I have never known the love of a father. I was barely past the toddler age when he died oh sorry, when he rested. My mother, a young confused woman, got devastated. She did not know what to do with me. I seemed to be the burden which brought all the misery on her. If my father had just died and left her without a child to look after, I guess things would have been easier for her.
But that was not the case; she was young and widowed worse of all, with a young boy to take care of. My presence did not ease the pain, it only worsened it. She could not bear to look into my questioning eyes and let me know that I would have to grow up without a father. Without a person to take care of my needs like fathers do to their sons. With no one to teach me things which men do. My mama always kept quite about her struggles.
She never used to complain, but she was scrambling from the inside. Mama knew she would give up any minute, no one cared or seemed to notice. Until she finally gave up I can not fully comprehend how hard it was, or what went through her mind at the moment. I just know she could not take it anymore and did what she had to do; let go of her burden. Now, with the knowledge of both ends, I can only admire her strength.
I never had the chance to face my mother with all these. I could not confront her because she must have had good reasons for doing what she did. Am not sure of how I would have reacted to her answers. But I have always been wondering whether she was just fed up with me or if she really had to let go of me.
Of course I understand it is a struggle, but to give your child away just like that, no mommy, this is still too much for me and am sure I will go to the grave wondering why you really had to do it. I love you mama, but this pain will have to stay with me forever because it can never be erased. Every time I see a struggling woman you will always come to my mind.
When I see an abandoned child, you get into my mind. Do you see the mix up mama it is pity well blended with contempt and am not sure which one should over rule the other. Morals make me to over look contempt, but every time I turn my back on it what faces me is a sick or a hungry child.
Exactly what I should have looked like then, when I had nothing to call my own. I must have disgusted you mama, but was it really worth it, me, your son, thrown from your sight? Scavenging in street bins like a dog, sleeping in the stinging cold of the night as I wondered and wished for the end of all the misery. This is why I march around the world.
This is why I can not let any hurting person to keep hurting, this is why, I can never let the smile on my face fade, because there are so many people who long for the sight of the slightest smile at them. I cry in my silent prayers for the hurting world to heal, because I have been there. I have tasted the painful crunching of the heart; that’s why I understand.
Baby, I know what you are going through, I may not be able to comprehend the extent of the pain it caused you. But what I know is that our pasts live with us. This must have taken a great toll in your life, but you have to be strong, just as strong as you have always been. The past is gone, and you have a future to live on baby.
I know you have not been clinging on to the painful past, but whenever you get distant, I see it. Your quiet desire to just be given real love, care and understanding pierces my heart and makes me want to hold you in my arms. You may not know how I realize, as you always try to play the strong man, but because I love you so much, I see it and I feel it in my heart.
I am a mom with a son the same age as you were then, I know how sensitive you boys can be and that is why I offer to give you that which you never had the chance to be given. There is nothing we can do now, I would wish to turn around time but that is impossible. Just know that I love you so much and will never forget how you cuddle around me. It shows baby, it is so clear to me and I can just promise to make it up to you.
This is a true story of a woman who loved a man who had been abandoned as a child. It is hard and painful to understand someone who has grown up with so much pain in the heart. For the sake of building up lasting relationships, the best thing to do is to learn a partner and treat each other right.
Monday, January 31, 2011
MY BREATH
I cherish you my breath,
You hold my health,
You could be my last,
Never cared in the past.
Bur worry dawns on me,
How later would be,
With the maggots yellow teeth,
Menacing at my flesh.
If I could evade death,
I’d save you dear breath,
But its live and roaring in my veins,
Like a mad hungry river thirsty to drawn.
Sucking my bones of its strength,
Draining my heart of its joy,
My hopes are covered with doubt,
And planting hollowness in me.
Its you breath that hold me,
My hopes clinging unto you,
Like a tick on dead skin,
Hoping it’d tick a little longer.
My breath,
My faith,
My health,
My death.
You hold my health,
You could be my last,
Never cared in the past.
Bur worry dawns on me,
How later would be,
With the maggots yellow teeth,
Menacing at my flesh.
