A poem on my life with Aids
1. Do do, or not to do
I am in love with a woman
and she is in love with me.
She’s shapely, comely, lovely
young, succulent, pretty
so beautiful, so tempting
I am at a loss for words.
Tell me
should we do it
Or should we not?
It is three months
since we first met
her beautiful smile charmed me
her smile,
her innocent maturity..
And this I know
Its got to happen soon
Should we do it
Or should we not?
But what if we did it?
what if…
what if she is infected
or I am just corrupted
affected by a desire
Or perfected to purity
and projecting my rejection
On her trajectory?
Should we do it
Or should we not?
What if we did it
and she was not infected
what if we did it
and I was infected
what if we did it
and no one was infected
Or both were infected?
Should we do it
Or should we not?
Tell me mother,
Who invented this Aids thing
that makes us so afraid
that turns men into cowardly drunkards
And women into thirsty mules
by the waterside?
Should we do it
Or should we not?
To do or not to do
to be positive
or to be negative
that’s the question of our age.
Should we do it
Or should we not?
2. Modern Woman
This song is for Becky
The simple village girl
soon hurled into a complicated city,
lost
waiting for a guide.
A grown up guide
A MAN.
To sweep her off her feet.
She was tired of living
with her loving mother
and adoring father
A cuddly little sister
and one big brother
In a little town
far from here..
Yes,
Little Becky wanted to be a girl,
just a little girl
with somebody to solve all her problems
with one wise world,
Somebody to make her warm,
with one warm look
and protect her
with strong arms around her shoulders.
Was she asking for too much?
Maybe.
But I could do it,
She was not so little anymore
Or she wouldn’t have given me
that longing look
as she sat behind her father’s hut
I could do it,
Or she wouldn’t have written that first love letter
And probably, just probably
We wouldn’t be so miserable.
Should I or should I not
Have taken the plunge?
Should we or should we not
get back together
now that the truth’s out?
Now that we both know
the end is near?
Ah fate, the witch,
In your mysterious witchy ways
manipulated us, your human puppets
drew us closer and closer
and closer together
then suddenly ripped us apart.
Ah, Let fate have her way, the witch!
3. City girl
The simple village girl
in a frock
has now gone to the city
She needs no man, she says
to tell her what to do.
what to wear
what to smoke or drink.
She is independent
free at last
from repugnant traditions,
stupid inhibitions
crafted in ancient cement
of slippery semen.
She is an exhibitionist.
Her skirt is short
as short can be.
And she wars trouser
longer than her father’s.
She says she has now learnt
to survive
In this technologically complicated world,
this digital village
of magical high tech gadgets
where you can meet your mate
mate on the net
of the wild world wide web
of confusion.
Yet she is lost in her little world
of independence from men
without responsibility
without a man to submit to
A world of prostitution without guilt
of serial monogamy
with occasional flings
Married without certification.
without a cow or goat.
even marriage without children.
It’s a world of choices.
She is without a guide.
A grown up guide
A MAN
by her side.
She says she is tired
of living
with a philandering man
who calls himself
the father of her children
but does not tear away her innerwear
with an earth shattering
head turning
tongue tying
relieving
orgasm.
She is a loving mother
to her four children
But rejects their adoring father
Kicks away his visiting relatives
One big brother
Yes,
My Becky wanted to be that little girl
with somebody to solve all her problems
with one wise world,
Somebody to make her warm,
with one warm look
and protect her
with strong arms around her shoulders.
But she also thinks
she can throw him away at will
and pull him back to her
when she needs her
because, after all
she can pay her bills herself
And does not need his signature
when its time for a caesarean section..
Is she asking for too much?
Maybe.
But that’s the way of the new world
where men will soon be replaced
with sex machines and fertility technology
where men can be hired at will
like heartless machines
in the name of women’s lib
Affirmative action
equity
gender equality
mainstreaming
And all that rubbish.
