When my monthly flow stopped flowing,
my breast rose and fell to the tunes of my racing heart
standing outside my mother’s hut in Mukurweini
I faced the mountain with new pride,
my head held high
I commanded the sun to bless me
I had life within me-inside me.
I was god.
On that day- when red disappeared,
standing in front of the metal basin
I watched my dancing reflection with awe
I poked out my stomach and twirled round and round,
my pink dress flew up to my thighs again
just like the first time, when you twirled me round and round
as we danced the night away at ‘To go is to see bed and breakfast’
bed I was,Breakfast-He fed on me.
On that day,
clutching your writing on my hand
I hopped, skipped and jumped to the market place
pausing momentarily to caress my pot of life
I did not want to fall like the Mexican women on TV, weak!
I can carry man,
I can carry pot
I can carry firewood,
I Will carry baby.
On that day,
I stood in line waiting for my turn to call
I wrote and deleted sentences in my head,
“Otieno Darling you are going to be a father…
Sweetheart am with child…
Baby the messiah cometh, finally the mountain and lake will agree…
Baby how is the weather…
Omera baby you remember that night…”
On that fateful day,
I listened to you
you, who rode me like boda boda,
you, whose rivers flooded me with life, hurl
“I never loved you,I don’t even believe in cupid,
only thick-headed girls get pregnant
Give me a break please…”
Tears fell from my eyes but I did not cry
Your rejection killed my knees
I crawled from the telephone booth
like a mad woman I run back home
yanked your picture from my wall
tore up your ugly pink dress
I made a fire-I watched you burn
It was then That I cried.
But that was then
Today I do not walk
your son-My son
has grown up to my nose
When He comes
I will call him Kiai
and if ever he asks of you
I will feign tears and recite of how you died,
you were minced by a Caterpillar tractor on Thika Road.
Patrick Ambani Photography