Sunday, November 28, 2010

Not a bed of roses

Not a bed of roses.
Guess honeymoon does come to an end.
But to think of the many good times we shared.
The laughs we had.
The jokes we told.

Now,I stand out in the cold.
Looking at the crevice..the large crack unfold.
Hoping it will be put on hold.
Wondering if I can unscroll  back to..
That brighter day..and..

Mend it
Repair it

I'm fighting back tears...I never loved love.
It always hurt bad.
I'm still wondering why am still waiting for you..out here in the cold.

I thought love was warm.
But then again,its not a bed of roses.
Never been.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

At Hells-pital

Patients staring at each other,
Fever,pain,ache,
Queued:waiting their turn.
On either sides of the waiting area.

In the next room
Push! Push! PUSH!
New,innocent and fragile baby groomed.
Born to the cold gloom.

THUD!on its way to the nursery,
On the floor it lay,
Quickly picked.
The white floor stained,RED.

Within grace period,
Mother holds her child,
The weak smile curves.
Something is a miss.

The baby,
Mute and pale,
Swollen purple head.
Echoes of silence.

Two generations smashed,
Who to blame?
The busy quack?the trainee?
Or the overcrowded facility?

MOVE!Another patient needs the bed,
Duty had been done,
Certified in black and white.
No witnesses.
Save for the clock,which stood in silence.

Mother and Child,
Two broken spirits,
Leave to a future.
A misty foggy future.

Patients staring at each other,
Waiting their turn.
Their turn at Hells-pital.

 
Empress 

http://www.morrismosesfoundation.org/maureens-story-2/

A THEATRE OF BROKEN DREAMS

“Mguys….weed again?” he lamented.

Someone responded “u got a problem?”

“Mnajiwaste.Look for jobs to avoid being idle” he pleaded.
Johnny cynically retorted “you are now a preacher huh? Kwanza when
are
those results of yours?

“Tomorrow …and I want to be a NURSE!”
“ATI NINI? That’s ladies work, or is there something you’ve never
told
us? Plus whose going to pay your fees” Johnny spoke amazed.
The crowd at the base laughed and cajoled at Kevin. They made a badge of sorts and wrote on it SR.KEVIN.Some told him he was wasting his time-Hip hop, weed and women- were the things he ought to yearn for. Not Nursing. The teasing went on for awhile until Kevin woke up and walked away. Seeing him leave they hissed at him, calling him a sissy and a preacher turn nurse until his thin frame disappeared in the dark.

He got to his room and his broken spirit
gave way for hot tears. He sobbed silently and took out his journal.

1ST December 2009
Dear diary,
How far are you willing to go with your dream…that
one thing you are so passionate about? DICTION: can make or break. Was
being a nurse feminine? Come to think of it I’ve never come across a male
nurse. I’m probably making a mistake. Hip hop is cool as I can rap and sing well. Music has seen Kalamashaka and Ukoo Flani go far. Music vs.
Nursing. To be or not to be? Panic sets in. Could my friends be
right?
3RD December 2009
Dear diary,
results are out…and unfortunately. I FAILED! Ill have
to repeat a whole year. Who will pay the fee?…a Daudi na msalaba(D+)
means nursing is officially out of my league. What to do? WHAT TO DO?


Dandora-a dumping site-a high density slum where
the crime rate was sky rocketing and the level of unemployment
tenfold. At 23, Kevin, former street urchin and a dump collector was
between a rock and a wall. His long passion for Nursing fizzled out
due to the hindrances he faced. From a low grade, to lack of money to
see him through a repeat of form four to the very basic needs like
food and shelter. Despair.Disapointments.He quickly found himself in
the vicious circle he had once left.-crime-weed-booze- The weed and
alcohol was a portal via which he tried to step away from harsh
realities of this world. Escape Mechanism. The only way of stealing
glances at a good life...For one furtive moment, he traveled a journey
to the plane of lucid dreams where he becomes a nurse. This went on
for years.
Nowadays, an unkempt Kevin is seen walking around Dandora
Phase 2 with a first Aid kit,stethoscope and a dirty lab coat…
screaming his lungs out
"COME ALL YE WHO ARE SICK...SR.KEVIN IS HERE
TO ASSIST".


Empress

IS IT BECAUSE AM A CAGED ANIMAL??