But couples still take the plunge
shielded by a thin rubber
they pretend to be natural
For life, in its witchy ways
has bewitched us
manipulating us its human puppets
drawing us closer
and closer to happiness
then suddenly rip us apart
from each other, from fun, from living
Ah, let fate have her way, the witch!
4. I still sigh
A year later
since you left
I still sigh
In sorrow
at the memory of you
marching away
haughtily, like a rebel soldier
gone insane.
That night, I cried
not because of the empty house
but because you were not there
for me.
I cried
for you took away
the children
and left me with nothing
to prove my fatherliness
my love seemed wasted
the years we spent together.
You should have warned me
You should have told me
you were overfed with my love.
These days I don’t cry
my tears have dried away
but my heart
still hurts
when I remember
how we once loved
each other
in your little room
at Maria
before our friendly foes
burst in
stole our love
and tore us apart.
Everyone in Kayole said
I had sent you away
We had been together
Our five years and four children
were too long, too many, they said
Modern marriages don’t last that long.
These days they simply fade away
when the sun of hope sets
on the evening of the wedding day
A new sun rises
the sun of Aids.
They people of Kayole said
You left me
for another man
with a big car
a big house
a big stomach
a big nose
another man
to make you happy
buy you a big car
a big plot
a big house
These days
women are so free
they get what they want
and men pay the price
as usual.
It is expected of them
anyway
So only a foolish woman
clings to one man
They still say
A sick man
is a dying man
A poor man
is a foolish man
why marry a man
who cannot afford a holiday
to some sexy sandy sunny beach?
or a shiny new car
for Christmas?
They say
Only a foolish woman
Sticks around a hopeless man
who borrows bus fare
why can’t he go abroad
and look for a job
it doesn’t have to be a decent job
what matters is the money.
I did not chase you away, my love
I could take you to court.
But it would be a waste of time
and an unnecessary stress
on my sick frame,
our children,
the bewildered relatives
and the few friends left between us.
You were always furious.
Elusive.
Contemplating suicide,
murder
homicide,
each of these in turn
again and again.
You cried,
wept, wailed, mourned
and then cried again.
Of course,
in the privacy
of your bedroom.
strong women don’t scream in public
public law does not permit
that kind of behaviour.
There was nothing to lose
if you took your own life,
After all, the young man
had declared you clinically dead
that dark day
when you went for the test.
which you failed
though the results
you were told,
were positive.
When did positive become bad?
When did sweet sugar turn sour poison?
when did life lose its taste?
when did people become ashamed
of loving one another?
5. The test
You were actually coerced
to undergo the test.
Everyone goes to test these days
before they can taste
the bitter fruit of love,
they say.
Health care services are free
for pregnant mothers,
but there is always a catch.
All of them have to undergo
the mandatory test for the big disease.
that proves you are living
but dying slowly.
You were mad
You could lace the children’s milk
with rat poison
Then set our house on fire
and gulp the remaining portion
before neighbours came screaming.
But first, you wanted
to kill the man who did this to you.
How could he,
If he loved you at all?
In my turn,
I could strangle you to death,
or poison you,
No, get a gang of mungikis
to do the dirty job for me
I love you too much
to watch you die.
I could kill all your evil friends
and evil advisers
and stupid relatives.
who pretend to be our friends
coming to our birthday parties
when they wish us ill.
I could call the entire village
the estate the estate idlers
and compel them to listen
to my side of the story.
I will tell them
I was a good husband
and a loving father.
Married to a stupid,
greedy and disrespectful woman.
But that wouldn’t help.
You had told everyone
screaming like a street preacher
Everywhere
Everything
about me.
Said I was
a drunken,
irresponsible,
jobless,
loveless,
ungrateful
brute.
What you didn’t tell them
was that we had it.
Now I’ll tell them all
we both have it.
why lie?
6. I want to run fast
I want to run fast,
towards the yellowing setting sun
until I collapse into a lifeless heap.
I want to chase my life
fleeing before me
into the hazy distant blue horizon.