If I could evade death,
I’d save you dear breath,
But its live and roaring in my veins,
Like a mad hungry river thirsty to drawn.
Sucking my bones of its strength,
Draining my heart of its joy,
My hopes are covered with doubt,
And planting hollowness in me.
Its you breath that hold me,
My hopes clinging unto you,
Like a tick on dead skin,
Hoping it’d tick a little longer.
My breath,
My faith,
My health,
My death.
BAD BAKE
Bake the cake,
Take the pain,
Cake cracked,
Boring brown,
Bake cake bad.
Bad bake,
Heavy, brown-up,
Middle sunk,
Smeared & spread,
Bake cake bad.
Stomach sick,
Bake bad,
Stomach rumble,
Flour raw,
Bake cake bad.
Take the pain,
Cake cracked,
Boring brown,
Bake cake bad.
Bad bake,
Heavy, brown-up,
Middle sunk,
Smeared & spread,
Bake cake bad.
Stomach sick,
Bake bad,
Stomach rumble,
Flour raw,
Bake cake bad.
GREAT KEAN CITY
In days of uncertainty,
Fortune is dragged no further from death by fate,
This is all I conclude,
As on a street corner,
I sit and watch,
Like a tired journalist on eleventh hour,
A midst restlessness and despair,
In search of a breath- taking week pick.
Oh busy termites,
Do you ever rest?
To all directions you move,
Some, mumbling to themselves,
What do they say? God knows,
What are they thinking? I don’t know,
Can you tell me?
Don’t those shattered fractured
Hopes bother you too?
On scarce city grass,
Helplessly lie tired bones,
As though lifeless,
Neither the passing people,
Nor the noisy vehicles bother them,
Shot of grass,
On hot pavements they lie,
Don’t they feel the scorching sun?
Are they hungry or just tired?
Who dare ask them?
They are street men, women and kids!
We are too a noble species
(To twist reality)
What else we can’t mix,
Kean City a dilemma.
Is life a match in a pitch?
With a discriminative referee?
Oh! No, life’s referee is God,
All non-discriminative,
His ambassadors all over,
Some doubt their work, an inch apart,
But to take it on the face,
Doubts right in place,
Who’s best?
I won’t test,
It’s God they call,
For you and I to smile,
Our eyes tear filled,
As on the other end,
On a man’s neck hang a tyre.
Caught with long hands,
Oh dear, round the bend,
My beloved ones, cries the man,
His pursuers turn,
And sees a nursery,
Is that their teacher?
Oh! No, mother,
All in tatters,
My fortieth day, fight against economy,
Pray my family in Kean city,
A sorrowful scene,
Who lacks a heart?
Oh passers-by,
My begging neighbour,
Arms stretched throughout the hour
Passing pockets coin less!
But where have the dropped ones gone?
Oh, Kean City,
What do I eat, junk?
No, doctor said,
A fruit, yark! So flat,
Ah! After all I’m a penniless street idler,
Not a pinch of salt,
Not a drop of water,
In my slum iron patch hut,
Real valuables, ha ha,
Who knows?
I fit Kim’s suit,
And Mbugua’s shoes, splendid!
Kinya’s pair of socks match well.
It’s evening, workers and jobless-home,
One hand in pocket,
Hear tip tap of my shoes
Kean City king is passing!
Am I not a graduate!
Who was hopeful like students?
But all offices close at my appearance,
So, a face I must make to please “she”,
Keen City demands,
To be real man for she,
Life is tooth and nail in Kean City,
Hurray! Kean City, back to hoe.
Fortune is dragged no further from death by fate,
This is all I conclude,
As on a street corner,
I sit and watch,
Like a tired journalist on eleventh hour,
A midst restlessness and despair,
In search of a breath- taking week pick.
Oh busy termites,
Do you ever rest?
To all directions you move,
Some, mumbling to themselves,
What do they say? God knows,
What are they thinking? I don’t know,
Can you tell me?
Don’t those shattered fractured
Hopes bother you too?
On scarce city grass,
Helplessly lie tired bones,
As though lifeless,
Neither the passing people,
Nor the noisy vehicles bother them,
Shot of grass,
On hot pavements they lie,
Don’t they feel the scorching sun?