Behind these bars.
This cage.
Baring both my physical and mental liberty.
In here,90 or even more of us instead of the stipulated 20.
The sweat and puke is nauseating.Then again bhang!!
How do they get in here???
Pen and paper I have not.
Blood for ink and these dirty walls for my paper.

Yesterday one of us succumbed to food poisoning.
Hmmm..I am infected with TB not to mention lice and skin rash.
I used to cry.
Those were the days.
Now am hardened;a stone.

Rumors!!
Public flogging.
WHY?? I ask.
The wardens suspect information about here is leaking out!!!

''its about time'', I say.
Interestingly,its block 4C.

US!!
We are facing the whip!!!

CLANG!!CLANG!!CLANG!! The locks flung open.Our punishment meted out.
REMOVE YOUR CLOTHES!!!
Stand in two lines!!

The cold makes me NUMB ;but the idea of me smelling blood AGAIN makes me NUMBER.
For a moment I defy gravity
Am floating on a sea of bodies.
JESUS!! The cold is slapping at our nude bodies.
A nudist colony.

We step out of the cell,sunlight mocking us.
prayers and cries.
We lie on the floor covered in black polythene paper-probably to dispose off any evidence after the ''session''.
My next mate is in a trance, and asks
''Why are you here?,why are you here?''
Before i could answer,doors on all corners of the now 'flogging field' flung open.
In came about 40 armed men.
Simis,Rungus,mallets and metal bars.
Are they going MINING??
A stampede ensued.
Then the dreaded smell,screams,strokes of cane;beatings.

Oh my leg..my head.
Is that an EYE?? Blood,Screams,Insults,Shoving,Pushing,Mess.
Gradually,the noise recede :DARKNESS and then..BLACKOUT!!!!


Is that the proverbial white light???
Grandpa??
Aunty??
Serenity.
At least I can now...

REST IN PEACE.

To (not) love and Honor...

His beauty, her beast

OPEN UP OR I'M BREAKING THIS GATE DOWN...WOMAN!! “I regret ever marrying'' Kiriba bellowed amid hiccups and a burp that was shy of a throw up.

She pushed her bony structure across the hallway. This act was now a routine. The promotion at work got ahead of him. Kiriba in turn promoted himself to drinking and acquired a click of friends or was it fiends. Who to them drinking was not just a past time or an after work agenda but the only agenda. His family on the other side was promoted to misery and uncertainty.
Such a pun, promotion was.

Her nightie hanged on her shoulder and the dawn breeze threatened to strip her of it. Kiriba was out of the car and banging the gate vehemently. The children were awake as usual, peeping through the window. Shaky as her hands were, she managed to open the gate.
''WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?!?I SEE IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE YOU MEET MR.FIST!! Come here you idiot'', he shouted as he lifted his hand in rage.

She stood there. Wiped dew off her leathery scaled legs. The black eye was visible as well as the scratch on her neck. Smile, let alone laughter was a luxury. Not because she had nothing to smile about, but because the tale of her missing lower teeth was not something she wanted to tell…not now at least.

Her children, Amani and Pendo were her only hope. She woke up every morning for them. Her love for her own surpassed the ordeal she endured. Kiriba jumped into the wheels and drove towards the thin silhouette in front of him. Had it not have been for the ditch beside her, she would have had tread marks. Her silk nightie was however not speared as it was splashed with the murky water and it stuck on her as nylon on fire.

''We both know you can’t hide from me you BONES!!Where are you taking all the money I leave here in the morning? At least steal and buy yourself some food'' he cajoled cynically as he staggered into the kitchen. She was warming his food her long creased face contrasting the sumptuous pilau she was serving. With tell tale signs of once succulent high cheek bones and a soft forehead that had been occupied by a series of meshed wrinkles that gave the impression of a worn out sieve. The aroma from the food engulfed the stale lifeless atmosphere in the Mansion that paralleled with his chunked heavy snore that not only echoed the lounge but also sliced the deathly silence into a fusty rhythm.

‘‘Wake up my husband, your food is ready'' she spoke softly tapping Kiriba on the elbow.
''Uhm...aaaa…'' he responded.
The more she woke him the more he recoiled into fetal position and slept. It had become a common scene so she covered him, took the food away and went to their bedroom. For months now it’s been her room alone. He only used it to change in the morning for work. The sofa was his bed.