I want to would scream my head off
and shout into the echo
of the rumbling dark clouds
of mid afternoon.
I want to jump onto the raging wind
and let its wild arms engulf my lifelessness
and take me where they will.
I am going to run across the desert
till the scorching heat
and choking dust
eats me up.
I will cry till these my eyes are red
like the unhealing wounds
on my dying heart.
My heart is wounded.
Brutally wounded
by the vile, cruel acts
of a woman I loved.
My left arm,
has been to the surgeon
twice
kissed the surgeon’s knife
twice
It is healing rather slowly,
and yet you took off like a thief
with everything we ever owned
to where I didn’t know.
But this deep down I know
My sun hasn’t set yet.
7. Matters of the heart
Matters of the heart are deep.
And matters of the bedroom
are even deeper.
So I have struggled on
with this story of pain
and anguish
and despair.
It is a story
I shouldn’t have written.
But I had to write it.
because I had to write it.
I had to write it,
In good faith
to keep myself sane
to help men understand
these things of the heart.
Some of these things I write
may sound foolish,
or too ordinary,
or too personal,
or too cruel,
or exaggerated.
They are things
sane married mature,
grown up men
who sit on their wives
don’t talk about.
They are things
to burry under the carpet
and let life go on
they are things
to wish away.
Motorists wind up
their car windows
drive on
to conveniently ignore
things like these.
Like the city fathers
sweeping away
street people
in their multimillion quest
to beautify the city.
But I speak
for the many silent men
with little recourse
against bullies and assaulters
and robbers
and murderers
in the name of loved wives.
I speak for the millions
of cowardly men out there
who will not raise a finger
against their wives
for fear of being thrown
behind bars,
for fear of being thought
unloving,
for fear of being called
irresponsible
unloving
uncaring.
For not acting
like a total man.
8. She stole my heart
I first met Becky
in the beautiful town
of Homa bay
where the water’s lips
lick the white sandy shores
of Lake Victoria.
I was a young school teacher
she a shy, pretty, dark lass
just popping out of secondary.
Her firm breast popping out of her chests
like the lakeside hills
jutting out of nam sango.
She stole my heart
her heart beat was my pulse
her legs tall and rounded and strong
Like the legs of Luhya women
hitting the breathing, heaving sun baked sand
her chocolate skin
like my mother’s precious pot
glittering, gleaming in the midday sunglow.
We met ten years later,
In the hungry dusty smelly streets of Nairobi,
where I was struggling
to settle on a new job.
I was homeless
she gave me a home
I was penniless
she gave me pocket money
I was hungry
she gave me food
I was thirsty
Becky gave me drinking water
I was loveless
she gave me unspeakable love.
Her breath was the afternoon fragrance
of an earth
freshly quenched
with the splatter of rain
after a long drought.
I loved her dearly.
She loved me dearly.
She was a nurse
at a local health centre
I wanted a nurse
for my ailing heart.
She was a chef
whetting my appetite
with delicacies
only the best culinary experts
could cook or bake
Though I wouldn’t admit it,
She put my nutritionist mother
to shame.
I was a powerpoint presentation
looking for a projector
She was a whiteboard
reflecting my every feeling.
In a little, dark windowless room
full of electric charges
where night was day and day night,
Did we have a choice
but to fall in love again,
and again and again?
Head over heels, mad,
we were wed a few months later.
no party, no ceremony
no signatures
no witnesses
but God watching over
our holy union.
9. Miracle babies
One day in September
The light shone
on our uneventful marriage
when she delivered quadruplets
At the hospital on the hill.
Two boys and two girls
came with the devil’s fury
Like torrents
Then I lost my job, again
with a local newspaper,
We were both worried to death
about nappies, rent and unpaid bills.
But help soon came pouring in
We literally nearly drowned in it.
The birth was the talk of town
gifts and cash flowed
all went so well
I soon got another job
And we quickly settled
into parental responsibilities.
like water in a still pot.
