A Tin full of chicken

I was determined to mind my own business. I had had enough of social pretences  and kuzoeana that had led me to give away  and eventually lose my dear dear Mooze( A three year old British blue tomcat). I didn’t even want to know my new neighbour’s names.

The first knock was quite unexpected. A pea sized, grin faced ruffian with a lisp was peeping at the door.

“Thi,thilia, hiyo ni TV unaona? Tunataka kuona Tv.”

Then one evening, a scrawny girl with an overactive mind knocked:

“C, silya? Tunaweza kuja kuona TV?”

Most of the evenings I just wanted to chew my food meditatively, stare blankly at the video playing,

Mac: You get to stay here with your big brother bloo..

Bloo: Don’t say it

Cheese: Braathas,, and together we are?

Bloo: Don’t say it.

Madame Foster: Bloo Cheese?

I had a choice; I could open the door, and expose myself to a session of mental damnation.

“We wacha kufanya hivyo”

“Achana na kisu”

Pretty soon I’d be running to get a rag to clean the stream of pee galloping toward the fruit bowl.

And the recriminations.

“C,silia mwambie aache kunivuta nywele”

“Mimi, sijamvuta!”

“Umenivuta wacha uongo! Mwongo kama Marba!”

Followed by pulling, biting and howling upon which I’d start to drag them to the door, all five of them. 

“Go home, it’s 10 o’clock.”

“Chakula haijapikwa kwetu..”

“Endeni mngojee iive.”

I would turn off the lights, just in case I heard the little fists pounding the door again.

I miss them though, they were really gorgeous kids, just neglected. I liked to watch them rounding up the chickens in the evening. One would hold an old milk tin while the rest picked up the chicks to put them in the tin.

They made me think of Oliver Twist

Does God wear shoes?

          

              Mungu havai viatu?

-Unaonaje? Anavaa?- I ask, to buy time.

Anatembea mguu peku peku?

-Nafikiri mbinguni ni kusafi -

Aking’atwa mguu anahisi uchungu muda mrefu ama anapona haraka?

-Mungu hutuponya tunapokuwa wagonjwa sio?-

 I’m close to panic now, she is looking up to me like I have all the answers, and I doubt the mother would approve of  this conversation.

Na Mungu anajali watu? Mungu anafananaje?

-Mungu ni msmart sana-

Anatoshana hivi? She’s pointing at a flower.

Ni wa rangi hii? Now pointing at  a maroon color fabric.

-Apana, ni mkubwa hivi- I’ve opened my arms very wide and I seem convincing  enough so I add. Na ana nguvu nyingi sana.

Ana nguvu e? Na akidungwa mguu anatembea na mguu mmoja hivi? 

She starts to hop about the room on one leg.

 -Labda tu kidogo –

She looks at an illustration of Jesus and asks:

Huyu ni Mungu?

-Hakuna mtu anaweza kumwona Mungu-

Basi huyu ni nani?

-Huyu ni Yesu, aliwafundisha watu kumhusu Mungu.-

 Huyu ni nani?

-Huyo aliitwa Adamu-

Adam, she repeats then, Nataka kuona Kaleb tena.

-Sawa-

Kaleb is every child’s favourite animation.

I met this girl in the morning, she was hiding behind her mother when the mother came to pick up some kale. She was smiling . I asked her,

-What’s you name?-

Thakira

          -Shakira?-

         Thakira

Her hair was askew, and she wore no hijab

I asked - can I brush your hair?-

Beautiful hair, but dusty, dry and matted. She came back later and I brushed it, then held it into two puffs.

I thought, if  I had a daughter, she would look like her. Darker, but similar, like a startled duck.

Yes ,Thank you

I’m recovering from a long sickness. It has a name too. It’s called:

-The NO Thank you plague-

You know, that person that says no to everything you offer them. It’s burning hot and you say:

Hey, come in for a drink?

 -No thank you-

Whatever you like,please

-I’m fine-

 And you wish to hit them hard with a piece of tile because they are obviously very dehydrated.

