I wept

I weep today because of the child with no shoes,

I weep because of the poor woman crying,

They took her children and shot them,

She cried and asked Jesus what it meant to be poor,

She mourned for the loss of her son shot by a stray bullet,

Shot by the ones who were meant to protect her,

I wept and mourned with her,

Went on a hunger strike with her,

I stared at my screen and didn’t write a thing,

Wondering how on earth people can be cruel to others,

Her wails made me think deeply,

They tore my heart and shred my skin,

I can still hear my mourning and screaming,

Only because she was from another ethnicity

Only because she dared to speak,

And now the government turned on her,

They called her children criminals

They said the police would deal with the criminals,

Her criminal child is ten years old

Her other criminal child is six

They claim they were going to rob a bank

I dare to speak

I will be hunted down on social media

Media is gagged and they dare not tp speak,

Because they were told not to

I am left mourning and crying

Tempted to ask this Jesus just like the woman,

Why he would allow such to happen

My people are abused and murdered

Just because they are different

I weep for the woman

I weep for my children

For what reason would I ever give them

To understand why they would do this to a child?

I weep.

On the plane

Somebody started sneezing

He coughed and coughed hard

And couldn’t stop

I thought he was choking

I asked if he needed some water

He replied whether he could touch my ass

That he has never seen such a well shaped ass

I was confused and shocked 

I stopped at the staircase

Wondering why me

Was it just my colour that he was not comfortable with? 

The other passengers were confused as I was

One told him that he was rude to me

And called security on him

The other two guys told me not to mind him

That he was drunk and acted ignorant

But yet here I am in a so-called developed minded world

Still struggling with such mentality

I want to feel comfortable in my own skin and my own body

I don’t know what happened to this stranger

I don’t know whom his next victim will be

But I know what happened to me inside

Breathe till your last

When it seems blurry I come to you with love. When you have more than you could chew, I find a way to make it easy. I do not have all the answers to your questions.

 I know that I loved you with more of me. I know that there was no definite name for what we felt for each other. And things happened so fast that we missed the time to learn to love fully.
And now I do not know what may become of us. Will we love again? Will we be apart? Will we learn to love again? Or will we make a love come true. 

I believed that a love so deep could never fail so quick. Well, I know that we did our best to laugh and cry at our stupid lies.

But now the salty sea captures my mind to a place so far from love or comfort. I seek the peace and freedom that the salty waters give me. 

Yet, through the saltiness and freedom, I still strongly believe of life that persists and resists hunger. Hungry mouths and eyes stare at my sacred breasts but none of them knows exactly what it feels like.

They speak failure, I speak victory. For I know what the sweet taste of merciless mind awaits my dirty mind. 

So today, breathe darling. Breathe till your last. 

Beautiful life

When I was broken, my heart pained so much. I could not find the reason to smile or even if I did, I would feel my cheekbone hurt from the force of spreading my cheeks. I read somewhere that noone knows exactly how it feels until you go through it. I started speaking out through writing, talking, observing and living. I saw my heart tear as my brain tried to explain to my hot blood what it means to love deeply. I know what it means to have and to hold, and to be in a dilemma stuck between dreams and reality.

I guess parts of my past still have a way to capture me and influence me. I understand that I heal through speaking a lot about my past but not present. 

Breath, breathe, breathing…

Birdstrike

I can’t say how it was for the birds

All the way to the engine

Sad the life ended like that

Pretty fast and quick 

Pretty little pieces of tiny feathers remain

Yet so high in the sky we remain

Our heads and brains stuck in one machine

Connected by one chain of air in the tube

It’s one of those many moments I exhale

I look back and smile with shyness

Indeed, how lucky we are for life full of laughter?

Yes, all is possible

Yes, we can! I tell myself

A life full of laughter and good spirits

C’est la vie!

Three things I am grateful for today

Very often when faced with experience of emotional abuse or rapid venting episodes, rarely do we take time to think about the things we are grateful for. 

Today, I am grateful for a circle of friends who love me and support me. Friends who appreciate me for who I am.

Today, I am grateful that my dear friend found the love of her life and she is settling down for good. One thing she told her now financee, is that I helped her through her difficult moments in a new country. I never saw this as something that someone could consider being grateful for. So now, I am thankful when others recognize your help and support and appreciate when you are there for them.

Today, I am thankful that I can laugh and cry about one same thing – the beauty of having a tiny, little heart of an innocent baby born without hate. A baby that knows no race or religion. Pure laughter and smile that I am grateful for. Oh how I wish I was a child again!

Three things to be thankful for today.

