Glad to be writing again. The fear of trying to write well has finally been cast from me. Started writing this one a little while ago but left it when I felt that I was speaking too much in the story. For ages now the story of this young woman has been lying in the back of my mind and I have been too afraid to write it. I have been so scared of judging her, of having people judge her! I wanted hers to be a perfect story but who has that? This is life and the best way to live it is to get on with it. Same thing with with writing. She is a mixture and an offshoot of several people whom I know or have encountered, some of them men and that is what makes me embrace her. She is her! It is as if she is telling me to allow her to live, to be and so I have finally begun to do just that.
“I have written and re-written her story enough times trying to change her yet she is still there, wanting to live. So, in honour of her determination and her life, here goes a snippet from her story, tentatively entitled:
“Confronting my demons” (all copyrights reserved).
I sit in my small room and wonder why nothing is going right. I have gone to school and have acquired the necessary education but I feel more schooled than educated because I honestly have no idea how to navigate this treacherous jungle called life. No one taught me how life ought to be lived and I am extremely frustrated, disillusioned and downright angry. I have spent more than half my life thus far in some form of educational facility but there is nothing to show for my pains and efforts. I say pain because it WAS painful sitting through class and forcing my mind to take in all that the various teachers were spewing out of their mouths and scribbling across blackboards as well as dictating through whatever classes I had to attend. It was pain aiming to get the highest grades just so I could make my father proud…ok, I knew, just as I know now, that nothing I can do will ever make him prouder than were I male. So, my sex was the next frustration nature bestowed on me after it gave me to the parents that I had. I must say that I am glad that my mother is no more. She finally got some rest from- no, this is not about my mother but about me.
It was in my second month of pregnancy that Lightman came back from work one day, in unusually high spirits…well, the spirits in him were partly responsible. He kissed me and massaged my feet. I ought to have been alerted by that very act itself: what black Shona man massages the feet of his pregnant girlfriend without there being a catch? He ran me a bath and scrubbed my back and he went on to make me tea, chamomile tea, to be exact. It was “to help you relax, my sweet.” I had never heard of that tea before but who was I to reveal that? I happily drank my cup and allowed myself to be caressed, licked and sucked in all manner thinkable and soon enough…oh well, you know it.
I woke up retching so suddenly and spent the next few minutes seated on the toilet floor with Mr Man offering me mint tea, “to help with the nausea.” I should have been more alert, I repeat, I ought to have been more alert. He was not worried about my ‘illness’ but more about getting me to drink as much tea as possible. After throwing up what must have been the day before yesterday’s breakfast, I finally passed out. I woke up with heat around my lower back. It steadily became intense but my partner was there to give me hot compress with a towel. I realised that I was in trouble when I felt the stickiness on my bum. A quick hand behind me and it came back red! I was confused before I became alarmed but my babie was on hand to ease my worries.
(Let us leave it here for now)