My Wife

She lied in a varnish sealed wooden coffin, with her picture frame above; staring straight into my soul. My wife an I sat beside her parents but it was impossible for me to look into my own daughter's eyes and comfort him with the common phrase: “Whoever did this shall pay dearly”- for it was I that had done this unforgivable deed.

The evening settled in coolly as I sat with the huge gourd of Machakos Changa'a , the local brew that had grown so popular with the people and was now drowning me in my thoughts. My wife- Mama Njoroge was yet to arrive from her daily fetch of firewood with the women. She should have been here by now.

A knock on the door aroused me from my uneventful day with a sluggish manner. It was so unexpected of her to arrive this late, she always organised her schedule so that she would be here before sunset. Never later than that. After a while of struggling to get the key into the keyhole, I successfully managed to open the door and was about to give Mama Njoroge a large piece of my mind, only to be encountered by a refreshed, remade and redone Mama Njoroge. I would have barely noticed her if it was not for the glow in her eyes, the dimples in her smile and the unforgettable beauty spot at the bottom of her chin that denied her to feign someone else's identity. All the anger I had, transformed into pure admiration that I was even willing to help her with her basket of firewood; although it was all with a good intention I did create quite a mess, because of my uncoordinated, unbalanced, drowsy movement.

As she squat down slowly to pick up the firewood and place them back in the basket. From deep within an old, young, renewed ember began to erupt into a blazing fire with the infatuation of touching her body after all this while. How long had it been? Two-three years and now that she had made herself into the damsel she once was, it only seems right that I show my appreciation for her efforts by taking her into the past. After managing to collect all of the dropped firewood; I gave her way to walk through into the house, just to see her take the most spectacular walk.

My body fully seduced by the fresh, new and tasty aroma illuminating from my wife, was now sliding to her side in a male-peacock-kind of trance. She was still busy with placing the firewood in its rightful place and it was only when I pulled her hands away did she realise I was actually in the room.

“Please Grandpa, let me finish this work.” Mama Njoroge sine our marriage to this date still played hard to get by teasing me with nicknames such as “old man” and always making up excuses of having work to do. Ignoring her struggles to return back to her work, I swayed with her to the unheard tune playing in my head all the way to the room taking my sweet time in closing the door behind us, so that no one would interrupt our special moment.

“Grandpa! Grandpa! Grandpa!” My wife kept calling with distress on her face as I lay on top of her. No matter how much I tried she still cried out in a mixture of fear, pain and confusion, her hands on my chests were not welcoming but more of a rejection to get off.

“Waweru! Waweru! Waweru!” A voice sharp and completely unforgettable attacked me from behind, forcing me to leave my wife only to find my wife standing at the door with utter horror written all over her face. At first I thought I was imagining having my wife in two places, only to turn back to my wife in bed and see her mouth her last words.

“Grandpa please...” Her eyes and mouth wide open asking for help that came too late. Mama Njoroge rushed to the bedside, instantly pushing me off and looking over her twin who now lay limp beside. After several shakes, whispers, shouts and more vigourous shakes. Mama Njoroge wailed,

“Waweru what have you done my husband?”

“Waweru what have you done my husband?” Mama Njoroge whispered to me, taking me away from my torturous thoughts and back to a rosary that was now broken. My wife, my son and his wife's eyes were all blood red with tears that were being shed for the greatest lost they have ever had. Her lungs had collapsed from the pressure. My pressure. Her parents were unaware of the true death of their daughter and were only told that she fainted and the weight from the firewood killed her. The truth was- I killed her. I killed my granddaughter.

Bitten Pride

The rain fed the already filled murky, brown river that snaked around the circular, tiny island I was on.

My husband was near the bank testing to see how deep the shallow river had become, whilst I sat beside the large bunch of firewood we had collected.

“It's to deep,” My husband shouted over the rain to me.

“What are we going to do then?” He didn't reply but concentrated more on the river's flow.

He looked up to the fading blue being eaten by the opaque black shark; with worry in his eyes. I could see what he was thinking, as he took rapid glances at the river looking for any signs of the greyish-green scaly monsters they ad warned us of earlier on.

She had this bedraggled, dishevelled look that made her seem older than the years of knowledge she had gained sitting and watching others make mortifying mistakes. She sat there today, as I passed with my rusting machete in my hand and a worn-out bare basket on my head. An ascending tune buzzed through the air, hinting at the warning she was about to dictate. Her head languidly turned towards me, her eyes taking in every little detail before she unleashed her wise words.

“Young one, why all the weight in this burning sun?” She took her time to ask and I let Ma Udoka's question settle into the silence.

“Ma Udoka, my greetings. It is not weight I carry, but material I need to fetch firewood.”

“If there is firewood, how come many come back with empty baskets like yours?”

“Ma Udoka, it is not here that I fetch firewood these days but the Forest island beyond the river.”

