A neighbour’s dog recently broke my dog’s leg. To those out there who are in the dark about breaking of legs in the African context, this essentially means that some dog recently made my dog pregnant. I only realized this about two weeks before she got her puppies. Seven unplanned puppies of different colours came out of her one Thursday night in early November.
At first, she was very possessive and would not let us go within a few inches of her. She practically didn’t eat for the first two days, concentrating on her puppies, cleaning and nursing them. In the next two weeks, she got bolder, leaving them to go do whatever dogs do elsewhere. In the weeks that followed, she left the puppies more and more; sometimes just moving away to lie in the sun, at other times, walking off to the neighbouring houses or just lying outside the gate in wait for any family member coming back home.
Over the last few days, as we weaned the puppies, I noticed that our dog had become thinner. She wasn’t getting enough to eat as the pups would eat their share, and a bit of what she left for later, and still nurse. I also noticed something rather extraordinary; as she realized that her puppies were eating more, she started refusing to nurse them, and got very fierce when they approached her bowl of food.
This scenario reminds me of women in the role of wife and mother and teaches me a lesson I’d like to pass on. Many times, women take on the role the sacrificial lamb, morosely walking toward their own slaughter.
When there is little food, women eat last; their dreams, pleasures, desires, needs and wants are met last. Sometimes women are bitter at their husbands, children, and the world in general. Surprisingly, it is the women, who set these standards. We set the kind of relationship we want right from the commencement of each relationship, be it with our husbands, children, relatives or colleagues. Women have more control over family than they give themselves credit for.
Right from the time women begin a relationship with a prospective husband, we set the standards of respect expected and given, levels of importance of self, our career progression and path, how we will handle the in laws, relatives and children, etc. Think about it, it is all in our hands.
The lesson for me here is that there is no good in being a giver if one cannot be receiver. As women, we should remember to nurture ourselves first, emotionally, psychologically, physically and intellectually to be able to give these same traits to husbands, children, colleagues and others. You cannot give what you do not have.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Where Did They Go?
Where once there was peace
and love for your neighbour
Where once in less was abundance
for in sharing, even less was much
Where once the children were ours
None starved while others ate to their fill
And the youth too were ours,
moulded to a people with great self esteem
Where once the aged slept in warm beds
unafraid of unlived tomorrows
Where those who were sad
would not be let to drown in their sorrows
Where are those people who cared so?
Where are they whose footprints we followed?
Where are they whose words once were imprinted in our hearts?
Where have they gone?
PoP 13 Dec 07
and love for your neighbour
Where once in less was abundance
for in sharing, even less was much
Where once the children were ours
None starved while others ate to their fill
And the youth too were ours,
moulded to a people with great self esteem
Where once the aged slept in warm beds
unafraid of unlived tomorrows
Where those who were sad
would not be let to drown in their sorrows
Where are those people who cared so?
Where are they whose footprints we followed?
Where are they whose words once were imprinted in our hearts?
Where have they gone?
PoP 13 Dec 07
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Emotional Deposits & Withdrawals
Talking to a friend a few days ago, I had a revelation. I’ve known about this almost all my adult life, but once in a while moments arise where these things are perfectly illuminated. We talked about friends and family, and their generosity with advise.
Advise is one of the commodities one can get for free from people from all walks of life. For example, I have a close friend who introduced me to looking at spirituality from a totally non-conventional view. That advice has been well received by my hitherto restless spirit.
I, on the other hand love to talk to friends and colleagues about the importance of family. One would imagine that the non-existent Family Ties Promotion Agency is paying me very well to do this. I love family units, functional and non-functional. But I digress.
Our conversation went on to practicalities on reaping and sowing. Silence really did beget silence, and your smile is always reflected in the recipient’s face. It amazed the both of us how the advice we gave to others often came back to us through the very same people. For example, I have a friend who has practically built her life from scratch, with very little help from family and friends. Hearing her talk, one feels encouraged even in the worst situations. Sometimes though, she falters and we, to whom she has spoken, have to remind her where she has come from, and encourage her to walk on.
We should be careful to make as many positive deposits as we can, for we never know when we will need to make a substantive withdrawal.
(c)19 Nov 07
Advise is one of the commodities one can get for free from people from all walks of life. For example, I have a close friend who introduced me to looking at spirituality from a totally non-conventional view. That advice has been well received by my hitherto restless spirit.
I, on the other hand love to talk to friends and colleagues about the importance of family. One would imagine that the non-existent Family Ties Promotion Agency is paying me very well to do this. I love family units, functional and non-functional. But I digress.