She ironed his favorite Black suit and the matching tie. Next was his pair of blue socks and a white handkerchief. Kiriba was always neat, infact the neatest in his firm. He was a renowned charismatic Attorney, but lately it had all gone down south. Booze dictated his thoughts, words and actions. He was more than a scare crow in a farm and in this case in his house. His children were petrified of him when drunk thus avoided him; he was unruly, paranoid and beat them up as he did with his wife.

Tumaini was a quiet woman. Despite hell being her headquarters, she always made sure her husband was feed, neat and punctual. Several times during her washing, she has found motel receipts with her husband’s name on them, lipstick marks on his shirts, briefs, handkerchiefs as well as lady perfumes all over his suits. On one occasion she confronted him. He went ballistic!!She had to visit a doctor for 8 stitches on her forehead. Since then silence has been her better if not best option.

Many times he emphasized that he was the man and could not be questioned. He viewed questions as rebellion, and as such it called for a beating. Every morning he would wake up, shower, take his breakfast, leave a thousand shillings on the kitchen cabinet and drive off to work without saying a word to anyone. Come evening, a repeat of yester night.

April 2nd 2010

Easter Sunday Kiriba came home as usual and to his amazement the gate was open. He drove in. Something was amiss. The house felt like a cemetery. Come to think of it, it was one.
''Tuma my wife, Amani...'' he was cut short by the sight of his neatly pressed suits, ties, polished shoes on the sofa.
Next to it was an envelope, and a grey letter pecked out. He pulled it out:

Kiriba,
I'm gone .Left for my parents home.
You remember our vows nine years back??
You swore to love and honor me but you changed my husband. From the Kiriba I fell in love back at our village-Umbe- to what you are now. I fear you. A beast you have become.
You picked a fancy of beating me up...not to mention your 'late meetings', lipsticks, receipts and other things I can’t even write here, Kiriba.
For the past three years, I hoped you would change.
Today, I took a step that I should have taken a long time ago. I choose to be the coward, to walk away, but then my husband, cowards live to see the next day. I want to live, to forgo this death spirit harvesting my happiness and hope.
You will find your suits ironed, they should last you a month.
Goodbye,
Tuma.


The letter was clear. She had had her share of pain and misery. He was alone. He thought he was dreaming. He slept over it. Reality still stared at him in the morning and the next days after that. He drank even more. He was later summoned to the Human Resource manager; his services were no longer required at the firm.

Amidst his hangovers and the emptiness of the house, he muttered:

'What will you do Kiriba?

Maybe she knows, knows about my escapades.

Or even about the tests?

Or about my condition?

Oh...maybe I…I even…infected her...my children…

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE KIRIBA??

It dawned on him that the solitary internment was taking a toll on him. He left his house, walked past the bar-a rare happening-got into a bus headed to Umbe.

"I will tell her the truth...I WILL..."
He kept saying this phrase all through the journey. The sight of Umbe stared at him, it accused him, it whispered on his back. It jeered at him. He was shaken.
He alighted.
The beast after his beauty.

Of the Liver

“Not again … “the black, burnt and overworked Liver sighs to the Pancreas.

“Besides, I’ve not even cleared the other toxic I got yesterday and now this? You know what I will down my tools for six hours,” it concluded nonchalantly.

For the fifth day in a row, Mzee has been subjecting his organs to untold torture. He was ever high.


THREE HOURS LATER:
Mzee is getting the brunt of the strike. Bloated Stomach, pent up Kidney, nausea, dizziness, headache, imbalance .The once happy hour is now no more. The toxic level is rising. His Eyes are dreading the sight of the content on the table…more liquor for disposal, more to be drowned.

He’s got the will to drink some more but his Hands shake; they are pale and weak. His Mouth is extremely bitter and sore. No mechanism in place to reverse the not so sweet taste. His Brain was feverish, the eyes crossed and ached, Feet too weak, his hands hanged limply on his side, Heart and Lungs struggled to keep going.


SIX HOURS LATER:

Little movement. Mzee feels this is the end. The end of his short rugged high life. Nothing was coming in or going out. The euphoria he got from his faithful beer is now a distant dream. Same goes for the ecstasy .The state of his crumbling body surpasses his love and passion.


“ALCOHOL?? NEVER AGAIN”.

“Okay guys I think he has learnt his lesson,” the liver shouts.

“Back to work peeps.”