Now I get it. Malawi at 50 -Independence Day or What?

All day I hesitated to type and to publicise  the words, now I get it 

4th July came and it was so easy to press the button and to celebrate- US Independence with great pride 

It was so easy to be joyful and feel triumphant  

5th July came and passed, even though there was a golden invitation on the dresser waiting ... Waiting for me to show up to be counted as a Malawian at Malawi's 50th 

Counted in the the celebrations of expats abroad reunited by a common cause. A blood line, a cultural and identifiable bloodline to the roots of our accentors, to most- their roots are still  frest and current with  residing back home 

6th July and still I hesitated. 

I could not type the words so easily and could not, did not want to join in on the celebrations 

What did I have to celebrate, what I had contributed? What had been achieved in order to celebrate? 

Melancholy sunk in, joy no longer existed what was there to celebrate apart from being in the same room of identifiable roots and tongues? 

I could adorn nice attire from head to tore and show up to be counted. 

Counted for what? 

What could I or we celebrate?

Guilt has eaten away at my inner core the whole day  and tied me in notes

Guilt bound me to stay indoors

I would be none the wiser to celebrate 

What did I have to celebrate?

What did we have to celebrate?

Truth be known 

We are still not liberated nor free 

We instead have become mummified into subdued believers

Only this time around we are not

bound or enslaved by anyone else but only by ourselves 

We are enslaved in ourselves and to otherness 

How could I celebrate?

Celebrate, when a  woman, child or man is truly free?

How could I celebrate when basic rights to human entitlement are still not readily free 

How could I celebrate, knowing  the fact that today of all days after. 50years if independence someone - a woman, child or man could go to bed hungry 

what was there to celebrate?

Today is Malawian Independence Day. Independence from what?

For we are not mentally free,  

The time to celebrate will be when every woman, child and man has equal basic rights to- food, clean water, sanitation, medicine, education, and a roof under their heads to call a stable home 

Freedom to dance and celebrate will exert itself when greed comes to a halt. When those in power realise their power and use it for the greater good to look beyond their pockets & greed and into human kind. Fresh & fresh 

Such a basic formula right? So easy to get it right? One despairs  that something so easy, has not been achieved for the past 50 years 

Shall we wait another 50year to celebrate? 

 true independence and celebrations only arises in pride and not shame

 

Malawi 50 years of Independence??!!

For 50 years?

For 50 years we have been forced to smile
Celebrate they say, for fifty years of self rule
Bare yellow teeth that yearn for toothpaste
But which we cannot afford
For our pockets boast holes
Not of designs, but signatures of poverty.

Sing a new song, they say
Blow a golden trumpet
Let the vacant faces
Wear hope;
Why groan forever, when one black as you
Sits at the palace
Speaks your language, ploughs ugali
Just like you?

Do not remind me
Of bitter tears of yesterday
Of crocodile feasts, gun-totting smokers,
And priestesses of thieves!
Can these cracked lips conjure a song?
Can this broken heart solicit a prayer?
Where is this in-depend-ence
When all we do is posture for handouts? — written by Ron Muphuwa

Life stood still

Life stood still no longer 

A breath of fresh air swept through the lungs 

Revived she was with a sense of a rebirth a new found freedom 

She travelled miles on end to foreign territory only regain a sense of self 

The streets were alight

Lit with flowerery plesentary from the unknowns 

The unknowns welcome this stranger not known amongst them and embarrassed her like their own

They opened theirs doors for they had nothing to hide 

Indeed now was the opportune moment for her and them to share the stories heard but untrue 

I didn't see you die

I didn't see you die

I didn't see you die

Even though I didn't see you die, I feel you and I see you 

Grief is a bastard, it's a consumer a taker rather than a giver

My living dream

My living dream is my nightmare

I exist in it, only as body without a soul 

I am an interdependent body, born into the corporate world of doing for the sake of doing

In my living nightmare I do for the sale of doing, but do not exist 

My soul is dead for its been bled and sucked out into nothingness

Each day is like ground hog day 

For I have become a hollow shelf, one to store and remove things off

I embody nothingness and nothing new, for there is no reason but to do in order to make ends meet

In my living nightmare I am stuck and trapped into a state of  a  newly revived trade of Slavery 

It's a subtle form of slavery which slowly kills ones souls and alludes one into believing the tasks are for a greater cause 

In my living dream I wake, rise, go on the rat race circle and produce for the man dressed in blue 

The man dressed in blue represents class of the higher state, king and ruler who makes us believe we are in it for the greater good 

In my living state and awaken state, I am astute to the elusion but still trapped 

In my living state I suffer loss of me, for I am aware I live but in a dead state 

I live in a mummified state and do not actualise my potential to awaken to me 

I continue in my living nightmare although in an awaken state of the living me  

The Day I get Married

The celebrations would take place in a country estate 

My husband to be would sit in the cigar room with him for a private discussion

He would pour whiskey into two glasses and light one cigar after another. 

He would talk about his baby, little girl, now a grown woman

He would talk about all the wishes he had and still has, but one that the man who came along would make me eternally happy

My boyfriend would thank him for all the blessings and feel thankful to be part of his family 

Only that the cigar room and the country estate do exist but only in my mind 

For this would have been my wish and ideal reality 

 He never will have the pleasure of meeting his little girls boyfriend, fiancé, husband and his grandchildren 

For he departed not to long ago and we will never actualise our dream- love you forever 

For I dreamt as you dreamt a dream of walking me down the aisle one day  xoxo 

Whiskey Bottle

The allure of the whiskey, wine and sparking champagne on the top shelf 

Beyond the tears and blurred vision there was my rescuer in a dire moment 

I opened the cabinet out of curiosity and with the intention, to discover another little piece of you 

Everything else on the shelf from soap , toilet paper, shoe polish, newspapers and magazines were just items and did not symbolise anything 

On the top shelf lay a brown pink wrapped gift basket 

The basket lay they're as though waiting for this very day for me to discover it

It symbolised a freedom to numbing imaginable pain, an escape from an ever aching heart 

I reached up on my tippy toes and stretched out to hug the basket

My comfort had arrived 

I thought of the gift giver. Never would you know, how you would be become my rescuer and the gift you had given would become so symbolic 

I took you away laid you amongst  all the other clutter I/we had to sort out

in his room 

The whiskey stood out of everything else in the basket including the pink shredded ribbons, you were my calling and  my maker to a cure. 

You had come to rescue me from never ending pain

A tot, I poured and the next and the next 

The pain would slip away with each sip and the drips of the alcohol would cuddle me into a subtle state of numbness until I could not cry anymore 

I become numb, the bottle became my comforter. The sounds of your cd's shimmered  in the background amongst the clutter and played imaginary tunes of your favourite songs and time passed as though it never happened.  

There I lay numb only to wake up the next day back into normative  form, yet surreal state of existence. I awoke to the same tune of ground hog day, never ending pain crushed yet again deep into my chest and to the core of my heart 

I cried endlessly once more. Only to repeat the same circle of hugging, cradling the bottle and it's drips into numbness only to wake up again. Oh hell had indeed arrived 

For how could you no longer exist