A NYERI WOMAN’S STORY
Waruguru Kiai
I write to tell,
To tell of my life,
My life in the village of Kamakwa,
The village where I live,
I live with my children, and him,
Him whom they call my husband,
My husband Kamau.
Kamau, who once sang to me,
Songs that spoke to my heart,
He who stole my heart.
He who compared his love for me,
To the great Chania River,
Chania River, that goes all the way to ‘mombatha’
Mombasa, where he promised to take me, but never did,
He never did.
I write to tell,
To tell of my life,
My life in kamakwa, with Kamau,
Kamakwa, where he took me to live in a shack,
A shack that I was to call home,
A shack that become my home,
Me and kamau, together.
I write to tell,
To tell, that it was not always like this,
The way things are today.
Today, when I cannot look at him,
Him that I have grown to despise so much,
So much so, I would kill him.
Kill him for the anguish and pain,
Pain that he has caused,
He has caused with his frustrations,
Frustrations that have burned my soul,
My soul, which was once alive,
Alive to live in love.
Love that drove me to insanity,
Insanity that made me flee home,
Home, my father’s house.
My father’s house where I could not stay still,
I could not be still,
How could I be still?
Because of him.
But that was then,
Then when he took me to Munyaka hotel,
Munyaka hotel to eat chips and sausage,
So you see, it was not always like this,
Like Today.
I write to tell,
To tell of my life,
My life that changed, when he changed.
Change he did,
He became cold,
Cold and abusive,
Abusive and violent,
Violent and violent.
He forgot about us,
Us, me, him and the children,
Our children, together
Together we no longer were.
My hard earned sweat became his,
His to drink,
To drink with other women,
Women who gave him rash,
Rash that he gave me,
When he came home,
If ever he came home,
Home in kamakwa,
Kamakwa, Nyeri county.
I write to tell,
To tell you of my life,
My life has changed,
Changed for the better,
Better or worse.
Worse, because of my debts,
Debts from his drinking sprees,
Sprees that end up on the streets,
Streets where I have to drag him from,
I drag his drunk and smelly form,
Smelly from all the faeces and urine,
Urine that wet his clothes,
Clothes that I have to wash,
And wash him too.
I write to tell,
To tell you, I have had it,
I have had it, with his drinking,
Drinking that has made him stale,
My in-laws, your son is dead ooooooooooh!
Not that death, no.
My in-laws our bed is cold,
Cold from his coldness,
Cold that has spread between his thighs,
His urine smeared thighs,
Urine that I cannot stand,
My in-laws your son now sleeps under,
Under the bed.
I write to tell,
To tell you, I have had it,
I have had it with his threats,
His threats of violence,
I know violence too.
Let him come,
Come baby come.
I will show him violence,
Violence that he has shown me,
Me, the daughter of wanjohi,
Wanjohi wa kigogoini,
The famous orator,
Let him come,
Come baby come.
I will boil water,
Water not for cooking ‘ngima’,
I will also simmer porridge,
Porridge not for drinking, no.
Let him come,
Come baby come.
I will sharpen my machete
Machete not to plough land, no.
You wait,
Tell him to come,
Come baby come.
I write to tell,
To tell you not to judge me,
Judge me not.
My life in kamakwa, with Kamau,
Kamakwa where fate has me hostage,
Hostage, I have no peace, I have lost hope,
Hope for my children future,
My future is blink,
Blink because of the bottle.
Curse the bottle!
The bottle has shattered many lives,
Life’s in my home,
Life’s in my county,
Nyeri County
I write to tell
To tell you of my life with Kamau
My life in the village of kamakwa
The village where I live.
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