Today

Today, a little more than yesterday, I admit,
I have been beaten, beaten and emptied of all ability to reach for hope
I feel stretched, my patience squeezed out same way you put garlic in foil, heat it and squeeze out the juice. They burned me until I was soft enough and then they tore me to shreds.

It shouldn't be like this.
No one should ever use, use and discard another human being.
The times are hard on us all, my conscience says this is the best time to show compassion
The devil though, lives among men

It is time. I know it is time.
I wonder though, where do we go from here and where does the new journey begin?
Hearts can fail, courage can play hide and seek
Hope...It is right there but I cannot reach it.

How are you holding up?
There is shame in the most honest answer now
How dare you steal the pity from the ones who badly need it
Who's to say that we do not all need attention, a shoulder and an ear that will not judge your truth?

I am not holding up at all.
I am tired
I am angry
I am frustrated
I am disappointed
I am worried.

To be Held

If the pieces of my heart should scatter at some point today
Know that I tried to keep them together.

There is a strange sensation in the core parts of my being
I feel exhaustion and emptiness,
But it is not the kind that takes away the ability to do
It is the kind that tears away at the layers of tape and allows the broken heart to crumble
My hands keep close to my side, perhaps there is something they can do
My chest tightens at each heart beat, it is afraid

I cannot remember what happened
Yesterday seemed like a day as any other
This morning, I stared at my phone and chose the blanket
Since then, it has been like this
Movements in the corridor to nowhere and back
No sense of time or action

Perhaps it is catching up with me,
The aloneness that I choose
It feels like it has acknowledged me
And now wants to show me what it means to truly be alone
I am afraid. Perhaps I lied to myself,
Perhaps I need to feel again, to be held.

When I was Younger

These last couple of days have run through my head so much that I have suffered a couple of migraines and my eye is beginning to act up again. Last week, I could not see with one eye since it had decided to shut and refused to open. It was quite the experience, apparently, I was winking at people and giving mixed signals. It was not intentional. Anywho, Dr Agarwal's eye hospital choked my pocket, but opened my eye.

That is not the point of this story but since we have gone this direction, let me just say, Please, my friends, I beg:

Dim the light on your computer

Take a break from your phone

Do not touch your inner eyes with dirty hands (That one seems silly but we all kinda do it)

Do not NOT finish the eyedrops the first Ophthalmologist gives and

Wear the spectacles if they told you to wear them.

Back to my story

So these migraines

Usually for me, a sense of deep loss, frustration and pain trigger them.

You remember that run in with law enforcers and journalists this week? That one.

When I was younger, I wanted to be two things.

A journalist and later on, a law enforcer. Journalist, because I have always loved to write stories from my head, (I have a couple of blogs for that), but also to tell peoples stories.

Law enforcer because, TV I think, and the discipline I saw of the law enforcers in outside countries, made me want to be one of them. Someone who walked a straight line and protected others. The sense of discipline soldiers and police had - in my head - was to be admired.

My favourite time of boarding school was S1 and S5 because we got to do Muchaka Muchaka. I will tell you it was no joke. There was this particular afande who made us roll in that swamp along the fence of our campus and Kabaka's lake, then cane us heavily while our clothes clung desperately to our bodies which reeked of fear and sewage. I still loved it all. To have us all in line marching and and just holding up those sticks and singing songs together...that was something.

I like peace, order, discipline,...those things.

Fast forward to today.

Do I still want to be a journalist? Yes.

Might that get me into all kinds of coffin facing situations? Perhaps.

Will that get me bruises and broken teeth from stray rubber bullets, perhaps even midnight phone calls or visits with weapons of war pointed at my face, strangers asking me to get off social media and hold my tongue? Your guess is as good as mine.

I am not in the field much anymore. Now, I sit behind a desk or run up and about, some days in high heels, other days in pumps. I only smell the teargas when the journalists sent out in the morning show up at the station after hours offline because their phones went missing in the scuffle and so did their teeth and perfume. I admire them. I fear for them.

Do I still want to be a law enforcer? LOL

After the first year, I stopped apologising.

I had realised that this was not a responsibility meant to be handled alone and that if I tried, I was going to fail, and not just fail but cause harm in the failure. 

There is no isolation when it comes to raising a child. 

I guess that's why you cannot make one on your own. It takes two and then a village.

I cannot count how many sorry's I said and thank yous. 

I remember my brother constantly asking why I was apologising for asking him to give up his time and plans to come babysit or hold the baby while the doctor attended to me. 

I thought it was self explanatory. 

At some point, I even found it frustrating that he could very easily reject an apology that always came with so much guilt and fear that maybe he wouldn't make the time tomorrow. 

No need to apologise. 

Why are you apologising? 

Eventually, the sorry's had to go but the thank you's stayed.

Kalembe's son

I was looking for your father because nobody talks about him.

Everyone knows you as Kalembe's son and people have stopped asking questions. I thought the internet would tell me, because they say the answer to everything is now on google. Your mother is a famous woman. I figure some reporter somewhere was just as curious as I am about this man who nobody seems to know and maybe they had dug some and told all. Nothing.

Kalembe gave you all of her.
You have her eyes, her mouth and her hair. I know some people would describe you as a beautiful boy. You have the captivating look your mother had when I first met her, still has even now. You're just about as tall as she is and I know that in a few years, you will be much taller, staring down at us. I hope that it will not be with a haughty look. I hope you will be kind and smile as you look at us who have not grown to your height.