WORDS

I have decided to post some of my fiction work on my blog and I would love to hear what you guys think of it so kindly give me your comments; thanks!

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“…He caught the glint of clear grey eyes; and then he shivered, for it came suddenly to him that it was the face of one without hope who goes in search of death.” The words came to her as clearly as the crisp, keen feel of the fresh morning air on a mountain top. Words that she had read in some book; one of the many books that she, an avid reader, had devoured in her eagerness to finish the current book and move on to the next. How the words resonated with her fey mood! She now knew only too well what it meant to have a face of one without hope; a crushed spirit.


She sighed, turned for the umpteenth time in her bed that seemed to offer no comfort. Sleep evaded her. The pain in her heart consumed her but this time there were no tears; not anymore. She gave up the battle and allowed herself to sink into the depths of pain. And in the midst of her agony, words came to her. He was angry, he was hurt and he put forth all his anger and pain in the choice of words. “You take me for granted; you are selfish; I am tired; you can’t prove it to me; don’t act deaf and dumb; I’m not a mind reader nor a super angel …” The tirade flowed and with every word he uttered a small piece of her broke down, shattered and was destroyed.


The man she loved, the man with whom she had experienced inexplicable joy and happiness, was looking at her in disgust, almost loathe; and his fury burned and it consumed her. But this time, she was not going to cry.


Words, words, words, words! What is it they say? Stick and bones can break my body but not my spirit? Those who said that must have known that there was another innocuous looking but more deadly weapon; one that can cut through the sinew of the body, heart and touch that hidden, undefined part, the soul, the spirit. Like a sharp sword, forged in fires assured to sear any that stood in its way, a sword hammered on an anvil of pain, the words he uttered took the shape of the sword and tore into her heart, past it, till they found its target; her spirit and ruthlessly, they plunged, breaking her.


Tears started to form, threatening to fill her eyes but she blinked them away, furious with herself. No more tears. She looked at her watch, 2 am in the night, still sleep was a rumour that she had heard of far away and as yet, it didn’t knock on her door. It was a distant thought, still roaming wildly in the plains; its journey down the plains and up the stony hills to reach her not yet begun. There was nothing else to do but continue on the road appointed for her; she was now immersed in the pain.


“I love you; I want to spend the rest of my life with you; you are so beautiful; you saved me; you are so good to me, you are an angel.” Another set of words, uttered in the ecstasy of love; words just as strong as the hurting ones; only that these were healing words, and he had said them to her. She smiled; a grim bitter smile. How fickle and unpredictable life is! How things can change in the blink of an eye; how easy it is to lose one’s whole life in a matter of seconds, and watch as the only one, the love of your life walks out of your life without a trace. All in a matter of words.


His words had touched her spirit, in them, she heard distrust, exhaustion, threat to her future with him; and they poisoned her spirit. She was flooded with questions. Could she never do anything right? How can he love her yet distrust her so much? What was it that she wasn’t doing? Despair started to set in.


But she was no saint either; she had used the same tool, words, and inflicted pain on him only it was employed in the reverse. If his sin was the sin of commission, then hers was of omission. It was what she had not said and done that had started the war. She was more the non verbal type; actions speak louder than words; and it hurt him terribly. He took it as a sign of disrespect, of taking him for granted and yet, she was so used to this form of communicating that as much as she tried, she found herself slipping back to omission. Old habits die hard, they say.


When she did use words, they came off as selfish, quarrelsome and rude. And yet, she too could use them to bring him joy. “You are my man; my love, you make me insanely happy; you are so understanding; you drive me crazy; I want to marry you; I’m yours for life.” She recalled his smile, the feel of his strong arms as he drew her close, the touch of his lips, the beating of his heart as she started to drown in him and the look in his eyes when he said he loved her. How she loved him; how he brought her happiness and yet; how he could bring her pain! And how she could bring him pain too!


She thinks he over reacts but so does she. What would it have hurt to say ‘I’m sorry sweetheart; I know it hurts you when I do that; and I’m not sure that this is the last time it will happen but I promise to try to improve.” But would he believe her; would it just be words to him? When he tried talking, she became defensive and a deadly silence ensued; both of them left to brood in their dark thoughts.