Are they hungry or just tired?
Who dare ask them?
They are street men, women and kids!
We are too a noble species
(To twist reality)
What else we can’t mix,
Kean City a dilemma.
Is life a match in a pitch?
With a discriminative referee?
Oh! No, life’s referee is God,
All non-discriminative,
His ambassadors all over,
Some doubt their work, an inch apart,
But to take it on the face,
Doubts right in place,
Who’s best?
I won’t test,
It’s God they call,
For you and I to smile,
Our eyes tear filled,
As on the other end,
On a man’s neck hang a tyre.
Caught with long hands,
Oh dear, round the bend,
My beloved ones, cries the man,
His pursuers turn,
And sees a nursery,
Is that their teacher?
Oh! No, mother,
All in tatters,
My fortieth day, fight against economy,
Pray my family in Kean city,
A sorrowful scene,
Who lacks a heart?
Oh passers-by,
My begging neighbour,
Arms stretched throughout the hour
Passing pockets coin less!
But where have the dropped ones gone?
Oh, Kean City,
What do I eat, junk?
No, doctor said,
A fruit, yark! So flat,
Ah! After all I’m a penniless street idler,
Not a pinch of salt,
Not a drop of water,
In my slum iron patch hut,
Real valuables, ha ha,
Who knows?
I fit Kim’s suit,
And Mbugua’s shoes, splendid!
Kinya’s pair of socks match well.
It’s evening, workers and jobless-home,
One hand in pocket,
Hear tip tap of my shoes
Kean City king is passing!
Am I not a graduate!
Who was hopeful like students?
But all offices close at my appearance,
So, a face I must make to please “she”,
Keen City demands,
To be real man for she,
Life is tooth and nail in Kean City,
Hurray! Kean City, back to hoe.
NO DELUDE
Young moon,
Shines bright,
Through night,
Message of life,
As hard the strife,
Head high,
Hopes high,
Glorious rays,
All pray,
Forever stay.
I was lonely, people all round,
Sat, brushed shoulders with - yet all alone,
With human heart bound,
Out of satanic desires separated,
I could not talk like of the home,
Others with thoughts desolate,
Which in the wild did roam,
If only to find accusing points.
Old moon,
Full of doom,
Looks downcast,
Tired rays,
Doom on all,
They upon fall,
Message of death,
Cast on earth,
Beauty gone,
All is done,
Dies the moon,
Let it rise beautiful
Regarded as no guest,
If I were one by any way,
Called a loathing pest - for the better of the conclusion,
Haunted by break of day,
Through to its verdict,
Judgement from high court,
I was a daily convict.
Hey cousine, you are wrong,
Believe it the journey is long,
Glory over your father’s wealth,
Forget not we are on earth,
Your lips full of lies,
For I to be hated you tell,
Sweet to see you smile,
As you crouch on the couch,
It gonna be for a while,
If your books you don’t touch,
Your eyes can swallow the screen,
Whenever I make an appearance,
For loud you scream,
Before the remote you press,
Ha ha! Who cares,
Hey princess, your daddy is knocking.
Mere chases after the wind,
Always base-less fighters,
Things they think you mind,
Kept ever at bay,
When all you need is peace.
Peace, peace of mind,
Chilly and pale is morning,
No sun, birds over mourning,
Shapeless, hue-less lie the cloud,
Maize plant all bowed,
Still boiling is the storm,
As though not yet enough,
That’s to the heart too strong,
Great trouble to my mind,
Joy, I might never find,
But, to kneel down,
Right at his feet,
Coz of contempt he’s shown,
And beg him so sweet,
Never, never, never. do uncle proud.
Determination to the end,
Through meandering bends,
Like the most holy,
Let him and his folly,
Go on. Amen,
I’d gone to estate church,
As usual I did on Sundays,
At heart lay a stubborn hunch,
That ahead lay a big day,
Sat down in silence,
Not my heart did beat,
I noticed a special presence,
A silent prayer I made.