Our conversation went on to practicalities on reaping and sowing. Silence really did beget silence, and your smile is always reflected in the recipient’s face. It amazed the both of us how the advice we gave to others often came back to us through the very same people. For example, I have a friend who has practically built her life from scratch, with very little help from family and friends. Hearing her talk, one feels encouraged even in the worst situations. Sometimes though, she falters and we, to whom she has spoken, have to remind her where she has come from, and encourage her to walk on.
We should be careful to make as many positive deposits as we can, for we never know when we will need to make a substantive withdrawal.
(c)19 Nov 07
Monday, November 26, 2007
Leave Or Die
The first slap stung
slightly more than the veiled insults
sandwiched in bitter silences
The second slap months later was met with
barely veiled surprise.
His fist,
his heel,
the quiet crack of breaking bone.
She’s hit time and again by painfully pregnant words
She’s bloodied by looks and acts
dripping with criticism, sarcasm
and reduced to nothing by his nonchalant attitude
She can’t count her body’s aches and pains.
She can no longer even think straight.
She’s almost broken by the burden she bears
wondering how his anger became her load.
What was once hers is in his hands
Her confidence is so threadbare
she can’t meet her childrens’ eyes.
Day in day out, she’s abused,
played with and discarded like an angry child’s toy
Many times she packed up, then unpacked her bags
She has held her children’s hands,
walked out, walked right back in.
Today she’s determined to leave
Today, she leaves
Or
Today, she dies
akinyi © Nov 26 2007
slightly more than the veiled insults
sandwiched in bitter silences
The second slap months later was met with
barely veiled surprise.
His fist,
his heel,
the quiet crack of breaking bone.
She’s hit time and again by painfully pregnant words
She’s bloodied by looks and acts
dripping with criticism, sarcasm
and reduced to nothing by his nonchalant attitude
She can’t count her body’s aches and pains.
She can no longer even think straight.
She’s almost broken by the burden she bears
wondering how his anger became her load.
What was once hers is in his hands
Her confidence is so threadbare
she can’t meet her childrens’ eyes.
Day in day out, she’s abused,
played with and discarded like an angry child’s toy
Many times she packed up, then unpacked her bags
She has held her children’s hands,
walked out, walked right back in.
Today she’s determined to leave
Today, she leaves
Or
Today, she dies
akinyi © Nov 26 2007
Friday, November 02, 2007
Shall We Wage A Sex War?
The announcement recently made by President Kibaki that women would get three months maternity leave may be a step in the right direction, but it is still way below what Kenyan women deserve. For many women who have had to choose their jobs over their babies due to economic pressures, this announcement was pleasant, but came too late.
In the ongoing campaigns, very little has been said about issues directly affecting women. Neither ODM nor Charity Ngilu and The ‘Pentagon wives’ seem to be making any effort in pushing the women’s agenda, yet women are still the most marginalized and disempowered lot. President Kibaki’s PNU is quiet on women’s issues and does not seem to have a strong plan to handle the emancipation of women.
The call for affirmative action earlier in the year did not harness much support from the majority women, read workers, peasants, and hawkers. In fact, most of them did not even understand the concept of the action. Indeed it died a rather sudden death mainly because ruling class women who continually use the oppression of women as a stepping-stone to climb the socio-political ladder proposed it.
So it leaves us asking, who will fight for the rights of the majority women? Who will fight for the general labourers, mama mbogas, hawkers, peasants and fisherwomen? Who will articulate their issues on remuneration, maternity leave, childcare or working conditions? Who will fight for their rights to housing, land, medical care, inheritance and education?
So far, we have not seen any politicians go down to the grassroots to speak to the women on issues affecting them. LATF and CDF funds may sometimes trickle to organized women groups, but what happens to the major issues like decent housing, education, access to clean water, medical care and childcare. We all know that the quality of ‘free’ education offered by the government remains wanting.
Granted, the majority men; workers, hawkers and peasants are oppressed too. It is worthwhile to note that however oppressed a man may be, he has an outlet for his oppression. Many men still knowingly or unknowingly oppress their wives. Though both male and female workers are exploited at the work place, her husband will not hesitate to further dominate the worker woman. It’s not surprising then that with the rising cost of basic commodities, bus fares, and salaries that have remained static over the years; domestic violence has escalated. The woman is further stripped of her dignity and self worth.
So, shall we wage a war of the sexes or should we just curl up and die? Women and men must realize that we are complimentary to each another. A home where one partner is unhappy can never be a happy home. In order to win this war we must fight together side by side, each empowering the other as we struggle to overturn an exploitative system.