Now there are friends
And then there are friends
there are relatives
then there are relatives
When Mama Tin Tin’s handlers
dug in, poked long noses
into our life
She couldn’t handle it;
the poor girl.
I understood.
we were both positive,
with children to feed
on a meagre salary,
three house girls to feed
and pay every month,
hordes of poor relatives and friends
who simply came to marvel
and celebrate the miracle.
the miracle babies
of the year.
The relatives reminded her
of her new ‘value;’
she now had the money
and the sympathy
and the fame.
She had good relations
with donors and well wishers,
Her poor husband had no savings,
hadn’t even paid humble dowry,
and could barely afford to feed them.
She had to take charge, they said
And she took charge.
I would faithfully hand in
my meagre income;
she would do the budgeting.
How much was her own
or from well wishers
I was not supposed to know,
or to ask.
no grown up man asks
about chicken feed,
she said.
Ilawo gima gweno chamo.
So big bodied Mama
became a brutal bully
Me, once her sweetheart
then her husband,
then father of her children
was now guilty of ‘infecting’ her.
She conveniently forgot
That it was she
who had initiated the test
and introduced me
to a counsellor – pastor
before we finally got together.
I was beaten up
by blows bigger than HIV
denied food
While the virus gobbled my intestines
Locked out of the house
like an orphaned child
suffering at the hands
of a cruel stepmother
I was insulted,
Accused and humiliated
before my relatives,
friends and
workmates.
for not being man enough.
For infecting clean women
with a deadly disease.
She demanded money
When I had none
and had not earned a shilling
because my employer
was facing cash flow problems
I gave her whatever little I had
She refused to disclose how much
she earned or spent, or what she got
from our well wishers.
Though I told her everything
she would not disclose or discuss her salary,
or gifts, or presents with me.
When the children entered through the door,
through which the virus had come
Love fled through our window.
Replaced by a momentary confusion
Then care and kindness, which I needed most
was thrown with the wash basin
I soon fell sick with depression
And was admitted to hospital.
This was the chance she was waiting for
This was her chance to flee.
Now there was enough evidence
that I had been an unfaithful husband
A philanderer
who slept with chiken and dogs
from far and wide.
10. Contempt of Court
Now she has gone to court
Claiming I abandoned her
That I have refused
to provide for the children.
That I abused her
used her
and infected her
with love
and marriage
And Aids
against her wish.
She left our matrimonial home
and rented her own.
Yet we hadn’t had a quarrel.
She carried with her all household items
and even my certificates
so I won’t get another job.
She took away my laptop computer
saying the poems I wrote in my inspiration
were evidence of my infidelity.
But I still wrote this one
this long, last lusty love song
for my one and only Becky.
So I nursed my sick arm
wondering why
she vacated our loving house.
Now she has gone to court
to fight a third world war
Another battle of the sexes.
She wants the glorious children’s court
to ‘tie’ my salary
in the pretext of needy children
I will raise no objection
if she needs help
with the children’s upkeep
and approaches me amicably
like the husband she once loved
I will give what I can afford
without being bullied.
By a court of women
Call it contempt of court.
11. Becky, oh Becky!
I have written many words
But not a line of haiku
for my Becky.
Becky oh Becky,
My black beautiful Becky
How you vex me
What a shame you are
to send your lovely sisters
to an orphanage
when you and me
are both strong and able bodied
eking out a living
Though the city be hard as rock?
Oh Becky, Becky
My big black pretty tall beautiful Becky
Do you remember the day
You slept away from me
Claiming you were visiting a relative?
Oh Becky, Becky
My rough coarse harsh big bully black beautiful Becky
Do you remember
How you were rude to me
in your pregnancy
Like you did not want
to have a child with me?
I thought it was just the pregnancy
that made you hate me so.
And the tantrums would soon go away.
My love would return to me.
Oh Becky, Becky,
My abusive, vile, violent
pretty tall beautiful Becky
Do you remember
How you loathed my friends,
and relatives
and colleagues
whenever they visited our house?