Ironically, she sits and writes this; another set of words! And the last words that she pens are a cry of help to the Almighty; “God, I love him, please help him see that and Lord, help me be a better person, and accept my mistakes when I do make them. If it is your will for us to be together, and for this thing to work; then please help us make it work.”

ELECTION FEVER

Kenya is in the throes of political madness once again with the general elections literally at our door step. Come to think of it, since 2003 after the Kibaki government took over, the country has been in a state of heightened political activity despite common expectation that the political temperatures would have simmered down after we evicted retired president Daniel Arap Moi from the throne he had sat on for close to quarter of a century. We witnessed anarchy among government ministers as had never been witnessed before, the president firing his whole cabinet and a lot of political theatrics.


Now, we are in the cooking pot as far as politics go; in fact we are bubbling hot and the next elections promise to be hotly contested. In that line there have been many political analysts – real, wanna be, aspiring – who have taken on the duty of picking apart the political fish (oops, I should be careful in using such words at this time as I may be accused of leaning politically on one side and many other things) okay, or the political chicken, goat, cow or whatever you want to call it.


One of the things that have come up from many analysts is that Kenya has never been more tribal than it is today; detractors of Kibaki’s government have accused it of balkanizing Kenyans into tribal groups. And many people seem to believe this and that is why this article I am publishing – written by Simiyu Barasa (Script Writer, Film Director and Producer) – is so interesting. It gives a new, fresh and hitherto unexplored perspective on the political scenario. The article was in response to another article that expressed grave fear about our future as a country given the tribal divisions that are perceived to be there with the worried writer suggesting that we may be going the Rwanda way.


Have a read of Barasa’s response and let me know what you think:


WHO IS AFRAID OF JALUO?

This is Kenya. For those who don't know, Kenya oscillates between violent spasms of tribalism , ethnic hate talk, murderous calls for the elimination of the 'other' big tribe before 'they finish us small tribe', and yet despite all this drama, we haven't gone the Rwanda way; or the Somali way, or for that matter, The New Orleans way. Which begs the question, why do Kenyans laugh about themselves in bars and at home and in Redykulass TV show, yet during the day everyone else in the media and the whole world think that we are about to go to war?

I think because we are all too much talk and no action. Or rather the press gives too much attention to our politicians saying ogopa jaluo itatumaliza, twanga Kikuyu wamekula mali yetu sana, or Baluhya ni shi? This is our time to stop eating ingokho only and eat from the seat of presidency. Which is why I understand you, John*, and your fears, and at the same moment am left confused whether all this political madness going on in our country is indeed just tribal hatred or something deeper.

Look, if it were that simple, TRIBE and ‘otherising’ the other tribe, no one would be scared Kibaki is going to lose the elections. For real, he has the whole Gikuyu behind him, the populous Bukusu sub tribe of the Luhya, and several others. Raila would have no chance whatsoever, no tribe in Kenya loves Luo - Oh no, they are pompous, arrogant, melodramatic, and the only good thing they have ever given to the Kenyan history is riots, attempted coups, Tony Nyadundo, Oliech, and through African traditions you are one of us despite your father dumping your mother, Barrack Obama, the next African president of America, Luo to be precise.

It’s not that simple. That is why there is no need to panic that there is mass murder awaiting to happen. This month alone, there have been three presidential launches in the city. The second one, by Raila, made people fear to go about their normal duties in the city thinking 'the Luos will be chaotic and cause riots'. It never happened. It was so disciplined, public transport went on the normal way, and everyone looked a fool for fearing the worst. Kalonzo went on his, everyone feared he was about to embarrass himself by choosing Uhuru park. Will he fill the grounds? Kambas are not that many, even if he took all of them from Makueni. In the end he pulled what I think is the greatest shock in Kenyan political meetings: the whole place was crowded to the core, UNTIL NOW PEOPLE ARE WONDERING HOW HE PULLED HIS FEAT. Newspapers are stumbling all over dictionaries looking for superlatives to say he pulled a miracle.

Kibaki is facing a rebellion among even his Gikuyu. In town, the talk is 'his campaign team doesn't want to listen to others, they think Mau Mau era tactics will work' others are 'he has sent so many of our young people to jail, how does he expect us to vote him in?'while ironically others say 'he let us be killed by Mungiki, Kikuyus have suffered a lot under his reign. We are the ones who have died most."