We need to organise the majority women so that as one, women can have an audible voice. In his speech commemorating International Women’s Day in Burkina Faso on March 8, 1987, Thomas Sankara said “The human being, this vast and complex combination of pain and joy, solitary and forsaken, yet creator of all humanity, suffering, frustrated and humiliated, and yet endless source of happiness for each one of us, this source of affection beyond compare, inspiring the most unexpected courage, this being called weak but possessing untold ability to inspire us to take the road of honour, this being of flesh and blood and of spiritual conviction – this being women, is you… We must restore to humanity your true image by making the reign of freedom prevail over differentiations imposed by nature and eliminating all kinds of hypocrisy that sustain the shameless exploitation of women.”
PoP 2 Nov 07
In the ongoing campaigns, very little has been said about issues directly affecting women. Neither ODM nor Charity Ngilu and The ‘Pentagon wives’ seem to be making any effort in pushing the women’s agenda, yet women are still the most marginalized and disempowered lot. President Kibaki’s PNU is quiet on women’s issues and does not seem to have a strong plan to handle the emancipation of women.
The call for affirmative action earlier in the year did not harness much support from the majority women, read workers, peasants, and hawkers. In fact, most of them did not even understand the concept of the action. Indeed it died a rather sudden death mainly because ruling class women who continually use the oppression of women as a stepping-stone to climb the socio-political ladder proposed it.
So it leaves us asking, who will fight for the rights of the majority women? Who will fight for the general labourers, mama mbogas, hawkers, peasants and fisherwomen? Who will articulate their issues on remuneration, maternity leave, childcare or working conditions? Who will fight for their rights to housing, land, medical care, inheritance and education?
So far, we have not seen any politicians go down to the grassroots to speak to the women on issues affecting them. LATF and CDF funds may sometimes trickle to organized women groups, but what happens to the major issues like decent housing, education, access to clean water, medical care and childcare. We all know that the quality of ‘free’ education offered by the government remains wanting.
Granted, the majority men; workers, hawkers and peasants are oppressed too. It is worthwhile to note that however oppressed a man may be, he has an outlet for his oppression. Many men still knowingly or unknowingly oppress their wives. Though both male and female workers are exploited at the work place, her husband will not hesitate to further dominate the worker woman. It’s not surprising then that with the rising cost of basic commodities, bus fares, and salaries that have remained static over the years; domestic violence has escalated. The woman is further stripped of her dignity and self worth.
So, shall we wage a war of the sexes or should we just curl up and die? Women and men must realize that we are complimentary to each another. A home where one partner is unhappy can never be a happy home. In order to win this war we must fight together side by side, each empowering the other as we struggle to overturn an exploitative system.
We need to organise the majority women so that as one, women can have an audible voice. In his speech commemorating International Women’s Day in Burkina Faso on March 8, 1987, Thomas Sankara said “The human being, this vast and complex combination of pain and joy, solitary and forsaken, yet creator of all humanity, suffering, frustrated and humiliated, and yet endless source of happiness for each one of us, this source of affection beyond compare, inspiring the most unexpected courage, this being called weak but possessing untold ability to inspire us to take the road of honour, this being of flesh and blood and of spiritual conviction – this being women, is you… We must restore to humanity your true image by making the reign of freedom prevail over differentiations imposed by nature and eliminating all kinds of hypocrisy that sustain the shameless exploitation of women.”
PoP 2 Nov 07
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
No-one Lives Here Anymore
Infatuated by the illusion of happiness
in a ghost city, where the scent of fear is familiar
Swishing by like a shadow walking through
a cloudless night
Sought in unfamiliar beds
musty in the aftermath of erotica
Arms flung in short-lived passion,
closed lips hungry in a bittersweet embrace
Lost in the curling smoke of a joint,
the amnesia of a drinking stupor
Temporarily satiated
Until the shadow’s hand falls upon your shoulder
PoP © 24 Oct 07
in a ghost city, where the scent of fear is familiar
Swishing by like a shadow walking through
a cloudless night
Sought in unfamiliar beds
musty in the aftermath of erotica
Arms flung in short-lived passion,
closed lips hungry in a bittersweet embrace
Lost in the curling smoke of a joint,
the amnesia of a drinking stupor
Temporarily satiated
Until the shadow’s hand falls upon your shoulder
PoP © 24 Oct 07
Rainbows in the Dew
whisper my name in the wind
rustling through the colourless flowers
quench my thirst in the morning dew
let your fleeting glance rest on me
with a touch of sunshine
unravel in purples, greens and blues
happiness, ensnare me in your youth
PoP © 24 Oct 07
rustling through the colourless flowers
quench my thirst in the morning dew
let your fleeting glance rest on me
with a touch of sunshine
unravel in purples, greens and blues
happiness, ensnare me in your youth
PoP © 24 Oct 07
Friday, October 05, 2007
Underneath the Sombre Expression
A scenario is given about a couple in their family car on their way to work. The man is concentrating on the road ahead, listening to the radio and making the occasional comment. The woman is serious and quiet, either staring straight ahead or browsing the newspaper. Her comments are few or even non-existent. Her expression seems almost hostile and unfriendly. This poem is for her.
