Wangui Mar 12
The pot is broken........frankly I think today we will sleep hungry. My father is not back from work. My high mother is passed  out on the floor mat we all sleep in. She has taken all the space.  Slept like a king. My legs can't even fit. Too high from sniffing tobacco and drinking the last bottle of my father's special brew. Our neighbors say I take my mother's character but my face is father's. The judge this from the one time I  tried the traditional  brew my father brought home. The one meant for the men who come to gossip with my father. They keep saying don't gossip that they speak of the important things that may help the village grow. To protect it. Yet the whole conversation revolves around Mr. Waithaka and his inability to bear children and  yet his beautiful last wife Njeri has bore twins for him. They laugh at his blindness to see Njeri's infidelity. I laugh too silently from my hiding place. But at them. Because they are blind to see that the same curse might be on them. my mother always says only a woman knows which man her child belongs.

My father is home. He brings home meat and the bitter leaves I hate. he is drunk as well. staggering and struggling to find his way in the hut. He screams at me to wake my mother. Yet she is right there. There is not much room in the space w live in for you to miss a single body. I figure he is just upset that his wife is the talk of the town. the drunk wife of Miricho . Soon the men will drink and gossip about him. Karma is truly a bitch.

My father calls me to his knees touches my face with both his hands, looks me right in the eye an says 'you are the only hope of this family. don't fail me'. i guess he has all the right to pour such heavy responsibility on me  . I am the only child of my father after all. At least the only child left. All the my step siblings died in the famine together with their mothers. we were the only survivors. He refused to marry again.The shock was too much. Loosing 11 children. outliving the army he brought into this world. What king is left without a kingdom to rule and still call himself king?  I a tempted to marry the ugly  man at the village market just to make my father happy but my brain screams education. Or is it the white man pretending to be my brain.
Wangui Mar 2
Sometimes my head is tired from all the running  I do day in day out.  Is my mouth to dry for you to kiss or my butt to tight for you to lay your head? hung up on the someone I once was... can't you see that that girl I once was  is dead? Gone with the wind. I never want her back. As beautiful and delicate as she was. She was my ruin. The one who made the tears always run like a waterfall even in the dry seasons. Flowers in my garden fade in color as they blossom. Like the woman who almost never feels enough in her husband house. Who slowly finds ways to validate her place in her husband's house so as not end up alone.

Yesterday I almost did it. Almost took the step. At the top of our favorite building. Yes the one where we saved that bird whose wing was broken. But a small little girl stopped me. She took my hand and asked 'you want a cookie?' Her eyes were blue. In my head the cookie I wanted was not only made in flour and milk. But I took it and waited for her to leave to crush it with my hands and throw the crumbs where I would have pushed myself. See am no heartless. I waited for her to leave. remember that  my kindness can sometimes be short lived.

WHEN I NEED  SUPERSEDES WHAT I WANT.

yours
The Red_Head
Wangui Jun 2017
I wear beads and  African bracelets for beauty. I forget why the people before me wore them. I wear them with pride not because I earned them but because I simply look beautiful. Beautiful!? What does that even mean? My Nana has scars on her body. She shows them to me with pride. Narrates stories of the war in the past like an action movie only she didn't have a gun only bows and poisonous arrows. The missing teeth in her mouth causes her to spit almost every second she talks. But this embarrassment is only felt by me. She is proud of the hole in her mouth. Suddenly I feel the urge to remove my African beads. They have no meaning only that they are African and I am and so am entitled. But I have done nothing for my heritage. Not even fight for it. Slowly it's being forgotten and people are crossing over without a care in the world. 'To civilisation' we say.  'For the good of the people' we say. But is it? We were a community wrong as we were to circumcise women, marry them off at an early age, burn the wrong... We were a community. We loved each other. We cared. We taught our children how to feel and be the earth. We taught our children to respect the earth and in return the earth blesses us with herbs to cure. What did they call it? Aaah yes 'witchcraft'. We were not animals who forget their children in  pit latrines or by the river side just because we cannot afford them or don't want them. We cared not of individualism because together we grew in spirit, body and soul. It was not backward it was culture. And culture is flexible. It can change but can never be terminated. It is not a shoe that when you grow out of  you throw and buy another.
And so I am not telling you to go back to your roots because if am quite honest you were never in it. Rather embrace it. See how 'civilised' you will feel then.

yours
The Red_Head

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