There in lies the answer. Its not about tribal politics, it's about a paradigm shift in thought and philosophy that is creating such heat in this year’s general elections. Raila has never spoken anything constructive on what he will do once he is president, (infact he is somersaulting and doing about turns in his political 'I will do this' list with every rising day) yet he is getting mass appeal. Because guys are not seeing him as a Luo (of course the Luos are seeing him as this), but Kenyans think he has youth, vigour, and doesn't belong to the RICH ARROGANT GUYS WHO MADE IT DURING COLONIAL TIMES. The Kibakis and Michukis who have formed a 29 member team that arrogantly left out the Mungatanas and Kituyis who have all along managed to sell Kibaki as the Kenyan god.

Kalonzo is seen as the guy who God blessed to rise from poverty and be a Kenyan of note without having a political father like Raila or money from Molasses and East African Gas or whatever it's called.

This is the anger. And the Kibaki machinery has failed to read this. They opted to use the old trick of crying JALUO to bring down Raila, but Kenyans have moved away from this. Raila uses the 'ARROGANT RICH WHO ASK WHY ARE YOU SAYING YOU DON'T HAVE BREAD TO EAT, DON'T YOU HAVE CAKE? and so is Kalonzo. And in this, they are succeeding. So now a few hoarse cries are going around over-trying to create fear the Luo and fear the Kikuyu rhetoric almost to genocide proportions but no one is paying attention to them except the lazy Kenyan armchair press and the 'This iswhat Africa is about-Rwanda' International press.

In the streets, there is no fear of bloodshed, just fear of who will win and save us. So, no one is afraid of any tribe in Kenya. Mwai Kibaki was the first Luo president in Kenyan history, until he let Githongo and the likes take off this shawl by refusing to listen to Githongo and company and reign in on greed, instead listening to his goons telling him 'Let Githongo talk we are Gikuyus, let’s eat, he can join us if he wants'. Raila will be the Gikuyu president if he lets matatus carry as many as they can, abolish Kanju raids tohawkers, and give the Luo - Nyanza road construction contracts to Kikuyu cowboys. You just have to ask who put up the Raila People's president sign boards on Haille Sellasie / Uhuru Highway round about to realize this. (I mean, if the mayor can recede on a contract to light the city because he wants his friends to get a bite of the cake they never baked, and says he supports Kibaki tena, hit the mayor even if it means hitting Kibaki).


Kibaki is just collateral damage in the class war in Kenya that is the bottom line. And that is the thing to panic about, not tribalism. Coz class means money, means age, and means philosophy wars.

* Name has been changed to protect privacy.

Finally Found

It's been long since i wrote this blog but I am planning to get my act together soon and put up something much more exciting than this particular piece I am writing now and for that matter, i think i had better stop writing until i have something much more sensible to say. Laters

Pornography - With whom does the buck stop?

This blog is an article I had published some while back on g21.net, an online magazine, in reaction to an article by Simiyu Barasa, an author of great talent and whom I hold in great esteem. His article is attached and herein published is my reaction. Let's get the debate on pornography going!

I have read Barasa's article with keen interest and I must say the author has looked at the whole issue of pornography and feminism from a fresh angle. He gives great insight into the whole debate. However, there are some things I feel were not critically looked at or needed further exploration and I have taken the opportunity to highlight what I agreed and disagreed with in the article.

To begin with, I agree with the definition given by the author drawn from that of Andrea Dworkin, a feminist writer, and her lawyer compatriot, Catherine Mackinnon that pornography is a form of subordination of women. However, I think pornography is more than subordination; if you ask me, it is also a form of sexual perversion because one, pornography does not only involve women; there is also male pornography.

Secondly, for the pornographers, I don't think they feel subordinated, on the contrary, they feel liberated and for them, it is a form of sexual pleasure. They get a kick from looking sexy and arousing those feelings. So, for women who engage in pornography, it is a power thing, not subordination! They feel powerful to have men ogle at their bodies and want them and yet, in all probability, they can't have them (like in the case of magazines); a kind of femme fatale thing.

Secondly, Barasa argues that the 'girl' who walks out of a movie hall complaining that women are treated as sex objects, implies by her statement that a woman is a tangible object. Well, a woman is a tangible object, Barasa, although that is not the only thing that she is. I think we cannot separate the fact that a person is a physical, spiritual, and emotional being. In that sense, the you in one way is not tangible, it is an essence, like the soul; but the physical you is tangible and therefore, it is possible for that you, the physical one, to be treated as an object.

