I write these things

Give my shirt back Mpagi, and zip your pants
My hands have stopped shaking and i can breathe again
I did not carry the little knife they gave me, but next time i will

You have made your point Mpagi
You have the strength and i have nothing
You stole my pride and dashed my hopes
No one will have me, you made sure of that

I am not a poet, everybody knows it. But when i write, they read what i write and they tell me it is beautiful and it rhymes and it is marvelous. I know they lie because i read it later and i laugh at myself. I write because it helps me let out the pain. I write because to put it out there makes me feel like i do not carry it alone, i know that somewhere somehow, someone will read between the lines and know that the things i write, are lines after lines that are a true story.

I want you to feel what i have felt
I want you to see as i saw
I want the tears to run down your face
I want to watch you as you watch me break you

I sometimes wonder what goes through your mind. I wonder if you think beyond the thing that you do. I stopped hoping for a miracle, now i just want an opportunity. I must bide my time. No one must know because i could never bear the shame. How could i possibly tell them of the things that have been done to me.

Blood red blood,
Rough bony hands
Ignorant little me

You broke me Mpagi
You took away my pride,
You crashed my dreams
You took away the me i had left

I want to see you pay one day. I want to watch you squirm. I want to see you dance in pain as though hot needles had found place inside your shoes. I want you to scream out in pain and beg me to stop. I want you to ask me to help you, i want you to beg so that i can say no.

I think those things in my heart even as i listen to the man in front of me say that sins can be washed away, pain can be taken away. I used to feel dirty, soiled, like no amount of scrubbing could take away the years of abuse. I still feel dirty but i have more tolerance for myself now. I want you to know though, that i felt everything you did, and as much as i can live with myself, i cannot bear it that we breathe the same air.

Mazzo

"Give me your phone number." Eyo had said coyly, dragging her heavy bag to rest on her lap.
I did. I was too glad not to. This was Eyo, the one girl that had me from the first day i saw her.

I remember that day. She had looked so beautiful, so pure, so clean. She wore a white dress with a pink flower ribbon thing in her hair. Her head was tilted to the side as she smiled up at me, a wide bright smile that run quickly and met up with her eyes.

Many texts, a few phone calls, and three casual meetings later, i was smitten, well, more than smitten. I was in love. I had never met a more in tune with herself woman. She made me feel like i was a king, like i could do no wrong and that i was headed for great things. She made me question many things.

I remember walking home one night, holding my jacket to my nose because i was afraid her scent would wear out. She had had it on all evening. She insisted on returning it even when i asked her to keep it. Oh but the things we do and say in the moment. I saw the lights on in my apartment the minute i walked through the gate and I knew Milly was home.

She is a nice girl, my Milly, save for her mouth. That girl has a mouth on her. My mother says Milly will never make the kind of wife that holds things together. She is too quick to speak and her words, unfiltered, can break a man. I know that but i like that she is the kind of woman who will get things moving. She is not Eyo though. Eyo is the most peaceful woman i ever met.

It is Saturday and Milly is throwing one of those parties she likes to throw at her house. I have to be on hand for her to send about but i shouldn't be seen much because she has not yet told her friends that i am her boyfriend, would be fiancee actually, if she hadn't asked me to keep the ring until she was ready. I do not usually mind it, but i know that this will be different. Eyo is coming.

Milly treats Eyo like a little sister, the one she can tease and bully, the one she loves as though they were blood. I know that. When i used to watch Eyo from a distance, i often wondered how the two got along. I know how now. Eyo listens and smiles and says the wise things. Milly parties and talks and gets things moving. The two together, they are a rock.

I have been afraid for the last two months about Eyo finding out about Milly and i. I know she does not know because Milly has told no one and Eyo has never been one to pry. She didn't even ask me if i was with someone. I guess it is because she is very trusting of people and she assumes that i would not be with her if i was with someone else. I am ashamed of myself, but not ashamed enough to walk away.

