I find myself walking on a familiar road with clear skies stretching as far as the eye can see. On my back is a sack full of things. What things? I am not sure myself. I had a choice, and I still have a choice, to let go of these things, but I decided to keep them. Now they are burdensome. However, I trudge onwards.
Shamsa was only relieved for a second, because her father's current state gave her great concern. She broke her silence again, "Then why are you like this baba? You look so depressed. Talk to me, please." Sayyid Akbar clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, as if he had trouble thinking of what he wanted to say, then, "Shamsa, I am not your father."
Omar lay awake in the middle of the night, unsure of what to think. Father Time took a break from his rounds and sat down, listening to the young man's grieving heart as he recounted the day's events. It involved a marriage proposal, a surprising rejection and unanswered questions.
Heavy panting mixed with the squelching sounds his footsteps made on the muddied street. It was way past his curfew and he was petrified by what his aunt would do to him the moment he got back. The scars on his body were proof of her merciless treatment. Five minutes later and he was silently…
I would like to dedicate this post, and this day (and every other day) to all the women who have, in one way or another, shaped me up into the person that I am today.
I liken Kenya to a mother with over forty children, who fight each other for the biggest piece of meat. Some children are stronger than the others, and so they take from their weaker siblings and share major parts among themselves, leaving the rest starving or dissatisfied.
I faked a smile after I kissed the hand of the man who abused me.