About the age of 6, I started to say -no thanks I’m fine- to everything and everyone. But I had reasons. 

Asking for something was usually followed by a barrage of

 -Where do you see the money ? Shall I pay for an education or for a toy?-

I stopped asking and decided I wouldn’t take it when it was offered.

The second theory was; inborn hard headedness.

“I’m an independent woman, and don’t insult me by offering me things. I don’t want your things. Keep them. And I don’t need your help. I’m super woman. I have strong legs and can multitask. So I paid for meals and drinks.

The other reason was self esteem issues. “I don’t want to trouble anyone. I’ll just sit here reading this Surgeon’s diary and be completely invisible.”

But on looking deeper I think the three theories were hinged on something utterly poisonous inside:

Theory number 1.  Not knowing how to time my requests, and using the wrong tone.

After an outing:

‘I want a wire bicycle.’

Of course I didn’t get it

Theory no 2.  Self independence. In other words selfishness. Thinking I am content and complete not needing anything from anyone simply translates to: I don’t want anything from you, so don’t need anything from me OK?

Theory no.3 Being illegitimate I’ve worn this like a religious vest to torture myself. I closed myself off to people that loved and were willing to assist me. By not wanting to cause anyone any trouble, and “ I’m better off away from everyone so everyone can breath…” I held back love and spooned it out in small doses to some whom I felt were worth it. And completely refused to give it to anyone that didn’t reach the mark.

It is only through the eyes of genuine friends I’ve been able to really see myself as I’ve been. Obstinate, bitter, selfish.

 By putting myself in situations where my, self assumed worth is non-existent, the rough edges are getting less edgy. Like the job I had as a maid in a Somali homestead. They paid me Ksh 66 everyday. I cleaned, scrubbed, brushed, dusted, drugged around furniture, washed  and swept. For six weeks.

 For six weeks I was just the cleaning  lady, sometimes they gave me black tea.

No thank you is still the first response that comes to mind.

-Will you come for the party?-

No, I can’t make it

-Oh, you have plans?-

No, I just remembered I don’t, see you Saturday night, thanks.

In the last, 5, 6 years I have accepted, money(cringe), a holiday(cringe), an expensive gadget(cringe),  dinner(cringe) ,  clothes(cringe).  

My life is now getting less walled in, less private and positively less complicated.

REFLECTIONS 2014

You are a woman when

 Your flesh tears and bleeds

 But you gotta work

 You gotta eat

You gotta feed your herd

You are   woman stepping into

The steps of your grandmothers

Mothers aunts and big sisters

 Your back is no longer delicate.

 A woman cleans brushes and scrubs

Has bruises and broken nails

And the often swollen fingers-

The feet occasionally ,Sometimes eyes

 From lack of sleep

 Or rest

 Or  from tears.

 You are a woman

And your man is special

You want him alright

Being himself

Being a woman

Easy

Hard

fun

 Pure misery at times.

Joys and sorrows

Feelings and emotions

Hopes and fears, define a woman.

pictures googled, thank you very much.

Reflections 2013

Namanga is a very very small town that could easily swallow you up in its own small social politics  then vomit you through its congested exists.

But in the news: East African community market, big business coming our way. Oh yeah and the perpetual hostility just below the skin?

So everyone is selling off.

Plots and wasteland.

 And the local club is moving further inland and the wildlife running away, dying.

But we have the animal protection in patrol.

While the white rocks; where do the white rocks end up?

 The soil for the roads- yea yea- we’ve seen the trucks.. ah so much soil Mr. Chin, but the rocks? And beneath the white rock?

And  they  peep and whisper as I pass .

“Eva,” they respond to my “soba.”

I wonder which Bantu doesn’t cal nyau nyau.  I mean cat, cat. so they now call it pepo and they watch me closely, and I wonder where nyau got  bruises on his head and I wanna just shake my fist at someone, but I would rather not. 2 years . 2 years is not a long time. Maybe my next home will have a balcony, and less Bantu.