I watch her walk in now, bottle of wine in hand. She laughs that beautiful laugh of hers, the one that makes my insides tingle and then she pinches Milly's cheek and walks out of my line of vision. I close the curtain and decide there and then that i shall not be walking out of this room today. I will tell Milly that i have a headache and i would much rather lie down.

I hear them laughing in the corridor. Milly is asking Eyo about this secret man she has refused to come with to the party.

"It is too soon. I have known him what...seven, eight weeks? I do not want you to scare him away! you know how you are."

"Well i have to meet him sometime Eyo. Besides, i need to tell you something too."

"Oh!! you have a secret! tell me! tell me...haha, i like that look on your face, spill already."

"Not now! There is someone i want you to meet. Later though. Let's move the chairs before everyone gets here."

I can already play it out in my head how this will go. I place my hand on my chest as though it will slow down my racing heart.

Milly was smiling broadly when she walked into the room and announced she was going to finally tell Eyo about us. I was holding my head, beads of sweat rolling down, with a headache that hurt more than the one i had imagined. I took the pain killers she gave me and turned to face the wall. I did not know what i would say to Milly, but i knew that i wanted Eyo to find me worthy. I knew in that moment that i wanted Eyo to want to help me through this.

"Eyo's here...." I felt Milly's hand touch my shoulder. "I wanted to tell her today, ask her to be my maid of honor"

"Now?...It's not a good time Milly" I croaked 

"It's just Eyo, Mazzo, you know her, she probably wont have much to say."

I felt her hand move away and the bed shift as she stood. The door opened and i knew that in a few minutes, i would be looking into the eyes of the woman who had held my heart for so long but who i would now never have. What happened to me? Why couldn't i just have told her?

"Mazo....Eyo's here...."

I saw Eyo's eyes open wide when she saw me. I saw her smile melt into a frown, i saw her eyes water, i saw her hands move toward her face and then she held them down clasped together. In that moment, i saw her draw up the wall and i knew she was gone.

"Hullo Mazzo. You do not look well, perhaps i should leave you to rest" And she backed out of the room and she was gone. She never once picked up my calls, responded to my texts. That was Eyo. She walked out and never looked back. She never told Milly.

I left Milly.

I figured if i loved her as much as she deserved, i would never have thought to give Eyo my phone number. I would never have given Eyo the promise of a man. I know though, that Eyo will never give me a second glance. 

Where is my beauty?

I never really know what to say when people tell me that i am beautiful. Should i say thank you? Might that not seem vain? Should i smile and look at the floor...perhaps that is arrogant...should i pretend i didn't hear them and walk away swiftly?

The reason i do not know is because i am never really sure what they mean. I am usually able to say "You have beautiful eyes, a crazy nose and a lovely wide mouth." I like the different features on the face and the body. I am never quite sure if to summarise it under beautiful does justice to it all. I think that to give one word to the thing takes away a piece of its beauty.

Musoni used to call me beautiful. He would say it over and over again. He would sing it from the minute he saw me walk into the room and then he would follow me about, sometimes singing and and other times making casual remarks about how my beauty made him feel handsome. He was silly like that, that he could just sing things and say things and make me feel like i was a flower.

One day, they announced my promotion. They said i was doing quite well and they saw no better person to take up the now vacant role of the man who had been our supervisor.

Musoni did not think i was beautiful anymore. All of a sudden, i was this emotional woman who he loathed to meet so much so that he would pull out his phone in the corridor and hold it to his ear and pretend he was speaking to someone until i was gone.

I stopped being beautiful when i ceased to be the girl in the cubicle next door. I became the woman who would determine the final mark on the appraisal. I became the woman who would point out and bring an end to the late coming, the vulgar language and the lewd behavior. I became the woman who spoilt the fun. I lost my 'beauty'.

When someone says i am beautiful, i want to ask them, do you think that if you got to know me, worked with me for a while, realised that i had a brain and i demanded results, do you think that you would still find me beautiful? But i do not ask. I close my eyes and panic a little on the inside, wondering what it is that i should say that will be correct, acceptable actually.

