Monthly Archives: March 2011

Short Story: Tear Drops From The Sun

She woke up with a start, feeling a bit disoriented, not sure what had woken her. She lay still for a moment listening to the sounds of the night. The drip-drip of  the bathroom tap that couldn’t tighten. Need to call a plumber about that, she thought. The branches of the mango tree tapping lightly against the window; it had kept her up many nights before she got used to it. The distant sound of cars in the highway a kilometre from the house. Next to her, she could hear her husband’s soft breathing . She turned and watched him using the street lights. Even in sleep, his face looked animated. She smiled wondering what he was dreaming. Her husband was always in motion. He couldn’t sit still for a minute, always talking, gesturing to emphasize on his speeding thoughts. It had fascinated her when they met.

They were in college and she had accompanied her room-mate to a party. She wasn’t much of a drinker and didn’t do well in crowds so she spent the first hour sitting in a corner watching people. She didn’t mind though, she loved observing.  He was passing near her when a drunk boy pushed him and he poured his drink on her. He apologized profusely while wiping it off her. It took him a while to realize he had been rubbing her bosom. He stopped abruptly as if burned and hit his leg on a chair. His painful swears made her giggle and the ice was broken. He  introduced himself. and they spent the rest of the night talking. About their classes, politics, social issues and everything they could think of under the sun. She had never had so much fun at a college party before. Later, she realized he hadn’t touched her the whole time. Not even to hold her hand. He was refreshingly different from the other boys she’d met. She got to her hostel at 9 the next morning and her roommate teased her mercilessly assuming she had done more.  But he didn’t call her, until a week later, and by then  she had convinced herself she had been mistaken and he wasn’t interested.  She reluctantly accepted his invitation for dinner. By their 3rd date she was in love.

As it always did, when she looked at him, her heart filled with warmth. She loved this man with an intensity that scared her sometimes. The only consolation was he loved her with equal fervour. If not more.  2 years dating and 3 years into the marriage and he still made her feel the same way he had those early days.  She sent a silent prayer of gratitude. She was lucky and she knew it. She touched her stomach and smiled again. She  now remembered what had woken her. Probably a kick from her little one.  “Hello little lady, are you alright,” she thought. It sometimes amazes  her how she talks to her unborn. Although she was only 5 months, it’s came naturally. To her she already had a face and personality. And she had decided it was a girl. Her husband thought she was a bit nuts.  But she didn’t mind. She was too happy to care about appearing crazy. And she knew he was happy too.

She frowned a bit when she remembered the past year. Her marriage had been tested to its limits. It was only because they had a strong foundation that they managed to get through. The lack of a child in her marriage had almost broken them. Her in-laws had launched a malicious campaign to drive her husband to marry another woman.  The first 2 yrs her husband was unmoved. They had both decided to put that on hold until they became more financially stable. He had just started his business and needed time to focus on that. But as soon as they thought he was well settled they  went on an all out war against her. She shuddered thinking of how the people she had accepted as her second family became spiteful strangers. And her husband ‘s strong will had started to crack.  She forced herself to stop thinking about that.  No point dredging up old hurts. That was all in the past. There was an uneasy truce now, with her in-laws, but she knew things will never be the same. But she had her husband and soon her child. That was enough for her.

Just as she was drifting off to sleep she felt a sharp pain on her lower abdomen. She sat up gasping. That was no kick.  Before she could even think of what it could be another one hit her,  harder. She doubled over and stuffed her fist in her mouth to stop from crying out loud. She was shaking uncontrollably, her heart racing furiously. She had never been so scared in her life. There was nothing for the next 15 mins and she started to relax a bit. She decided to get off the bed and go to the bathroom. Halfway there, she was hit by another one, that drove her to her knees. She squeezed her eyes shut, and willed herself not to make a sound. She managed to get to the bathroom and locked the door. She looked at herself in the mirror and her pale reflection stared at her wide-eyed. She didn’t want to think of what could be happening. It’s just a cramps, she tried to convince herself. She had read that they sometimes happened. Nothing much to it.  “Yes, just cram- ouch!” This time the cry came out before she could stop it. She listened out checking if her husband had heard. There was silence in the next room. She rubbed her belly, willing the pain to stop. If only it could stop, she will go to the doctor first thing in the morning and everything will be ok.