I thought it was the pregnancy
that made you hate them so.
And your tantrums would soon go away.
My love would return to me.
Becky, oh Becky
My pleading, begging cajoling black pretty tall beautiful black Becky
Do you remember
How I helped look after
your two orphaned sisters
And welcomed your many relatives
and friends,
and supported your jobless brothers.
I thought it was the pregnancy
that made you hate me so.
And the tantrums would soon go away.
My love would return to me.
Oh Becky, Becky
My learned big pregnant full blown black pretty tall Becky.
Do you remember
How I took you to evening school
to learn sign language
and taught you
computers?
I thought it was the pregnancy
that made you hate me so.
And the tantrums would soon go away.
My love would return to me.
Oh Becky, Becky
My rough, smooth tough, streetwise, urban tall black pretty Becky
Do you remember
How you continuously
refused to visit
our rural home
throughout the four years
of our marriage,
offering excuses each time,
and refusing to participate
in any project there.
I thought it was the pregnancy
that made you hate me so.
And the tantrums would soon go away.
My love would return to me.
Oh Becky, Becky
My sweet black pretty berry Becky
Do you remember
How you accuse me of ‘wasting’ money
putting up a house for mother
and spending money on my sister’s children
When you know well
My nephews were left in my hands
with my sister’s last breath?
I thought it was the woman in you
that makes you so jealous
Your moods will cool off
And our love will tick again.
Becky, oh Becky
My sleepy deadly sweet snoring black night Becky
Do you remember
How you often locked me out of our house
Refusing to open the door
and refusing to answer the phone,
though you knew I work far
And thugs roam the dark night?
I thought it was the woman in you
that makes you treat me so.
Your tantrums will fade away
And my love will return to me.
Becky, Oh Becky
My holy shiny black silver lovely Becky
Do you remember
How you falsely accused me
of ‘sleeping’ with other women
And how you turned my workmates
into consorts,
yet you had no evidence
save for their numbers on my phone?
I thought it was the woman in you
that makes you treat me so.
My love will return to me.
12. What hurts me most
What hurts me most
is that you are a liar
saying I drink all my pay
while you and the children starve
That you pay all the bills
while I do nothing.
What hurts me
Is you are a thief
who stole my ATM card
and pulled all my money
without my consent.
What hurts me
Is you refuse to give an account
of how you spend the money.
You say you do not trust me
with your money.
Yet you trust me enough
To have my children.
What hurts me
Is you incite our relatives against me
is you are cruel to the children
especially the boy who resembles me
What hurts me
Is you abandoned me
when I was hospitalised for a month,
not visiting nor bringing a morsel,
or drop of water or piece of clothing,
Lying to friends that I died of Aids
What hurts me
Is you coming home one day
with armed police and a bribed chief
And later with hired thugs
and foolish in laws
who should know better
than to tear a family apart
And taking away the children
As if I had rapped them into you.
What hurts me
Is your misuse of government support
And public sympathy
Accusing me of theft
and confiscating my effects
while I run away
from your death threats
and attacks.
What hurts me
Is your text message
warning me not to come home,
‘ukijaribu kurudi nyumbani utautakionea.’
What hurts me
Is your allegation
That I did not even have sex with you
Yet we had children
That my performance is poor
As if you were supposed to compare
What hurts me
Is your parading my payslip
and sacking letter
to your sympathisers.
What hurts me
Is that you claim
to have bought everything we had
with your own money.
While you seek and obtained money and gifts
by lying that I was unable to care of you.
What hurts me
Is that you discuss my health
with your workmates, relatives and false friends.
So what if I have Aids?
Won’t everyone die one day soon
Of road rage, malaria, or diabetes
or cancer, or floods
or an earthquake
or some tsunami.
13. A theatre Experience
(for Dr Tanga, who tried to kill me)
Government doctors
are witches
they love money too much
they are unfeeling, brutal even
when you are poor
And kind and suffering
But when you are rich
they are at your bedside
Smiling all day.
