When life gives you lemons, make lemonade

Thursday, 31 January 2013

deathly lullaby

When my heart’s wounded I shall weep not because I am weak but because mourning is the fastest way to deal away with grief
I’ll sing my deathly odes in form of lullabies and let my sore heart drown in insufferable sorrow
My only wish is for the pain to go but it seems like a tattoo on my fragile heart
The thought of suicide crawls in but I always knew better not to trust anything that crawls
Deathly lullaby, I sing your tunes tonight.
I sing a verse which carries me to my deathbed only for a while like a vampire in horrific hibernation
I dance to horrendous verses that only make my ears bleed in reality
My heart begs for peace like  a little child pleads for candy in a candy shop
But my adventurous soul will not welcome it easily.
I lurk in dark shadows that draw me in like demons
Far away I see the light but my heart ventures in dull spirits
My only wish is to see these wounds heal and my pain gone
But the pain feeds on my heart and gnaws at my heart like a parasite
Silent tears sting my agile face and crumple my pugnacious heart
Killing me with every bite yet so painless…
Yet my heart still yearns to stay in this shadow.. .
Maybe for a while, maybe for ever

Paying attention to the devil

The cold had become brutally malevolent and a bone could break if it could easily turn into ice.
I had my mind in control so freakishly that even if a single needle dropped in this odd yet sincere silence I would not hear it.
My mind had blatantly remained empty and the temptation to think had come so close to nothing.
The floor below me was ice cold and my trifling body caved in like a little kitten scared to take its bath.
The time had come for me to face my fears. For a long time I always thought I’d brush them away with one wave of the hand but I was obviously wrong.
The guy with the sharp horns and disfigured face had crawled vaguely in my imaginative mind not so often.
I always brushed him off like some superstition I always thought he was.
But tables had now turned, I was the one who was lurking in his place. The dark.
And for the first time, I paid attention to the devil!
I looked him in his partisan eyes and spat nastily .
“What about you makes people so afraid”
He pushed out his arrow shaped long tongue as if to torment me in my child like nightmares.
Suddenly the ground wasn’t cold anymore. I pushed my tongue out in retaliation and the devil shivered.
Suddenly, I was in control and he felt mocked. My imagination was at its best  as my tongue wrapped the devil around and threw him to his knees.
“you should have paid more attention to me like I did to you,” I said proudly.
With that said, I swayed him out of my head to the pits where he belonged.
I had spent quite some time studying him and if there’s anything I had mastered it was the devil is more afraid of me than I am of him.

Wednesday, 30 January 2013

petit a petit, l’oiseaux fait son nid

A little bit of everything could add up to pretty much everything that you ever wanted.
My French mentor once said “petit a petit, l’oiseaux  fait son nid
A proverb that I can never forget; meaning slowly by slowly a bird builds its nest.
It had been a long melee for me before I finally mastered the art of how to do all these things here and there.
For a long time I didn’t quite know what to do. My choices were billions and my dreams were equivocal.
The only thing that could keep me lucid and sane was writing.
The person that I have to thank so much for my writing is my late aunt Licken. If you have read a lot of fairy tales in elementary/primary school you would know Chicken Licken.
She taught me how to explore my passion and write creative stories from the tender age of 8 years.
I would compete with my twin sister and my cousin Jr. to see who writes best.
Aunt Licken was always sure to give us all the same mark unfortunately or fortunately. God bless her soul.
If I fought with anyone or had my usual midlife crises such as the famous teenage quagmire, I wrote, wrote and wrote.
I developed a writing and reading culture from a tender age but all the time someone asked what I wanted to be I’d wonder.
My head would go into a wild phase. It was like solving a mathematical equation; a lot of thought and calculations put into it before finally coming up with a correct answer.
Yet time and again, I went back and wrote to weigh my options of what I wanted to do.
One day I sat down to write a book about the memoirs of my life. It was like a brief novel summarizing the various encounters I had as a teenager.
My teenage hood had been pretty dramatic and I could write volumes of books about it. Yes, there it goes again writing.
I always sat back and wondered what my true calling is. I just watched people do what they loved to do as I unconsciously did what I wanted to do to.
Then when day, a very smart person I look up to said to me “Hope, I see you write all the single time you have something on your mind, I think that might be your true calling.”
I revised his words over and over. “You should start a blog” he continued.
Suddenly, it all begun to make sense.
I had written tons of books and short novels about everything that I always did or went through.
I noted down a lot of staff in my diary since I was 13 years old, I always had one of the best literature or English stories or work in school.
If there was my true calling really it was to write.
At that particular time I realized that if you always have to do something unconsciously or every other time you have nothing else to do, it’s probably your calling.
If you don’t have to be stressed out or it comes easily as you do it, it is probably the right path.
Doing something when you are bored or when you are inspired is probably what you have to focus on. After all, you cannot really enjoy your job unless you like it.
So slowly by slowly I begun to build my nest. A fire works of stimulus had detonated within me.
For a long time I had wondered what my true destination was yet for a long time my passion was always so strong, visible and honest.
I went to the University still pondering what I wanted to do. I loved photography although I was far from a professional when it came to cameras.
However, I liked the stories that the pictures depicted. With each picture, there was a story behind it. With each picture was some kind of inspiration that only the critical eye could scrutinize.
At that precise moment I decided my nest would be built on words rather than dried grass. From that moment I picked up my laptop and wrote, to instigate, to tell a story and to prove to myself that it was time to start building my nest so that other people could probably be able to inspired to.