Maybe it’s the early mornings
or late nights.
Or the mad rush to conclude
unfinished chores.
Maybe it’s the children
constantly demanding her attention.
Or the weight of responsibilities;
mother, friend, sister, daughter, wife.
Maybe it’s the dates she has to remember
doctor’s appointments, school visits, family weddings, the work calendar.
Or that she’s expected to smile
even when she’s sick or sad or tired.
Maybe she just needs some time
to catch her breath.
Or a precious moment
to put up her feet
Maybe it’s the thought
of attending yet another meeting, class or funeral.
Or the belief that she’s tireless
and can take anything that’s thrown at her regardless.
So she lives her life in constant fear
heart thudding in trepidation
on her face a hung-dog expression
or a permanent look of anticipation,
hoping someone will take the time to pay her a little attention.
PoP 5 Oct 07
Maybe it’s the early mornings
or late nights.
Or the mad rush to conclude
unfinished chores.
Maybe it’s the children
constantly demanding her attention.
Or the weight of responsibilities;
mother, friend, sister, daughter, wife.
Maybe it’s the dates she has to remember
doctor’s appointments, school visits, family weddings, the work calendar.
Or that she’s expected to smile
even when she’s sick or sad or tired.
Maybe she just needs some time
to catch her breath.
Or a precious moment
to put up her feet
Maybe it’s the thought
of attending yet another meeting, class or funeral.
Or the belief that she’s tireless
and can take anything that’s thrown at her regardless.
So she lives her life in constant fear
heart thudding in trepidation
on her face a hung-dog expression
or a permanent look of anticipation,
hoping someone will take the time to pay her a little attention.
PoP 5 Oct 07
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
The Old Peoples Home
Memories clutter my mind
Though brushed away like the irritating
drone of a faraway mosquito
they rush back to suck my blood
Memories
of children playing in the dusty paths
on their way back from school
Memories
Of maternity wards where women’s
cries of pain interspersed with the joy of new life
Of nights filled with love-making sounds
masked by cupped hands and Raymonds blankets
in our one-roomed thatched hut
Of dresses mended till they cried out
and my one pair of shoes you nicknamed fish
because the toe area looked like a wide open mouth
I remember standing resolute and asking you all
to forego packed lunches of sweet potato and sour milk
so Mwangi would go to university
Not a dry eye
was seen in the house that night
None of you talked to me for days after that
You didn’t know that I,
mother of many,
ate only one meal each day
My eyes mist
as the funeral of my friend, your father
plays over and over, like a broken record in my head
I remember the laughter of friends
Mama Murungi caught atop a tree,
stealing bananas from her neighbour’s farm
I remember watching you grow
Looking on, satisfied as you walked away
with degrees in your pockets
How my face would glow
For each moment of success
Made my sacrifices worthwhile
I remember,
As I lie here
on this hard rickety bed
surrounded by the senile murmurings
and musty smell
of the old people’s home
I remember…
PoP © 1 Oct 07
Though brushed away like the irritating
drone of a faraway mosquito
they rush back to suck my blood
Memories
of children playing in the dusty paths
on their way back from school
Memories
Of maternity wards where women’s
cries of pain interspersed with the joy of new life
Of nights filled with love-making sounds
masked by cupped hands and Raymonds blankets
in our one-roomed thatched hut
Of dresses mended till they cried out
and my one pair of shoes you nicknamed fish
because the toe area looked like a wide open mouth
I remember standing resolute and asking you all
to forego packed lunches of sweet potato and sour milk
so Mwangi would go to university
Not a dry eye
was seen in the house that night
None of you talked to me for days after that
You didn’t know that I,
mother of many,
ate only one meal each day
My eyes mist
as the funeral of my friend, your father
plays over and over, like a broken record in my head
I remember the laughter of friends
Mama Murungi caught atop a tree,
stealing bananas from her neighbour’s farm
I remember watching you grow
Looking on, satisfied as you walked away
with degrees in your pockets
How my face would glow
For each moment of success
Made my sacrifices worthwhile
I remember,
As I lie here
on this hard rickety bed
surrounded by the senile murmurings
and musty smell
of the old people’s home
I remember…
PoP © 1 Oct 07
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
I AM
I heard
Know!
Know, my child
That I Am.
I Am in the rain that feeds
The earth
I Am in the clouds
Look deep
You’ll see
Again, I heard
I Am
I Am in the sunshine
All yellow and nice
In the scent
Of the flower
In the clear eyes of a child
In the breath of a sleeping loved one
I Am
In the voice that says yes
When you should
In the taste of your favourite food
In the space of your best room
I Am
In your laughter
And moments of joy
I heard
I Am
Weep not, my child
Fear not
I Am right here beside you
As you pray
PoP © 25 Sep 07
Know!
