when you cry and pray amid pain. I know you will wish I didn’t go, but our eccentric village is no place for me.

Mother, I do not want to live like you and my sisters. You are a strong and enduring woman. Thoughts of you will motivate me every time I find difficulties. But my sisters’ plights do not inspire any admiration in me. Is it not enough that like me, they watched you suffer to bring us up? I know you sold my eldest sister to the travelling traders for a sack of maize during the drought of the year I was born. That father married off one of my sisters without informing you. And you aren’t even allowed to milk the cows he got for it, all because you have not given him a son. My twin sister bled to her death when we were forcibly circumcised.  My younger sister who is not even two years in her marriage already looks older than her real age. She is only thirteen, yet she has already had three miscarriages because of her tender age and the severe beating she gets from her husband. They all say that like her mother’s, hers is a cursed womb. Father despises me because I refused to marry the elderly chief of our village. He is still angry with me for stabbing one of those men who came to carry me to the home of that old chief. He says I am an evil girl. When he heard that I had been raped, he did not sympathize with me, instead he said that I had asked for it.  He even beat you for daring to console me when I cried.

I heard that in the city there are people who campaign for fair treatment of women and that even girls go to school. I must go through the forest to one of those places where girls are educated. If I reach there I will spare no effort to succeed. Then I will come back for you, and my sisters. It will be risky and am afraid of been killed by wild animals or hunters in the forest. But mother, I would rather die trying to be free than live in hopelessness.

Tearing apart

Today’s’ lecture was very boring. Why would an intellectual (like whoever plans the timetable) have a two hour class at three pm? Especially on a hot Friday afternoon! Sally hadn’t taken lunch as she was saving her lunch money all week to buy her boyfriend a classy gift on his birthday. She got tired of peeping at the big-bellied lecturer through her mostly closed eyes. So she threw her notebook and chewed pen into her bag and left. She wouldn’t go to her hostel room because her room mates are both nosy and noisy. She just needed to sleep.

Her man was supposed to be at work but she had the spare keys to his house. So she dragged her lazy self there in the hope of some peaceful rest. After dating for three years now, she had the rights of a wife, even though she abhorred her duties to him. The sun was becoming maliciously hotter every step she took. It seemed to be either avenging a grudge against her or warning her to turn another way. She still trudged on. His house is 20 bob away but she was saving that too. 

She was now on the stair case to his door. She let out a weak laugh, mocking the sun because she had beaten it. She also thought it was time he moved to the ground floor or had his landlord fix an elevator. Seventh floor is too far. As she took the last few steps, she heard him laugh. Why was he home? Weird. Then he laughed again, that manly laughter which had induced her to ingia box (fall for him). He wasn’t alone. That was not one person’s laughter. There were several female and a few male laughing voices. At his door step she counted six pairs of shoes. “Uuuh” she must have heaved. She guessed they belonged to his three best friends and their ladies. He must be waiting for her lecture to end so he would call her to join them. She pushed the door open and stepped in. True, his pals and their ladies were seated on the carpet. He came from the kitchen holding some wine glasses. He carefully placed them on the floor and French kissed her. She felt rejuvenated and ready to party like a rock star.  

What came out of the kitchen after him almost gave her a heart attack. In fact, it made her blood pressure escalate, and her heart thud so hard it over-warmed her blood. A gushing heat swept all through her. Her stomach tightened and she felt like there was a giant spider inside. Its siblings were crawling on her back. Then her lungs began to shrink and she couldn’t breathe well. She wanted to get outside; she needed to find some air because she was suffocating. But her feet wouldn’t move, so she stood there mummified. 

This thing that was coming from her kitchen stretched its hand to her. “Hi! Anita.”  It smiled as it repeated, “I am Anita.” Of course Sally knew who Anita was. Brayo had never talked about her, but one of his best friends had. Anita was his ex-girlfriend who had dumped him for a moneyed teacher. It was this heartbreak that had pushed him to leave the village and seek a job in the city. So why was she wearing his shirt? The same shirt Sally had bought him on Valentines Day! She clinched her fists tightly to avoid slapping the intruder. Brian had complained many times about her uncontrollable anger. She had to prove to him that it was her he wanted to be with. She smiled back and shook the hand, “Mrs. Brian Mbozi.” Oh yea! It felt great; she now had an upper hand against her foe. Sally steeped further into the single room and climbed onto his bed, her expensive high- healed boots still on.

Her cheat of a boyfriend brought her a pack of Del Monte juice poured himself some wine and let his other guests serve themselves. Then he proceeded to sit next to her and pulled her into his arms. Sally enjoyed lying on his muscular chest. They had been watching the latest season of ‘Vampire Diaries’ and they re-started it for her. Sally loved everything vampire so she soon felt comfortable in the situation. She did not even notice that her opponent was squeezing herself into Sally’s space.

When the movie finally ended it was around eight pm. Sally got up to prepare dinner before they would all hit the clubs. Anita who had been lying on Brayo’s laps got up to help.  Sally wanted to stick a knife through her rivals’ heart. But for the sake of all she held dear, she was not going to let herself spent the rest of her life in jail. She found herself thinking of how she would get over the hurt if Brayo left her for his super hot ex-girlfriend. She loved him and deep inside her, she knew she wouldn’t be the one to leave this relationship. She planned in her mind the various ways she would make him run back to her, begging her to take him back. Ah, she brushed off that thought. He was still with her. She thought of all they had gone through together. Memories of the many times she had been there for him ran through her mind. It had been she who missed school one semester so she could lend him her school fee before he got back on his feet after losing his job. It was she who had introduced him to her grand uncle who later became his boss. She even remembered the many men she had rejected in his favor. He owed her allegiance. Brian ought to choose her, but would he?

Beautiful had always been too little a word to describe her. Yet all the guys she had dated before always left her for some girl or other. Sally now felt that he too would dump her. She also knew that all her friends would think she had had it coming. Every one of them had several times insisted that she shouldn’t trust the guy. That all men named Brian were jerks. A sharp pain she already knew too well stung her. She was not going to let it take over her, but staying here would make that impossible. Her phone rang and she knew that this was her only opportunity.

“Hello Stella… Oh yea! Am sorry I forgot. I’ll be right there.” Then she hang up and picked her bag in a hurry. Of course she didn’t know anyone named Stella. She would have to call her brother later and explain. Now she muttered something inaudible as she ran out the door. Brian followed her but she wouldn’t let him say anything.

“She can have you alright. Of course you will say there is nothing between you like you always say with all those other girls. That bitch in there is wearing your shirt and your boxers.”  She continued to descend the stairs and he followed her.

“Honey, you have used me enough already, what more do you want? Oh you men are all the same.”
 She was sure that he wouldn’t follow her after that. Brian had many times warned her to never compare him to other men. But still, he followed her. She was pleasantly surprised so she stopped and let him put his arms around her. However, words failed him. He only looked at her and all she saw was confusion in those cute eyes. She understood him, but it hurt so much tears began welling in her eyes. She blinked and the tears trickled down her cheeks. Brian let her slip off. As she left, Sally wondered if this was the end of their relationship. She took a taxi with some of the money she had been saving for his birthday gift. Once in her hostel room, she only kicked off her boots and got into her bed. I didn’t matter that her yellow mini dress would crimple. She was glad her roommates were out as she was able to cry undisturbed. As she closed her eyes, Sally wished that some day he would be strong enough to choose her.