High grew noon heat,
Lifting my eyes,
Sweet smile in return,
From high skies,
Rich in power and grace,
That all human adore,
Oh! Heavens endure,
He at last ensure,
Of one true love.
This can’t be a dream,
Coz just a little while,
I saw like a light beam,
An angel at me smile,
If ahead lies what he showed,
Then life was not so cruel,
Just a smile could make it sweet,
But heavens close,
Gone is the light,
Not knowing the cause,
Sorrow seize me,
That light’s short to be.
Later often the light appeared,
Good friends we did become,
Pain and joy we shared,
Peace my fractured heart knew not,
Praying for the future,
Home-hate no threat,
At least one did care,
I’ll never in life retreat.
Mans pride is a beautiful flower,
Under natures concern, both have no power,
Still kindness to one another so expensive!
Whispers, hints at others shame,
Not a warning, even if we could,
But, Gods drift is swift, ever veiled,
Not a hint, of tomorrows plan,
Let he who made us take control.
Kneeling at the alter,
Only place to shelter,
From much congestion,
From much conflict and influence,
Away from old vacuum,
To gather back life,
To lord I say,
Take me home,
To be lone,
Thoughts well in,
Holding my sun bye rain,
Letting go of the past,
Holding my sun by rain,
Off to far land,
In future I’ll land,
My future at hand,
To mold or,
To break.
He has led me home,
My love, my only friend,
None like him, none,
So warm in my blood,
Running on and on,
Calmed to the long-wished for end,
Filled to the brim,
Near promised good,
Life’s turning glorious!
None like him ,none,
Resting on short talks,
As we on the way did walk,
Then he turned to go,
As if we won’t let it be,
We turn and smile,
But he walks away briskly,
God with you I last pray,
Off I go, till we meet again,
My saviour ascended. Amen
Shines bright,
Through night,
Message of life,
As hard the strife,
Head high,
Hopes high,
Glorious rays,
All pray,
Forever stay.
I was lonely, people all round,
Sat, brushed shoulders with - yet all alone,
With human heart bound,
Out of satanic desires separated,
I could not talk like of the home,
Others with thoughts desolate,
Which in the wild did roam,
If only to find accusing points.
Old moon,
Full of doom,
Looks downcast,
Tired rays,
Doom on all,
They upon fall,
Message of death,
Cast on earth,
Beauty gone,
All is done,
Dies the moon,
Let it rise beautiful
Regarded as no guest,
If I were one by any way,
Called a loathing pest - for the better of the conclusion,
Haunted by break of day,
Through to its verdict,
Judgement from high court,
I was a daily convict.
Hey cousine, you are wrong,
Believe it the journey is long,
Glory over your father’s wealth,
Forget not we are on earth,
Your lips full of lies,
For I to be hated you tell,
Sweet to see you smile,
As you crouch on the couch,
It gonna be for a while,
If your books you don’t touch,
Your eyes can swallow the screen,
Whenever I make an appearance,
For loud you scream,
Before the remote you press,
Ha ha! Who cares,
Hey princess, your daddy is knocking.
Mere chases after the wind,
Always base-less fighters,
Things they think you mind,
Kept ever at bay,
When all you need is peace.
Peace, peace of mind,
Chilly and pale is morning,
No sun, birds over mourning,
Shapeless, hue-less lie the cloud,
Maize plant all bowed,
Still boiling is the storm,
As though not yet enough,
That’s to the heart too strong,
Great trouble to my mind,
Joy, I might never find,
But, to kneel down,
Right at his feet,
Coz of contempt he’s shown,
And beg him so sweet,
Never, never, never. do uncle proud.
Determination to the end,
Through meandering bends,
Like the most holy,
Let him and his folly,
Go on. Amen,
I’d gone to estate church,
As usual I did on Sundays,
At heart lay a stubborn hunch,
That ahead lay a big day,
Sat down in silence,
Not my heart did beat,
I noticed a special presence,
A silent prayer I made.
High grew noon heat,
Lifting my eyes,
Sweet smile in return,
From high skies,
Rich in power and grace,
That all human adore,
Oh! Heavens endure,
He at last ensure,
Of one true love.