Know, my child
That I Am.
I Am in the rain that feeds
The earth
I Am in the clouds
Look deep
You’ll see
Again, I heard
I Am
I Am in the sunshine
All yellow and nice
In the scent
Of the flower
In the clear eyes of a child
In the breath of a sleeping loved one
I Am
In the voice that says yes
When you should
In the taste of your favourite food
In the space of your best room
I Am
In your laughter
And moments of joy
I heard
I Am
Weep not, my child
Fear not
I Am right here beside you
As you pray
PoP © 25 Sep 07
Reminiscence
I miss those days filled with carefree
laughter
Endless days where each hour
Hung expectantly like the morning dew
Begging release in pure bliss
I miss the days that sometimes passed
In the blink of an eye
Daydreams filled with worriless spaces
Enchanting like a baby’s toothless smile
I miss those days
When I’d sigh on my pillow
And eagerly create myself a perfect day
When a raindrop on my face
Felt like God had taken me in his arms
And put me in a special place
I miss the days
When nothing irritated me
Nothing angered me
Each moment was precious in its beauty
Each trouble was conquered
With a heart armoured in steel
And fear was just another word uttered
Never felt so near
PoP © 25 Sep 07
laughter
Endless days where each hour
Hung expectantly like the morning dew
Begging release in pure bliss
I miss the days that sometimes passed
In the blink of an eye
Daydreams filled with worriless spaces
Enchanting like a baby’s toothless smile
I miss those days
When I’d sigh on my pillow
And eagerly create myself a perfect day
When a raindrop on my face
Felt like God had taken me in his arms
And put me in a special place
I miss the days
When nothing irritated me
Nothing angered me
Each moment was precious in its beauty
Each trouble was conquered
With a heart armoured in steel
And fear was just another word uttered
Never felt so near
PoP © 25 Sep 07
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Walk in These Shoes
It could be you
butt-naked and bleeding
on a busy Nairobi Street
mob-justiced by a hungry crowd
cries of innocence drowned
by their anger and desperation
It could be you
sitting in the rain
by the roadside
Your last bath a memory five
weeks away
Listening with a lost look
for the thud of a coin
in your dented tin
It could be you
enveloped in a tattered blanket
Your face resting
upon a thin folded arm
Sharing a hospital bed with a TB patient
Eating more germs than drugs
It could be you
trudging along
in your last good pair of shoes
degree cowering in the tattered A4 envelope
desperation slowly sinking in
PoP 19 Sep. 07
butt-naked and bleeding
on a busy Nairobi Street
mob-justiced by a hungry crowd
cries of innocence drowned
by their anger and desperation
It could be you
sitting in the rain
by the roadside
Your last bath a memory five
weeks away
Listening with a lost look
for the thud of a coin
in your dented tin
It could be you
enveloped in a tattered blanket
Your face resting
upon a thin folded arm
Sharing a hospital bed with a TB patient
Eating more germs than drugs
It could be you
trudging along
in your last good pair of shoes
degree cowering in the tattered A4 envelope
desperation slowly sinking in
PoP 19 Sep. 07
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Balancing Pearls
Had I been raised in a privileged family, where love was given without measure, and had there been this option, I would have preferred to always remain an adored little girl.
Being a woman is tough! Saying women should be born with a manual with detailed how-to instructions is an understatement. For one person to adequately handle the role of mother (and many times father too), wife and companion, sister, friend, mentor, employee, cook, nurse, maid, and much more, is an even very tall order. Isn’t it a laugh how we are still called the ‘weaker’ sex? I have often found myself on the verge of tears and had what my teenage daughter calls ‘balancing’. These are the tears that you desperately try to hold in, even when they insist on filling your eyes and hanging there precariously, threatening to drop and make you bawl like a little baby in front of your near and dear, who hold you in high esteem.
Talking of bawling babies, the situation described above occurred many times after the birth of my daughter. Her endless colicky cries would get the better of me and the ‘balancing tears’ would suddenly appear. I would try to remain strong, trying to cough up then swallow the lump that threatened to choke the living daylights out of me. It was almost always a failed venture and I would end up holding the baby tightly and crying my eyes out. Everyone else thought it was absolutely hilarious.
As my daughter grew, all her illnesses, though I always took her to the best doctors, were met with feelings of helplessness, and yes, you guessed right, tears and more tears. Everyone said, ‘be strong, this is normal’. And I asked myself, what is normal about a sick child with a fever of 40C muttering intelligible words?