“My dear, If you wish to see another day with your children, do not go near that island. For you know what lies in the water you cross,” She whispered faintly but enough for me to understand. How dare she think I was a fool! Her ancient dreams had finally turned her words meaningless. I dropped my machete and basket on the ground, picked some soil and threw it at her feet with fury.

“Throw as much as you want, but your own pride shall be your downfall,” She chuckled only infuriating me more. My hand tingled with the urge to meet her saggy, rotting face, instead I turned gathered my things and stormed off to find my husband.

Those word ate at my consciousness, as I watched my husband tirelessly walk back and forth across the bank in attempt to find a safe and simple way back. If only I had listened to Ma Udoka; my children would not be alone and starving, my husband would not be drained and we would not be out here in the wild.

As if noticing my edginess of the island, a rhythm of croaking ascending to a full ensemble like our young girls at our fire-nights trying to invite their mate. Branches snapped not once but several times, echoing and overshadowing the heavy rainfall's screeching with the river. The once dried and hard wood had become soggy and soft; no good for firewood now.

Wet, tired and strangled by a once comfortable dress, I rose to my tall, muscular an handsome husband's side, then it came. Slowly at first. Then it sprang out of the filthy soil, coiling round my legs as it climbed upwards. My husband still looking away, mesmerised by the river was unaware. I screamed but it was faster as it coffined my throat, leaving only my head visible as it took its time.

My legs forcefully squeezed together lost it's foothold and for moment I lay horizontal in the air, before the river opened its mouth to engulf me. I tried to free my fingers but it only embraced the movement to compress me even more. I was barely afloat, when I saw my husband speaking. He was shouting and jumping but the river zoned him out.

He turned pale like the dead. Alarmed at this, I looked everywhere I could with only my eyes able to move. In the corner of my eye I saw a tail disappear, then my leg tickled. The Python loosened its grip, I kicked hurriedly to the shore. Excruciating pain electrified my whole left leg and the Python hissed in all its mother tongues.

A glance back left me with the image of a wet, huge slab of rock chomping on my leg. Rings of darkness were dancing around my eyes. All the fear gone, it was hopeless to fight. My kids. My husband. My family. All that I would leave behind, abandoned and unable to stop grieving. Death's youthful hand was close, her mocking voice dragging me closer, closer. Close. My pride, my pride had locked me in Death's vices.

“I will not let you take her,” I faintly heard my husband roar. The rusting machete glistened in the invisible sunlight. I smiled, he had done everything he could but it was too late. My love, the father of my children had fought for my life and I would remember that. Numbness grew from my leg upwards; strangely enough the pressure had evaporated.

“Sifa, Sifa, Sifa,” He shook me. I wasn't there any more.

“Sifa wake up! Please Sifa! It's a nightmare you're safe now.” I could still hear him. He was louder, as if he was talking into my ear. My eyelids folded and my eyes were left to see my two sons holding my hands and their father; my husband seated right beside them. He lifted me up to see my children staring awkwardly at my leg - well what remained of it- I began to scream again it wasn't a nightmare I was re-living the past.

Home

Women cook.
Men drink.
Boys court.
Girls marry.

Women envy.
Men fight.
Boys rape.
Girls die.

It is the way of life here.
It wasn't always the way of life.
But that is all to do with,
where the body lays to rest.

For the body no longer rests.
Because men now fight like boastful, young, restless boys
Because women now pretty themselves like teenage girls,
all so they can gain the male attention.
Because boys now bring 'order' like the expected father figures.
Because girls now teach like their missing mothers.

For the heart no longer rests.
Whereby the elder is talked down to by the younger,
in the elders on home.
Whereby wives are forced to teach morality manners,
that have been taught from birth,
all over again.

For the mind no longer sleeps.
When all that men do is compete in drink.
When all that happens is competition for male dominance.
When all that men speak is rude, rotten, rubbish.
When all that expected respect is suddenly lost.
When all that responsibility that lays with man is ignored.

For the soul no longer rests in peace.
When all that women do is compete in looks
When all that happens is competition in better cooks.
When all that women speak is rude, rotten, rubbish.
When all that expected moral care is suddenly lost.
When all that mother's love that lays with woman is hate.

Home is where order begins.
Home is where responsibilities are taken.
Home is where love is shown.
Home is where unity, respect and morality are learned.
It is unusual to watch fathers take their sons place. And mothers take their daughters.
It is unusual to watch sons try to take their fathers place. And daughters try to take their mothers.

It is a disgrace upon ourselves.
I can not change things alone.
We start at home together,
for that is where life's education is taught.

Have we forgotten our ancestors?
The tears, pain and blood that they shed
for us to live a righteous life that followed
the moral love code?

Return to normal we must.
Let our children learn right from wrong.
Let men not see greed as being strong.
Let women be the role models of love.
Let home be our inner peaceful dove.
We are going backwards instead of forward.
If we are wise as we say the right path should be clear.
I can not change things alone.
For I am just one in a billion to change.
Help me. Help you. Help us. Help our Home.

There should be no sin, turmoil, war at home.
For home is where the body, heart and soul rests.