This can’t be a dream,
Coz just a little while,
I saw like a light beam,
An angel at me smile,
If ahead lies what he showed,
Then life was not so cruel,
Just a smile could make it sweet,
But heavens close,
Gone is the light,
Not knowing the cause,
Sorrow seize me,
That light’s short to be.
Later often the light appeared,
Good friends we did become,
Pain and joy we shared,
Peace my fractured heart knew not,
Praying for the future,
Home-hate no threat,
At least one did care,
I’ll never in life retreat.
Mans pride is a beautiful flower,
Under natures concern, both have no power,
Still kindness to one another so expensive!
Whispers, hints at others shame,
Not a warning, even if we could,
But, Gods drift is swift, ever veiled,
Not a hint, of tomorrows plan,
Let he who made us take control.
Kneeling at the alter,
Only place to shelter,
From much congestion,
From much conflict and influence,
Away from old vacuum,
To gather back life,
To lord I say,
Take me home,
To be lone,
Thoughts well in,
Holding my sun bye rain,
Letting go of the past,
Holding my sun by rain,
Off to far land,
In future I’ll land,
My future at hand,
To mold or,
To break.
He has led me home,
My love, my only friend,
None like him, none,
So warm in my blood,
Running on and on,
Calmed to the long-wished for end,
Filled to the brim,
Near promised good,
Life’s turning glorious!
None like him ,none,
Resting on short talks,
As we on the way did walk,
Then he turned to go,
As if we won’t let it be,
We turn and smile,
But he walks away briskly,
God with you I last pray,
Off I go, till we meet again,
My saviour ascended. Amen
Punglu n Pwap
This is my story about the people of Kanyading’ding’. It is not so long ago because Opuk my greatest grandfather was still there! And you know what? I’m here. Or you think if he were not there I would be here now? Wee usilete vako bana. You know what Puklu, these things have not started now, they have been there. Maybe, better.
Ehe Pakla,
I have never lied to you, have I?
A A never
So let me tell you about the Kanyading’ding’ people. (Clears his throat) there was this beautiful Nyadendi I have never known her real name, because every time I hear her story, emotions take me off, am carried by the winds to back in the days and at the feet of my greatest grand father I set myself, to be sure that today, I can tell you the same story. So, Puklu, allow me to call her Nyadendi. (A song in praise of Nyadendi, Puklu and Pakla both sing)
Hey! Hey! Pakla, you need some more kwete, and then you promise not to go there, but stay here, until the story is over.
Puklu, I have never said no to busaa. Let me tell you about Nyadendi, she was beautiful.
Must be the most beautiful woman any man has ever even had in his illusions. She was beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful. (Drinks’ some busaa from the calabash) she had neither hip-star, nor spa-strap. But she left men staggering wherever she passed. Her breasts were covered in ondakla-banana bark- her waist was adorned in bright caloured beads do you know how they were called? Ah! Puklu, they are called winde. Wi
Nde
Wi
Nde.
Yes, winde. And beneath the winde, she had a round sisal skirt called owalo. I tell you, she was beautiful. On her neck she had tigo. The improvision my sister has named necklace. She had a pronounced gap on her upper jaw. Since these Kanyadin’ding’ people never wanted to leave anything without a name, they called her gap mbanya. Nyadendi Rambanya
Ooh Nyadendi, (a song – chogo min ohero nyadendi yo X2 ayaye nyadendi yo chogo min ohero Nyadendi yo) X2
Puklu, Puklu
Pakla,
Don’t finish the sweet song, before you see the graceful steps of Nyadendi balancing her water pot from the river. Her buttocks swayed in a rhythm that all of us have a tune for in the play ground. But the one Puklu and Pakla love is this
Kabich, Carrot X3
This is the reason, why many men went for amen (wrestling) until the strongest man in the village was found and allowed to marry Nyadendi. (Ululations) it was sigalagala everywhere, because the beautiful Nyadendi had finally found a mate. The village messenger ran to the transmission hill and lit a bon-fire that smoked above and beyond Kanyading’ding’. He sent happy celebration messages to the whole neighborhood and I no time, baskets full of roast meat or should I say aliya and ugali started trickling into the celebration arena. Delicacies like alenya and aluru were brought in plenty. People danced to ohangla tunes till morning and busaa was drunk in plenty. But, strength does not scare away death. Nyadendi’s husband died. Even Nyadendi’s beauty would not keep off tragedy. Puklu, Nyadendi is widowed.