Saturday, 12 January 2013

welcome the foreigner

Champagne settled graciously in my belly. Warm, caressing and invited. Everyone made a drunken toast for the fifth time and laughed aimlessly.
Shortly, the night closed and everyone was rushing back upstairs to their beds as the clouds gathered maliciously.
Down below my cousin opened the gate and the guests left in a bee queue.
As the guests left I and my sisters waved goodbye from the balcony.
Suddenly my cousin left too and he left the gate wide open.
As we walked away from the balcony to the comfort of our rooms, a disturbing feeling settled in my tummy.
I tried to sleep but my stomach clenched and twisted unpleasantly.
As I tried to close my eyes, I felt my gate bang with a harsh thud and my eyes fell open.
I staggered to the balcony and watched my dad rush to the gate to close it. He complained and muttered something about carelessness.
As he tried to close the gates, two girls and a boy holding knives threatened him to stay away.
He backed away slowly and my heart almost jumped out from my bossom.
I tried to creep away without being seen but I’d already been spotted. I rushed to hide under my bed and smuggled my phone into my bossom along with my pumping heart.
I felt heavy breathing and looked to my right and there was my twin sister, my little sister and my big sister.
Everyone looked scared. My heart went out to my father. Then it hit me, OMG the front door was open too. I ran to the front door to close it but it was too late.
One of the girls held my hand and gave me chloroform and then the world went blur and spun painfully but playfully.
Then it was as dark as I ever saw.
The next thing I knew I was waking chained up with the rest of my sisters.
The room we were in was as small as a washroom but somehow all four of us together with our kidnappers managed to fit in there.
“Where is our father,” I spat out nastily and memories of the whole incident begun to sink back in.
Now there was a fat middle aged woman whose face was disfigured as a result of years of years of bleaching her skin and rapid aging.
Wrinkles and evil marks coated he face to elucidate her character.
She pointed at my phone and smiledspitefully like she was mocking me.
I quickly grabbed it from the ground and looked at the screen; my dad was okay.
My sisters looked at me eagerly and I nodded in a very slow but reassuring manner.
The middle aged lady grabbed my phone and threw it in the corner.
“Why are we here?” my big sister asked in obvious annoyance.
“It’s hunting season, girls what century do you live in?” The middle aged woman belched out with a cackle.
We all looked at each other in confusion. She got up and laughed viciously, walked to a board and begins to explain herself.
“See every year; foreign men come for beautiful young ladies all the way to Uganda,” she explained herself assertively.
“Abduction and then arranged marriages,” I swallowed hard.
“Oh not agreedmatrimonies my dear, it’s a sacrifice for the forest…the great forest” she said that and laughed in glee.
“We will not accept” my little sister screamed and with that the door flew open.
The foreigners came in sniffing nastily. One was grey haired and the other looked like he was in his mid-thirties.
They regarded us carefully and smiled.
“We will take this one” the guy in his thirties said pulling my big sister up.
“The rest are still children” the other said and the lady walked towards us, untied us and set us free.
We were too shocked to run or do anything so we just stood frozen.
Suddenly, my phone rung.It was my mother.
I looked at the rest of the kidnapping party for an approval and they nodded in acceptance.
“hallo, mother?”
“I am outside hunny, come to the car”
I dropped my phone and signaled to my sisters and we all ran outside.
My big sister however stayed inside with our kidnappers.
Outside, we found the police together with my mother and dad waiting.
Long with them were some of my friends Tulip and kuku.
The whole family and clan had come as usual. I was confused and stressed.
The police rushed in to rescue my big sister and they came out cuffing the old woman but the men were free.
I was even more confused and suddenly the old foreigner walked to me and explained to me.
“Ceecee has finally been arrested for trafficking girls for sacrifices”
I nodded to prove that I had understood.
Ceecee, as I had come to know her name now paused as she was being dragged to the police car. “You’re very beautiful, when you’re grown up, I’ll take you shopping and prepare you for the most handsome foreign guy. Then, he’ll take you to the forest.”
She smiled in a disturbed manner and walked away into the police car.
I looked traumatized but watching them drag her to the police car gave me some comfort.
The clouds bellowed and I noticed it was dawn.
The birds chirped happily as we entered the car to go home.
I lay back to sleep on the seats and then the seat became softer and softer.
I suddenly felt like I was in a cozy bed, my eyes flew open and I looked out the window.
I was in my bed; it was a cold windy morning.
I sat up on my bed to my relief. It was all a bad dream.
I was safe and happily tucked in my bed at home.
The wine that we had taken last night had widened my imagination and crept into my dream.
I sighed and smiled. It was going to be a long interesting day.