Kihembo

The pink ribbon should say something to me.

It should tell me to go for the cancer screening that that anchor woman on TV keeps talking about. I see her wear pink and ask us all to go be checked and i wonder if she has a clue as to what she really is saying. She probably doesn't. Her life is probably as perfect as the shoes and clothes she wears. No creases, nothing out of place. Every time i see her, i wonder how it is that certain people can have it all and others can have none of it at all.

I have never really been one to care about the women on TV. It is just that now, lately, i see it all. I see the little detail, the one that i shouldn't see. I look out for the things that are so carefully hidden that you have to be looking for them to see them and even then, you need a magnifying glass, a magnifying glass that is your own life.

The woman says she is going to wear a pink ribbon all month. They are sticking ribbons to the daily newspapers and every time i walk out of this particular supermarket, a girl that looks like she would rather be home reading a magazine, hands me a ribbon.

I do not think they understand what that ribbon really means.

I was sitting at that balcony, the one that faces the gate, smoking my cigarette and trying hard not to cough. I had just recently taken to the habit, not because i liked it, but because there was a handsome white man who lived on the far end of the parking lot and he had a clear view of my balcony from his. He often came out to smoke as he spoke on phone. So there i was, in my good white shorts and pink tank top, bright red lips, book and cigarette in hand.

I saw Kihembo walk through the gate and walk quietly toward me. She, my bubbly, full of life friend, was struggling to hold back tears. Normally, she would be laughing and shouting her greetings from the gate and running across. I stood up and went round to open the door. She collapsed in my arms the minute she walked in and then she rolled into a little ball on the floor, rocking from side to side. I sat on the floor, hands clasped together and waited.

It was 5pm when she spoke. I remember because music was playing from my laptop and that computer generated voice i called Suzie, liked to remind me of the time at the top of each hour. Kihembo spoke so softly, if i hadn't been attentive, i wouldn't have heard.

"Kai, I have Cancer."

And then she sat up and wiped her eyes and stared at me.

What do you do when your best friend, tells you they have cancer and then stares you straight in the face? What do you do when you know that she expects you to have a thing to say because you are always the one person with the right things to say? What do you do when you cannot find the words?What do you do when the tears that have been building up start to pour?

"Kai,... Kai, i have cancer." She repeated it slowly as the tears started to pour again. She held my hand to her left breast and held it there. She had answered the question i couldn't ask. I still could not speak. I was staring at her, watching the life slowly drain out of her. I was staring at her as though she was already gone. In my head, i was burying her. I was saying goodbye to my best friend.

She fought the cancer for two years. The hospital visits were countless, the pain was painful. She woke up most mornings angry at the world, wanting to die. She was 28 when her mother sent for her. She figured there was nothing more the doctors here could do, better to try places where systems were established and the latest equipment was on hand.

I do not know if that is what she needed. Kihembo and her mother had never really gotten along. She always felt that she had been abandoned and for the first year, we drained our savings catering for the bills, calling favors and begging. She eventually left anyway, we had nothing more to give except company and her mother could do better than we could financially.

"What can i tell you Kai, i am tired and i am alone."
"You're getting the best there is Kihembo. You have to stay there and keep fighting."
"Will you come? Would you come if you could? No one knows how to pick the perfect wig for my face like you."

The phone calls make my day, they give me hope. When she sounds strong on the other end of the line, i find myself digging her out of the grave i had buried her in. I find myself waiting for the day when she will come home.

I do not think the anchor woman understand the days and nights in hospital, the many moments with your head in a bucket bringing back even the food you never ate, the rounds of radiation, the hair loss, the weight loss, the exhaustion...all of it. I do not think she understands. Or maybe she does and i have judged her harshly. Maybe under the fancy clothes and perfect makeup, she has a story that i do not know and she has learned how to cover it all well.

I am going to get off my butt today and go to that hospital. More for you Kihembo than for the anchor woman. I do not want you worried about me from far away if i have to begin a journey that you are still walking.