They call themselves consultants
running private clinics
on government time
running private chemists
on government drugs
If you touch them
they flee overseas
to serve white nannies
who can afford
their expertise
which they acquired
at taxpayer’s expense.
To have a chat with a surgeon
At the doctor’s plaza
costs five dairy cows
Or dowry for five wives
If you can’t pay
You’ll just get better
Like a fly in the loo.
At the private wing
where you pay a huge deposit
of Kenya shilling cash
for a minor operation
and five star treatment
The nurses are nice
smiling like angels all day.
You choose your food
Tea twice in the morning
Beef and chicken at midday
soup and mashed potatoes
for supper
And warm milk for goodnight.
The surgeons are courteous
when you have a cheque book
The nurses are seductive
if you give them tips
And the floor, the bedside drawer
is cleaned
several times a day.
The general ward
is worse than prison
It is full of prisoners
and their watchful police.
In the general ward
they treat you like a village dog
You sleep on the floor
under a broken bed.
If you can’t ‘talk’
there’s no bed for you
You are spread on the floor
with its muck of bandages,
fleas, urine and faeces.
Your meal
a half spoonful of stale beans
and raw cabbages.
To the doc and his students
when they finally arrive
you are no more than a learning aid
As you describe your ailment.
An example of bad living.
At the general ward
They dismiss you
long before you heal
accusing you of pretence
saying, “some of you
Are hiding here
running away from home
and work
and responsibility.”
If you have the big one
they dump you in ward X
and watch you slowly die
of malnutrition
of compilations
of guilt.
Like the lepers
in Solzenystn’s
Cancer Ward.
Your relatives
are treated like dirt
because they are poor
The other day
A doctor abused me
for staying too long
As if I could discharge myself
He pulled apart my sick arm
tore apart my finger
and called me names.
And sent me home
to die.
I told him he was a witch
he said he was a professional.
I murmured back:
‘professional killer
paid a government salary
to kill poor citizens.’
I couldn’t shout at him
I was just a nuisance, he said,
a social pest
expecting free treatment
A fellow inmate, sobbing in pain
whispered in my ear:
‘Watch your mouth
these guys could inject you
with poison.’
14. Why I stuck on
I was a fool
stuck in a loveless marriage
I suffered for so long
For the fear of looking weak
and irresponsible
to keep a semblance of peace
and for my children.
I had to maintain the acceptable
image of a married man
in control of his wife
fully married
and perfectly happy.
How do you walk away
from your own home?
how do you flee
from your flesh and blood
Why does everyone pretend
It is better inside
than outside
when marriage is all pain
inside out?
Why live in a burning fort
With company, yet alone?
Why not be alone and lonely
than to share a bed with a foe?
Millions of men
are stuck in such loveless marriages,
drinking their way to the grave
or working themselves late,
or keeping secret mistresses.
When they finally gather courage
to turn away from their bully wives,
they are hunted down
by sympathetic courts
and corrupt chiefs
and their lover judges
to continue providing for women
they no longer love
and children of other men.
It’s a crazy world, this one.
That’s why I stuck on.
15. I won’t come back
I will not come back to you
over my dead body
call me a coward
if you like.
A runaway husband, ask my father
is sometimes a blessing
to his children.
I wont come back to you
I have met the girl of my dreams
Who bows before me
In her heart
Who respects me
like her father
and does it with me
like I was her sweet doll
A good woman
who can find her?
She polishes my shoes
And warms my water
she treats me like a big baby-king
And I treat her like my beloved younger sister
she does not compete with me
when I shine before my peers
she celebrates with me
She loves me in health and in wealth
In my poverty and despair
Her wise counsel
She does repair.
Together we are a pair.
God bless our love
And good riddance to you.
But sometimes,
just sometimes
I wish you were with me
for I still need you.
Posted by otienoamisi 
Posted by otienoamisi 
Posted by otienoamisi 