My daughter is now a self-sufficient teenager; I have help in the house, a wonderful friend and companion, and a challenging job. Life’s experiences have taught me, and like many a woman, I have been twisted this way and that, and emerged strong, even a role model to some. However, when I’m overwhelmed and everything seems to shout to be done NOW, I still get that familiar helpless feeling as I run around with seven balls in the air; making sure breakfast is on the table, dressing and putting on my make up at the same time (yes, I sometimes end up with half a made up face!), fighting with my 6 year old son to get ready for school, giving instructions for dinner, while at the same time trying to be on time so my boss doesn’t get his undies in a knot. At these moments my trusted friend, ‘balancing tears’ and I get reacquainted. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear that several other women go through this. I no longer find the tears quite as threatening and demeaning as they used to be. In fact, there is a certain comfort in knowing that even when things seem to be going haywire, I still care for me.
© 12 Sep 07
Being a woman is tough! Saying women should be born with a manual with detailed how-to instructions is an understatement. For one person to adequately handle the role of mother (and many times father too), wife and companion, sister, friend, mentor, employee, cook, nurse, maid, and much more, is an even very tall order. Isn’t it a laugh how we are still called the ‘weaker’ sex? I have often found myself on the verge of tears and had what my teenage daughter calls ‘balancing’. These are the tears that you desperately try to hold in, even when they insist on filling your eyes and hanging there precariously, threatening to drop and make you bawl like a little baby in front of your near and dear, who hold you in high esteem.
Talking of bawling babies, the situation described above occurred many times after the birth of my daughter. Her endless colicky cries would get the better of me and the ‘balancing tears’ would suddenly appear. I would try to remain strong, trying to cough up then swallow the lump that threatened to choke the living daylights out of me. It was almost always a failed venture and I would end up holding the baby tightly and crying my eyes out. Everyone else thought it was absolutely hilarious.
As my daughter grew, all her illnesses, though I always took her to the best doctors, were met with feelings of helplessness, and yes, you guessed right, tears and more tears. Everyone said, ‘be strong, this is normal’. And I asked myself, what is normal about a sick child with a fever of 40C muttering intelligible words?
My daughter is now a self-sufficient teenager; I have help in the house, a wonderful friend and companion, and a challenging job. Life’s experiences have taught me, and like many a woman, I have been twisted this way and that, and emerged strong, even a role model to some. However, when I’m overwhelmed and everything seems to shout to be done NOW, I still get that familiar helpless feeling as I run around with seven balls in the air; making sure breakfast is on the table, dressing and putting on my make up at the same time (yes, I sometimes end up with half a made up face!), fighting with my 6 year old son to get ready for school, giving instructions for dinner, while at the same time trying to be on time so my boss doesn’t get his undies in a knot. At these moments my trusted friend, ‘balancing tears’ and I get reacquainted. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear that several other women go through this. I no longer find the tears quite as threatening and demeaning as they used to be. In fact, there is a certain comfort in knowing that even when things seem to be going haywire, I still care for me.
© 12 Sep 07
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Lack Is Not All Bad
Like most people, many are the times I have prayed for prosperity. I admit to having received my share of it in many more ways than the material.
This morning I was having a conversation with some friends when I had the distinct feeling that someone had walked over my grave. For a moment, I felt almost spaced out as realization dawned on me. How many times had I heard that money couldn’t buy happiness or love? I had sang and danced to those words, for heaven’s sake! I thought I knew for a fact that material prosperity is not a precursor to happiness. This morning the message sank to the core of my being. It was a major Aha! moment.
We were talking about a club that some of our colleagues had formed. The members had not only become very conceited, but also quite possessive of their members and choosy about who joined the club. One of the colleagues I was talking to made this comment when I asked her why she was not a member of the club. ‘Even if I was tied up and dragged to the club, then whipped each morning while being asked to join, I would forever say NO.’
As the four of us spoke, it dawned on us that the members of this club had formed a clique like teenagers did in high school, hanging around together, vetting new members of staff who they chose as part of their club, and making sure to keep out those who did not meet their criteria. In doing this, they had made other staff wary of them and lost the club’s human face. Chipping in to help the community seemed to justify the distance they created between them and their colleagues, assuaging any guilt their actions may bring.
My workmates and I remembered a colleague whose job is one of the lowest ranked and undesirable in the company. When I first met her, she had been sick for over a year, had exhausted all her sick leave and was on nil pay. She had lost all hope of survival and constantly talked of death. I learnt later that her colleagues, in the same low rank job, had been paying her rent for the six months she had been on nil pay. They provided her with food, would go and cook for her and sit with her while she ate; they would bathe and visit her during her frequent stays in hospital, and one of them even took her children 600 kilometres to her sister’s house when she realized the sick lady would not be able to adequately take care of the children.