However, I do agree with the author that by focusing on physical pornography, we forget that there can be mental pornography.

I disagree with the argument espoused by the author in his reference to the proposals made by Linda Moncheck that sexual objectification based on physical bodies is a key contributor to the domestication of women by men. On the contrary, I don't think it is the sexual objectification of a woman's body that allows her to be dominated by a male world, I think it is first the mental sexual subjection of a woman through things like culture, which assign certain roles for the different sexes, societal norms of what a woman can/should and cannot/should not do, that translate to the physical sexual objectification.

I think the author is mistaken when he argues that women also want to be treated as sexual objects as in the case of a woman dressing up in a sexy evening gown that flatters her physical attributes. There is a very big difference between a woman wanting a man to appreciate her as an emotional, spiritual and sexual being (like in the case of dressing in a manner that flatters one's physique, like in wanting to have sex with your husband/boyfriend etc and in him appreciating your body) and being treated as a sexual object.
You see, if my man tells me I have a great body, yes, he sees the physical me, but then, I am in a relationship with this man and I know that he appreciates other attributes about me, like my brains, my listening ear, etc, so in that sense, it is not only [in] the physical. He is seeing me, the whole me.

Now in pornography, it doesn't matter if I am Jane, Mary, Harriet, it is the breasts, the thighs, and the butt that matter regardless of whom they belong to.

Regarding the author's discussion on "The Vagina Monologues" which are considered to be nothing short of pornography by some but are viewed by [its] proponents as liberation of women, my view is that they beat the purpose they are trying to achieve and it is vulgarity. You see, you don't fight what you don't like by becoming it, e.g when women get into politics, to prove that they can be better or at par with the men, they become as vulgar, crude and corrupt as the men. But in doing so, they lose the war. For women to think that they are liberating themselves from being viewed as sexual objects by flaunting, in a way, the core of their sexuality 'the vagina' then in that way, they only reinforce what they have been trying to fight because they become as pornographic as the men.

I totally agree with the author's discussion on the supposed difference [between] pornography and erotica. My take: all of them are pornography and just because one is occurring in some small room in the slum and the other one is occurring in an exclusive club in the form of strip dancers and table dancers does not make them different.

When it comes to the role of literature in promoting pornography, the author attempts to give literature a clean [bill of] health arguing that literature, by highlighting pornographic acts, does not contribute to the subordination of women but only depicts what is already in existence in society.

I disagree. Pornography in literature is a form of subordination of women as well as a depiction of it. It is true that the authors are feeding from the readily available material in the form of society's moral decadence but, on the other hand, by authors - both male and female - writing such things, they subordinate women. A teenage boy reading After 4.30 may know pornography exists but may not be in the know of the types, the graphic details. Now when you write and tell him that a woman can enjoy being raped, that there are many things besides his male organ that can be inserted into a woman, that women want a man who is rough and harsh, then you are helping subordinate women in the mind of this boy. So, you are not only depicting but also helping the vicious cycle! The author should therefore equally condemn literature even as he is calling us to castigate movies and magazines that promote the culture of pornography.

Finally, it's kudos to Mr. Barasa for being brave enough to brooch into such a controversial topic and take on the traditional thinking on the issue of pornography.

Barbie Comes to Life!!!

An African woman, is a beautiful woman, a quality woman, not a quantity woman …these are part of the lyrics to the song ‘African Woman’ by Jommenes in praise of the attributes of African women. I love this song; so don’t misunderstand me, but I find it ironical because in today’s world, the beauty of a woman is precisely determined by her quantity – the quantity of breasts, hips, posterior, tummy, the list is endless - and not any other inner attributes that she may possess.

The various body parts of a woman are considered excellent, very good, good, fair, average or lacking, depending on their sizes. It is how big or small is her posterior? How about her hips? How thick and long is her hair? What size are her breasts? Are her toes small and shapely or are they huge and blotchy? Everywhere, size and quantity are being used to appraise women and their beauty.

But of course no one admits to this. People will always give you this line, ‘For me, what matters first and foremost is the inner beauty and the inner person; you know, someone can be beautiful on the outside but inside they are nothing.’ My response to this – absolute and utter nonsense. If we actually judged people by their inner beauty, so many people would not be where they are today. It is their looks that have got them there.