But that does not take away a woman’s beauty, does it?
Puklu, because of this beauty, they say, Nyadendi’s husband died from chira!
He! Chira/
Chira! Nyadendi’s husband was long lilo. Umh, that strong man was impotent
Important?
Impotent.
Impoted
Impotent
Impotent
You got it Puklu. (Snaps his fingers) her husbands condition made her become a creeper, and not being too careful, it gave her husband the fever. The man died childless.
Wooii
But, Nyadendi was pregnant!
Mayie Pakla!
So she could not be inherited before she gave birth. All that could be done at this time was to shave her head. (Takes’ the calabash and returns it down without drinking) everybody watched and waited, for the birth of Nyadendi and Punglu, her secret lover. Nobody was to know, but somebody knew and now, everybody knew and waited. The day came, and nyamrerwa -midwife- was called, she tried, but as Nyadendi pushed and screamed out Punglu’s name, she breathed her last. The baby gave a shrill cry to signal both her birth and sorrow. An owl’s ugly voice was heard from a distance, a strong wind -yamo- blew and the trees went punglu pwap, punglu pwap punglu pwap. So the midwife called the child Oyamo Pwap. (Drinks) The village was caught up with mixed emotions. Some mourned Nyadendi’s death while others celebrated the birth of Pwap. Others hung in between mourning and celebration. You could see a smile on one side of the face and a tear rolling down the other cheek.
Pakla my friend, I beg you do no more talking, let us drink kwete to the end of our lives. For if my beautiful Nyadendi could die just like that, I should not live.
No Puklu that is not the spirit that brings forth a man. You must be strong for odds and good, expect twists and turns which shapes our livelihood and appreciate the rises and falls that come with it.
Read more: http://authspot.com/short-stories/punglu-and-pwap/#ixzz1CgZHAeTC
Ehe Pakla,
I have never lied to you, have I?
A A never
So let me tell you about the Kanyading’ding’ people. (Clears his throat) there was this beautiful Nyadendi I have never known her real name, because every time I hear her story, emotions take me off, am carried by the winds to back in the days and at the feet of my greatest grand father I set myself, to be sure that today, I can tell you the same story. So, Puklu, allow me to call her Nyadendi. (A song in praise of Nyadendi, Puklu and Pakla both sing)
Hey! Hey! Pakla, you need some more kwete, and then you promise not to go there, but stay here, until the story is over.
Puklu, I have never said no to busaa. Let me tell you about Nyadendi, she was beautiful.
Must be the most beautiful woman any man has ever even had in his illusions. She was beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful. (Drinks’ some busaa from the calabash) she had neither hip-star, nor spa-strap. But she left men staggering wherever she passed. Her breasts were covered in ondakla-banana bark- her waist was adorned in bright caloured beads do you know how they were called? Ah! Puklu, they are called winde. Wi
Nde
Wi
Nde.
Yes, winde. And beneath the winde, she had a round sisal skirt called owalo. I tell you, she was beautiful. On her neck she had tigo. The improvision my sister has named necklace. She had a pronounced gap on her upper jaw. Since these Kanyadin’ding’ people never wanted to leave anything without a name, they called her gap mbanya. Nyadendi Rambanya
Ooh Nyadendi, (a song – chogo min ohero nyadendi yo X2 ayaye nyadendi yo chogo min ohero Nyadendi yo) X2
Puklu, Puklu
Pakla,
Don’t finish the sweet song, before you see the graceful steps of Nyadendi balancing her water pot from the river. Her buttocks swayed in a rhythm that all of us have a tune for in the play ground. But the one Puklu and Pakla love is this
Kabich, Carrot X3
This is the reason, why many men went for amen (wrestling) until the strongest man in the village was found and allowed to marry Nyadendi. (Ululations) it was sigalagala everywhere, because the beautiful Nyadendi had finally found a mate. The village messenger ran to the transmission hill and lit a bon-fire that smoked above and beyond Kanyading’ding’. He sent happy celebration messages to the whole neighborhood and I no time, baskets full of roast meat or should I say aliya and ugali started trickling into the celebration arena. Delicacies like alenya and aluru were brought in plenty. People danced to ohangla tunes till morning and busaa was drunk in plenty. But, strength does not scare away death. Nyadendi’s husband died. Even Nyadendi’s beauty would not keep off tragedy. Puklu, Nyadendi is widowed.