What surprised me most was that these ladies, who are mostly single parents with 2 or more children, who worked manual jobs that meant they were exhausted by the end of each day, and earned the lowest salaries (less than 5,000 shillings) in the company, gladly contributed 100 shillings every month to cater for their sick colleague’s needs. I was especially humbled to hear that over the months, they had put aside 6,000 shillings for the sick colleague for contingencies. When the colleague’s health improved and she was back to work, they gave her the 6,000 shillings to cater for her immediate needs.
On the other hand, when one of the club members was wedding, fellow management level colleagues made a request for contributions to enable them buy a gift collectively. The sound of silence was deafening and the lack of activity, eerie. When another middle management colleague almost lost a child due to a debilitating disease and a request for assistance was made, you could have heard a pin drop in the sudden quiet. None of those two requests ever bore fruit.
My Aha! moment came when it was my turn to talk and I recognized that we are in touch most with our human nature when we lack. When we lack love, money, children, food, etc, we are more in touch with ourselves, and God. We tend to reach out to each other for support, and to God a lot more when faced with tough situation. We find solace when we call friends just to have a coffee or to talk, or when we spend some alone time contemplating the circumstances that led us to that moment.
Though the economically weak colleagues rarely have any money, they stood for their own; easing her worry as she struggled to get her health back. These men and women can only afford to buy lunch in the first few days after pay day; the rest of the days, they lie on the grass during their lunch break talking, sharing or taking a much needed nap. These wonderful people may lack the comforts that money provides, but God makes it up to them in the comfort of pure love and friendship with each other. Prosperity misused has brought with it individualism, selfishness and a misplaced sense of power. I constantly ask myself, which side would you rather be on?
I learnt as I spoke, that it is easier for those who have very little, to share, than it is for those whose baskets are overflowing. I have seen women walking for many kilometres, carrying baskets of flour, sugar, bananas, fruit, oil, etc on their heads or backs, going to visit a friend who lost a husband or a child, or even one who had just fallen on hard times. I have seen male and female workers, with barely enough to feed their families, pool money to hire a van in an effort to join and comfort a bereaved friend or colleague. I have seen these same men and women leave work, sit with a friend’s sick child in hospital all night long, then shower, change and go straight on back to work. I have often envied their throaty laughter filled with love, kindness, and hope, a different kind of laugh. I’ve heard their cries, seen tears drawn from the pit of their stomachs for a friend’s loss. I’ve seen them hold on to their friendships for years and years, coming together in equal measure in times of joy and times of strife. In that moment, I learnt that it is easier for someone with only 10 shillings to give 2 shillings, than it was for someone with 10,000 to give 2,000.
So now when I pray, I ask God to make me prosperous, but I dare not forget to ask Him to help me know how to use this gift, lest I lose myself in material things. I pray that I remember that not all material, spiritual, and emotional prosperity bestowed upon me is mine. I pray to remember that I am a vessel, a messenger sent with a gift to disburse to others - children, relatives, friends, colleagues, strangers and the poor.
© 11 Sep 2007
This morning I was having a conversation with some friends when I had the distinct feeling that someone had walked over my grave. For a moment, I felt almost spaced out as realization dawned on me. How many times had I heard that money couldn’t buy happiness or love? I had sang and danced to those words, for heaven’s sake! I thought I knew for a fact that material prosperity is not a precursor to happiness. This morning the message sank to the core of my being. It was a major Aha! moment.
We were talking about a club that some of our colleagues had formed. The members had not only become very conceited, but also quite possessive of their members and choosy about who joined the club. One of the colleagues I was talking to made this comment when I asked her why she was not a member of the club. ‘Even if I was tied up and dragged to the club, then whipped each morning while being asked to join, I would forever say NO.’
As the four of us spoke, it dawned on us that the members of this club had formed a clique like teenagers did in high school, hanging around together, vetting new members of staff who they chose as part of their club, and making sure to keep out those who did not meet their criteria. In doing this, they had made other staff wary of them and lost the club’s human face. Chipping in to help the community seemed to justify the distance they created between them and their colleagues, assuaging any guilt their actions may bring.
My workmates and I remembered a colleague whose job is one of the lowest ranked and undesirable in the company. When I first met her, she had been sick for over a year, had exhausted all her sick leave and was on nil pay. She had lost all hope of survival and constantly talked of death. I learnt later that her colleagues, in the same low rank job, had been paying her rent for the six months she had been on nil pay. They provided her with food, would go and cook for her and sit with her while she ate; they would bathe and visit her during her frequent stays in hospital, and one of them even took her children 600 kilometres to her sister’s house when she realized the sick lady would not be able to adequately take care of the children.