Tuesday, 8 January 2013

the bird bath

It’s so excruciating when you lose the one thing you loved so much that you always though tit would be around forever.
The little things you took for granted and never realized how precious they were till they were long gone…
You are now only hanging by a thin thread of failing hope that even a fool wouldn’t bother to stand by but you hold onto it anyway.
The frustration of trying so hard not to fall down with the breaking rope is overpowering.
Beads of sweat built up so thick you can literally be drowned by your own fears.
Your imagination is running wild and the only thing that keeps you going is the sound of the birds.
You can hear them sing despite your struggle and your botch.
It’s hard to tell if they are merely mocking you or encouraging you to keep fighting.
The tweeting suddenly makes sense. The bird is not chirping because it is mocking you definitely.
I look down below and see what makes the bird chirrup so. The sweet melody suddenly breaks the chains that have held me for so long; the anger that has maliciously crippled me and blinded my judgment for so long has long been cast away.
I look further down below the balcony and realized why the bird chorused so.
If it wasn’t taking a bath, the red and black little feathered creature was performing a ritual that involved spreading of water all over its body.
Its beak and feathers threw the water in the air and it landed back graciously on its feathers.
The movement of the water downwards reminded me of the little fountains I’d only seen in fairy tales.
The fountains where the birds bathed with the fairies in perfect harmony.
The water sprinkled down playfully like drops of dew sliding of a flower after it’s been disturbed by the morning wind.
Lots and lots of dew sprinkling down its body in the most sophisticated manner.
It then rose up from the paddle of water and shook it off its body.
The most endearing sight that I ever saw! So elegant and dreamlike.
As I continued to gaze in fascination, the bird finally finished its routine.
But as it did it used its beak to make ripples in the water and flew off.
I walked back into my room wondering why it had to stop to make ripples first before it left. Why it came to take a bath in the puddle way below in the compound.
Then I went back to the balcony unconsciously.
The bird had made the ripples as its mark that it had been there.
Even if the ripples died out as the water settled, the ripples gave hope that the bird would be back one day.
I had spent three precious minutes of life watching a little robin take its bath; I had been too awed to take a picture because somehow I thought it was too unreal to be happening.
Those were one of the best three minutes of my life. So tranquil, melancholic and surreal.
It’s until then that I noticed the thread I had been holding onto was not thin but rather thick and growing even more.
A flare of hope sparked through the leaves in form of a sun ray.
A group of little robins flew off but one settled on the telephone wire line and looked down into the puddle of water.
A smile curved my face as the bird flew away to catch up with the rest of the birds.
There was one thing that I knew had been restored…hope. It wasn’t time to give up.
My struggle was still promising a worthwhile end.