While men do get judged by their looks, it is women who are the main victims. So, what is a beautiful woman and especially in our context, a beautiful African woman? Okot p’Bitek in his much acclaimed Poem, ‘The song of Lawino’ addresses this issue among the many other issues raised in this epic. The book discusses the issues facing a liberated Africa which vary from religion to culture and traditions.

Lawino’s husband, Ocol, takes on a second wife, a white woman, and seems to prefer her and her ways to Lawino, who laments her husband’s neglect and changed ways in the poem. In one part of the poem, she compares the beauty of the African woman to that of the European describing the African woman as voluptuous with thick lips so that when she kisses her beloved, he will not forget her kiss. She hits out at her rival, the European co-wife as being unhealthily thin and with thin pale lips.

While in many parts of the world, thin women with just the right amount of flesh in certain key parts are considered beautiful; this is not the case in Jamaica. In Jamaica, big is beautiful, and western ideologies of beauty do not apply there. In fact, it is claimed that some women eat chicken feed to gain weight.

However, the catch here is that you need to be light which has led to many Jamaican women getting all manner of skin conditions due to the usage of dangerous chemicals to bleach their faces. This has become such a serious issue that the Jamaican government has actually instituted a campaign against use of facial lighteners which also aims at encouraging Jamaicans to accept themselves just as they are.

Now, I understand that there is a limit to how much we can say size does not matter. Obesity is on the rise especially in the developed world; even among children. But for the majority of people, there size does not pose a health risk, maybe a fashion one.

It is unfortunate that young women are suffering from diseases such as anorexia and bulimia just to be considered beautiful when in reality there is nothing wrong with them and these are beautiful women in every sense of the word. Others are going for elective surgeries, having silicon implanted into their breasts, their hips and behinds sliced up to be reduced and liposuction on their stomachs and thighs all in the name of attaining the desired image.

As women, we need to realize that no matter how much we try, we will never look perfect to everyone. Someone will always want us to have a little bit more or a little bit less in certain areas. We must define what is beautiful to us and refuse to be forced into the box; after all, what makes the world an interesting place to live in is its diversity.

Imagine what kind of world it would be if all the women were tall and the famed shape of 36-24-36 and all the men were 6 ft tall, handsome and with a firm six pack? Where would the fun and uniqueness be? More importantly, I am genuinely worried that the Barbie doll is becoming personified by women all over the world and we may soon have a world of Barbies!

The jungle of modern dating!

For those who are still bidding their time in looking for the perfect mate, this piece is a wake up call for them. First, the bible states clearly that there will be no marriage in heaven, and for very good reasons too which I will expound in a short while. Now, if that is the case, and Kenya’s life expectancy is below 50 years, then anyone above the age of 25 and hopes to get married but is dilly dallying in the hope of capturing the elusive soul mate need to up their game now.

Let me substantiate my earlier statement about no marriage in heaven. There is this time the Pharisees, in an attempt to test Jesus, came to him with a hypothetical situation. The story was of a woman who marries a man and he dies before he can sire any children with her; consequently, the man’s brother marries the woman to continue his dead brother’s lineage. Unfortunately, the second brother dies without giving the woman any children and a third brother steps in to save the family tree, but he too dies. This goes on until the last brother, the seventh, also dies without having any children with the woman. Thinking themselves very clever, the Pharisees then posed to Jesus this question, “when the woman dies and she eventually gets to heaven, whose wife will she be?” And that is where Jesus makes the shocking revelation, at least to the Pharisees, that there will be no marriage in heaven.

The process of getting a suitable spouse in today’s world in a laborious uphill task that only the brave and strong of heart should dare to attempt. The golden old days when men were serious and lived up to their responsibilities are today buried in the annals of history. In those days, a man did not engage in casual sex and go sowing his wild oats all over. If you made a girl pregnant out of wedlock, then you lived up to your responsibility and married her and helped her to raise your child. And such a man did not go wandering to other women in the name of love; he faced the consequences of his action like a true man. I guess circumcision actually meant something at that time. It distinguished the men from the boys.