Breathe, run and escape

The only beginning

The only ending

The rains stopped

The wind starts to gush

Hush…I tell myself

I have another place to be

But my body doesn’t want to

My legs take me off the train

My heart troubled

So far from the river

Even though I need the water

To cool me off

I want to drink, I want to swim

I want to dive deep and explore

Why am I so upset and nervous

As I sink deep into my thoughts

Wreckless and desperate

I remember warm thoughts

I smile when I think of him

The instinct to make me smile

Out of crazy situation and sorrow

He gets a way to make me lay back

To breathe, to run and to escape…

Mama

Mother’s day recently passed and was well celebrated. I saw and read posts from friends with pictures of theirthe mothers together. I also saw posts of my friends with their daughters or sons celebrating this day. 
I never once thought I’d be able to write this. But my mother went through hell to raise me and my siblings up. Even though I did and still do admire my father, for all the other reasons, he was still abusive towards my mother.

From emotional to physical abuse. All this time, he had plenty of other hot looking girlfriends working in high offices with heels while my mother  tilled the land, worked her ass off and paid for every tiny thing in the house with her meagre salary. She even took a loan to build our house. t that time, my dear father was flying high, wasting money and leaving us in debts. From hospital bills to unpaid debts.

I remember my mum’s hair was always short. She had pretty long hair and super beautiful when they were dating and even when they had me. But somehow after the third child, my father changed his attutude towards my mum and my siblings. He had another woman. He made my mama cut her hair, made me cut my hair too. He became much more angry and aggressive.

This was not the guy who at many occasions had saved our neighbours from domestic battering, had threatened to destroy another man for beating his wife or even rushed another woman suffering from celebral malaria to the hospital. Countless things he did for other people, countless offerings he poured to the church and countless children he welcomed home to watch our television – which was the village’s only TV at that time. 

Back to my mom, her job was to look awful and work hard. Shaggy with baggy clothes. Because that was how wives of people like my dad should look like in that tiny village. Moreso, if you happen to be a woman who the church says you should be a model to other women.

 I remember my mother miscarrying after my dad beat the hell out of her. I saw her bleed, ran to the neighbour to ask for help to drive her to hospital. I did not know it was what it was until later in life when I asked my mother for details of that fateful night. 

Or the other time when my mother would watch and cryI helplessly when my father beat the hell out of me for breaking a plate while washing it. She came in between us and he slapped the hell out of her as she fell on the hard floor. 

Or when she came home late from too much work in school and found my father angrily waiting for her to make him his dinner.

Ouch. These memories have a way of getting to me. 

Yet my mother stayed. She stayed for the sake of us. Also she was ashamed and embarassed that she could not leave and stay a single mother with four kids to take care of. She thought it was necessary to have a father figure for us. If she knew that he’d die later on and leave her agonizing, maybe she would have left.

My mother, she was thrown out of her fathers will for marrying my father. Her parents never agreed with her choice. She was already pregnant with me. She was cut out completely. Her parents refused to take her to college, telling her to go to her poor boyfriend and never contact them again. 

My mother, she survived the stigma and society cultural traditions which sometimes would tear her apart. She protected us from those horrible things they would say to her. She told me they were outdated.

My mother, one of the first women in my village to wear a trouser and walk down the city center, while being shouted at by village boys to leave her trouser and home for her male kids.

My mother, who loves me to death and always believed in me, even when she knew I was making a wrong turn. She never scolded me nor lack faith in me. 

My mother, my dear mother, whom now is so hard to reach because I am in another country studying to have a better life and her connection is so poor that we cannot speak even for two minutes.

My mother who gives all of herself to every kid she teaches and to their parents and to her teachers.

If ever I feel low for some reason, I remember all the strong women, like my mother who show that life is what you make out of it. Noone is responsible for your happiness. Sometimes we choose to stay in broken lives, broken families, broken relationships or marriages and we have all the reason to. One day, the pain will go away and we will be happy again. 

Mom, you made me who I am today. I am proud to be your daughter. And one day, if ever I have them kids, I hope to pass the grace, charisma, love and the strength to them. 

With love and affection.

Love policy cycle

Touch me so I can touch you

Feel me so I can feel you

Kiss me so I can kiss you

Breathe to me so I can make my breath worth it

The feeling of being so alone and scared of my thoughts

Trouble in paradise they say

But I don’t know if I ever had paradise in the first place

I ate good food though, good thoughts, good talks, good friendships

After all cycles of love is what I think of

Some rush and gut feelings and flirting

Then you set the agenda

Decide the problems to solve

Decide what solutions you’ll undertake

Decide whether to undertake those solutions or not

Check to see whether those solutions met your original expectations

If they didn’t, decide on a new set of love agenda and reformulate

If they do meet the targets, continue with the love agenda

Only this time round, reinforce it so that it is formal and stays for better or worse

Then make or not make multiple policies

Happens 

Love policy cycle…