Evil spirits landed in my village, I have not been able to write since then but sorry not, we are brewing herbs and other stuff
I am a little girl in the village with muddy palms, cracked feet and a stream of thick mucus running down my lips with a determined tributary headed to the ear. I am that tiny ball of life that stares at you, reading you like a book, I know everything about you, including what you did last holiday behind the CDF Tank. I have brown teeth, sun for eyes and I enjoy urine flavored pastries served in fine china- a collection of plastics heaped in a green paper bag, sourced from the best garbage Stalls. I own a mass grave in my grandmother’s home, a neat line of dead beetles decorated by a fine layer of fresh cow dung, send to the next life in a somber ceremony. I mourn my friends daily.
I have been taught to sit properly –day and night- That is why, whenever I go to school, I safely hoist down my heart shaped panty and tuck it in my bag, No one will see my bad manners!
On my borrowed wall hangs a picture of a bleeding Wangari Mathai flunked by charged women, signed at the bottom – I will shed blood for my country, Kimathi shed blood for our land, our country- I think she is the most beautiful woman in the world. I wish to be her when I grow up.
Mum is Dad.
I scrub my face with leaves and stones to be rid of the dark crude oil colour. I have bush hair that simply refuses to run with the wind like the girls on TV. I have dreams of owning boxes filled with pretty dresses and many cans of red paint for my lips. I chase after vehicles proclaiming them as my mine. One day – many years from now – I will go to law school and learn big words.
I do not eat a lot – all I eat settles on my backside, all the boys laugh at me, except for this one boy who has promised to show me his over grown third leg apparently hidden between his thighs, if I show him my ‘pupu’. I have a feeling, life is sparked when girl’s lay on their back, legs quarter to three, except for Mary of the Bible, who knows…
When hungry I eat my orange breasts.
When I grow up I will try to act surprised when the world finally accepts that black is beautiful, some little girl from kisumu – black as night- will win an Oscar and black girls will be celebrated. I will own thick thighs that will threaten to start a fire every time I walk. I will look ridiculous in red lips, factory hair, tight pants and crooked heels.
One day I will tell of tales between our thighs, about my vagina and the yam pounding she has endured out of her own free will or through brutal force. I will be warned and advised- some will pray and fast, but I will write the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
I will lose my virginity under a mango tree, years later I will travel back to the same spot in search of my hymen as requested by society. I will not find my membrane, only two goats humping away. I will yank my bra, throw away my shoes, sit on the wet earth and laugh until I register on the rectum scale. I will sip from my Guarana can and escort the sun home.
I will study law and master fifty shades of truth and lies, hopefully I will do the right thing with the acquired knowledge. I will give back to my community, I will teach them everything I know, I will empower them to help themselves. Hopefully they will not need me anymore.
One day, when I grow up, I will craft words in honor of Life, Love and Laughter.