But that does not take away a woman’s beauty, does it?
Puklu, because of this beauty, they say, Nyadendi’s husband died from chira!
He! Chira/
Chira! Nyadendi’s husband was long lilo. Umh, that strong man was impotent
Important?
Impotent.
Impoted
Impotent
Impotent
You got it Puklu. (Snaps his fingers) her husbands condition made her become a creeper, and not being too careful, it gave her husband the fever. The man died childless.
Wooii
But, Nyadendi was pregnant!
Mayie Pakla!
So she could not be inherited before she gave birth. All that could be done at this time was to shave her head. (Takes’ the calabash and returns it down without drinking) everybody watched and waited, for the birth of Nyadendi and Punglu, her secret lover. Nobody was to know, but somebody knew and now, everybody knew and waited. The day came, and nyamrerwa -midwife- was called, she tried, but as Nyadendi pushed and screamed out Punglu’s name, she breathed her last. The baby gave a shrill cry to signal both her birth and sorrow. An owl’s ugly voice was heard from a distance, a strong wind -yamo- blew and the trees went punglu pwap, punglu pwap punglu pwap. So the midwife called the child Oyamo Pwap. (Drinks) The village was caught up with mixed emotions. Some mourned Nyadendi’s death while others celebrated the birth of Pwap. Others hung in between mourning and celebration. You could see a smile on one side of the face and a tear rolling down the other cheek.
Pakla my friend, I beg you do no more talking, let us drink kwete to the end of our lives. For if my beautiful Nyadendi could die just like that, I should not live.
No Puklu that is not the spirit that brings forth a man. You must be strong for odds and good, expect twists and turns which shapes our livelihood and appreciate the rises and falls that come with it.
Read more: http://authspot.com/short-stories/punglu-and-pwap/#ixzz1CgZHAeTC
A WOMAN
A woman is strength of life,
Not just the rib,
She is the back-bone,
She is strength,
Still, so delicate,
A woman holds the smile of life,
She holds things together,
Can console in distress,
And congratulate in success,
To all she is the mother,
A woman is made of virtues of life,
She bears with love,
Her tenderness is nourishing,
Care and understanding, Assuring,
A woman is favourite baby of life,
She needs attention,
She needs to be adored,
She needs to be noticed,
She needs to be happy,
Her tears are salty torrents,
Of pains and ills towards her,
For her children
For her country,
For her land,
For life itself that she is,
A life she wish to change,
To wake up on a new page,
And find gone the rage,
From joy and pains range,
A woman is strength of life
A woman holds the smile of life
A woman is made of virtues of life
A woman is favourite baby of life.
Not just the rib,
She is the back-bone,
She is strength,
Still, so delicate,
A woman holds the smile of life,
She holds things together,
Can console in distress,
And congratulate in success,
To all she is the mother,
A woman is made of virtues of life,
She bears with love,
Her tenderness is nourishing,
Care and understanding, Assuring,
A woman is favourite baby of life,
She needs attention,
She needs to be adored,
She needs to be noticed,
She needs to be happy,
Her tears are salty torrents,
Of pains and ills towards her,
For her children
For her country,
For her land,
For life itself that she is,
A life she wish to change,
To wake up on a new page,
And find gone the rage,
From joy and pains range,
A woman is strength of life
A woman holds the smile of life
A woman is made of virtues of life
A woman is favourite baby of life.
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