What surprised me most was that these ladies, who are mostly single parents with 2 or more children, who worked manual jobs that meant they were exhausted by the end of each day, and earned the lowest salaries (less than 5,000 shillings) in the company, gladly contributed 100 shillings every month to cater for their sick colleague’s needs. I was especially humbled to hear that over the months, they had put aside 6,000 shillings for the sick colleague for contingencies. When the colleague’s health improved and she was back to work, they gave her the 6,000 shillings to cater for her immediate needs.
On the other hand, when one of the club members was wedding, fellow management level colleagues made a request for contributions to enable them buy a gift collectively. The sound of silence was deafening and the lack of activity, eerie. When another middle management colleague almost lost a child due to a debilitating disease and a request for assistance was made, you could have heard a pin drop in the sudden quiet. None of those two requests ever bore fruit.
My Aha! moment came when it was my turn to talk and I recognized that we are in touch most with our human nature when we lack. When we lack love, money, children, food, etc, we are more in touch with ourselves, and God. We tend to reach out to each other for support, and to God a lot more when faced with tough situation. We find solace when we call friends just to have a coffee or to talk, or when we spend some alone time contemplating the circumstances that led us to that moment.
Though the economically weak colleagues rarely have any money, they stood for their own; easing her worry as she struggled to get her health back. These men and women can only afford to buy lunch in the first few days after pay day; the rest of the days, they lie on the grass during their lunch break talking, sharing or taking a much needed nap. These wonderful people may lack the comforts that money provides, but God makes it up to them in the comfort of pure love and friendship with each other. Prosperity misused has brought with it individualism, selfishness and a misplaced sense of power. I constantly ask myself, which side would you rather be on?
I learnt as I spoke, that it is easier for those who have very little, to share, than it is for those whose baskets are overflowing. I have seen women walking for many kilometres, carrying baskets of flour, sugar, bananas, fruit, oil, etc on their heads or backs, going to visit a friend who lost a husband or a child, or even one who had just fallen on hard times. I have seen male and female workers, with barely enough to feed their families, pool money to hire a van in an effort to join and comfort a bereaved friend or colleague. I have seen these same men and women leave work, sit with a friend’s sick child in hospital all night long, then shower, change and go straight on back to work. I have often envied their throaty laughter filled with love, kindness, and hope, a different kind of laugh. I’ve heard their cries, seen tears drawn from the pit of their stomachs for a friend’s loss. I’ve seen them hold on to their friendships for years and years, coming together in equal measure in times of joy and times of strife. In that moment, I learnt that it is easier for someone with only 10 shillings to give 2 shillings, than it was for someone with 10,000 to give 2,000.
So now when I pray, I ask God to make me prosperous, but I dare not forget to ask Him to help me know how to use this gift, lest I lose myself in material things. I pray that I remember that not all material, spiritual, and emotional prosperity bestowed upon me is mine. I pray to remember that I am a vessel, a messenger sent with a gift to disburse to others - children, relatives, friends, colleagues, strangers and the poor.
© 11 Sep 2007
I Still Prefer The Illusion
I didn’t go to his funeral when he died
I don’t remember now whether it was the stone cold stares
or the barely held amusement in their eyes
that raised the hairs on the back my head
all I know is that the feeling of disappointment
remains vivid in the day and night difference
of my childlike pre-conceived
illusion of him
this old man whose open face
held a mirror-image smile
who wondered aloud if I
was a long lost member of his tribe
and when he looked at my mother with
uncertainty in his tired eyes
he gently asked do I know you
memories of their six-month romance
had long since dissipated
in the din of his polygamous home
my smile threatened to crack
politeness painfully stuck on my face
my strength began to wane
my resolve started to shatter
like the cracked glass
I had always been
I felt deathly cold, more alone than ever before
for a second, the earth was eerie and still
as if to indisputably remind me
that I was a result of their illicit intimacy
PoP © 10 Sep 07
I don’t remember now whether it was the stone cold stares
or the barely held amusement in their eyes
that raised the hairs on the back my head
all I know is that the feeling of disappointment
remains vivid in the day and night difference
of my childlike pre-conceived
illusion of him
this old man whose open face
held a mirror-image smile
who wondered aloud if I
was a long lost member of his tribe
and when he looked at my mother with
uncertainty in his tired eyes
he gently asked do I know you
memories of their six-month romance
had long since dissipated
in the din of his polygamous home
my smile threatened to crack
politeness painfully stuck on my face
my strength began to wane
my resolve started to shatter
like the cracked glass
I had always been
I felt deathly cold, more alone than ever before
for a second, the earth was eerie and still
as if to indisputably remind me
that I was a result of their illicit intimacy
PoP © 10 Sep 07
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