The next bout of pain drove her to the floor. That’s when she noticed the red stains. She hadn’t even felt the blood dripping down her thighs.  She was crying, tears rolling down her face. But she still didn’t make a sound. She willed this to be a nightmare. She willed herself to wake up and shake her husband and he would hold her tight and tell her it was alright. She had a few nightmares before about losing the baby. She willed that this was one of those. But the choking smell of the blood, and the now continuous throb of pain was too real. She clutched her stomach and thought of her little girl. She thought of her eyes, wide like hers.  Her tiny nose sort of like her father’s. Her head full of hair and her tiny fingers. Thought of her toothless smile melting her heart. She thought of the yellow dress she always envisioned her in. She thought of this person will never be. Her night-gown was soaked in blood now. She touched it and looked at her hands in wonder. This here was her baby. This is what her hopes and dreams were reduced to.

At the horizon of her mind she thought that she needs to wake her husband before she bled to death.  Maybe they can get to hospital and something could be done. But she couldn’t move. She was held in place by the enormity of what was happening. She knew it was too late. She had lost her baby. She sat clutching her stomach rocking back and forth screaming, voiceless, No, not my baby. Please don’t take away my baby. But the pain kept getting worse. Sharp contractions that felt like she was being sliced from inside. It took her a while to realize that her husband was pounding on the bathroom door, shouting her name. She could hear the panic in his voice. It was the amount of blood that finally jolted her. The bathroom floor was red. So much blood. She dragged herself to the door and opened it. His eyes widened at the sight of the blood. “What’s wrong,” he asked. She showed him her bloody hands, looking at them with a confused expression as if she’s just noticed them.  Something is wrong with my baby, she whispered with  a broken voice. Then everything went black.

She woke up staring at the bright lights of the hospital. Without looking she knew her husband was sitting next to her. Bracing herself she turned slowly and was met with pain and frustration in his  tear filled eyes.  By his side, she saw her mother in law. Her expression wrapped up the cruelty of the past year.  She looked again at her husband, questioning how they will get through this. His expression faltered. The pain that had been in her stomach slowly moved and filled the emptiness that was her heart.

The End

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God Made Me A Woman: Part 3

“Like a compass needle that points north, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman. Always.”
Khaled Hosseini ( A Thousand Splendid Suns)

Sometimes I feel like I’m the most unfortunate citizen of this world.

I am African. We who have been used and abused over the centuries, first by foreign powers who came and “discovered” us to our detriment and then by  our own leaders who believe our continent main use o help for increasing their wealth and big stomachs.

I am a Muslim. With Arabic ancestry. From the shores of Lamu where the first Arabs settled in Kenya. My Swahili dialect is filled with hot sands of the deserts of Arabia.  Also, right now, the world’s most wanted. In today’s world the word Islam most times connotes the image of a bomb strapped, beard faced fanatic. With madness in his eyes.

And then I am a woman. The default victim. Everyone’s scapegoat. An afterthought.

On any given day, I can find at least 2 articles in newspapers, on the internet or even  within conversations that make me feel attacked, belittled, oppressed.

A headline like “Woman sexually assaulted by Muslim barbarians” raises all sorts of emotions from me. This was from the Lara Logan sexual assault story.  My Muslim brothers attacked a fellow woman. Wooosah.

But from all these identities, I have found being a woman has been the hardest. Especially when it comes to personal goals . When you’re a kid you live in a world where you think every thing is possible. So you build your dreams with an innocence and naivety. When I was younger I wanted to be an actor. I did a bit of drama in school, but it was just for Prize Giving day occasions. I  imagined myself on stage the first Kenyan to win an Oscar. But that remained a vague dream. I’m a Swahili girl. I cannot be on stage. It’s just not done where I come from. Those who have, have had to endure a lot and fight hard for it. I commend them.

I have dreamed of many things. I have had to lay many of them to rest.  Stillborn pieces of what I could have been.

A lot has changed for women. Even for Muslim women. We are educated and we  are allowed to work. Note that I said allowed. It is never our choice. We are contributing members of our societies. But not too much, lest our voices become louder than our men. But we still have a long way to go. My friend recently quit her job because she was frustrated. She was qualified to be head of her department but they would not promote her because she was a woman. The cherry on top was when she had to train the person that they eventually hired. A previously dedicated employee became disillusioned.

When a woman does something wrong, the whole society feels like they’re entitled to correct her. She can be undressed in the streets for not dressing up to standards, she can be insulted in public. She is a woman, a community property; It’s their responsibility to keep her in the right path.

Women are still raped and abused. Simply because they’re there. Children are destroyed everyday. Simply because they’re female.

When a man does something wrong, it is his business. God will handle him.

I have been overwhelmed by the sentiment today. I am celebrated. The same mouth that called me a ho last night, is today calling me a queen. I wonder how that tastes.

I am not proud to be a woman. I had no choice in the matter. I just was. But I accept and I live up to it.

I am a woman; I carry with me the magnitude of the word. I celebrate myself.

Happy International Women’s Day. Beyond this day.