In the modern world, dating has become a very complex and ruthless affair and those getting into the arena need to have properly girded themselves for a bruising battle. To begin with, there is the vicious cycle which is part of Mother Nature; Jane wants John but John wants Catherine. Unfortunately, Catherine couldn’t care less about John, she is pining for Michael and the story goes on. It is almost miraculous for two people to actually want each other at the exact same given period in time. And what is even more distressing is that most people, when they are lucky enough for the miracle to happen to them, don’t realize that the probabilities are set against them and they go ahead to do a pretty good job of messing up things.

One of the most constant complaints I hear from my girlfriends is that there are simply no husband material men. Today’s men have become exotic sportsmen and hunters with the prey being as many girls as they can lay their hands on. The women too cannot be absolved from blame with the increasing attitude of ‘two can play the game’ urging them on. As a result, we have a harem going on.

Then of course there is the very tedious process of trying to vet a potential spouse and nowadays there are just so many bad behaviours and mannerisms out there that the check list and vetting procedure is closer to a dissertation than a list. And even when you get a prospective, you still have to deal with those who argue that nothing is final till death and will not accept their loss in love graciously.

Musical diva Whitney Houston who sang the song “Where do broken hearts go” may have to re-edit the song because today’s broken hearts heal at an amazing speed. You dump your boyfriend over SMS today and next week you are head over heels in love with another man. C’est la vie.

The more I think about dating today, the more the match making that used to be done by parents in the past era seems attractive. And for the future generation, we should start not only match making but marrying them at birth and then monitoring them and we may save a lot of people a lot of problems.

Are you crazy?!!!!

Stepping outside my friend’s gate as we went to the supermarket, a car was parked a few meters ahead of us and inside, was a man and girl slapping each other. At first I thought it was some sort of a lover’s play, until we passed them. They were actually fighting. Or rather, the man was beating up the girl, inside the car, and she just sat there, like a stuffed turkey, not even bothering to scream or shout. “Sometimes you wish to intervene,” my friend said, “but it seems they are used to it. If she needed help she would be shouting or screaming, or at least get out of the car and if the man chases after her, we can deal with him.”

Really? I wondered. My friend was a man and the female chauvinist in me was ready to jump to the defence of female kind but I let it go. He said that we might just step in to save the girl only for us to be caught in the middle with both the girl and her man attacking you for interfering with their lives. Read Moliere’s play A Doctor In spite of Himself for a classic example.

A month prior to that, we were walking down Nakumatt Uhuru Highway with the same friend when a man started fighting with a lady he claimed he was together with. A crowd gathered because the girl denied that she was with him. The man was grabbing her bag and her but the lady was not making a spirited effort to fight off the man; in fact she almost seemed to be negotiating with him. My friend suggested that the lady was lying; otherwise why did she still stand there and engage the man in a heated argument? If a man or woman whom you don't know stops you in the middle of town and starts pulling at your bag don't you scream THIEF!? I was tempted to argue but once again, I held my tongue and how glad I am that I did not do my characteristic thing and rally to the defence of these women.

An hour later, back to the lovers in the car story, we came back to the flats. The car was now parked next to the black gate. The man was seated sullen, chin propped on his knuckles, elbow on the open driver’s window staring out of his car. The girl was seated still in the same car, buckled up, staring in the opposite direction at the outside world through the passenger window. How is one beaten in a car then sit with her assailant in the car sulking at each other?

“You see!” A much vindicated friend said. “If we had interfered we would have been the ones in trouble. That girl didn’t want to be rescued.” And unfortunately, he was absolutely right.

That got me irate. Women, women, women! When shall we be liberated if we believe to be physically assaulted is part of the love game? That to be slapped and have your hair pulled out in public is part of life? That to have your clothes torn off in the middle of Moi Avenue on a Monday lunchtime has to be forgiven because it’s love anyway and naturally lovers fight? With women like these, the war is half lost, we don't even need men to condemn us, we have condemned ourselves already.

If a man slaps you, scream. That is not love. Run, that is not normal. Never see him again; it isn’t an ‘I am sorry’ situation. Never pick his calls, it isn’t a ‘I just lost it please forgive me’ kind of thing. How many end up dead in a morgue, beaten to a faceless pulp, by the men they claim loved them to death? It all starts with a slap and a forgiveness, giving the chance for a repeat that grows more and more violent and you never realise he is a killer till you are the one in the news as “A woman was hacked with a panga by her irate husband/boyfriend/lover.”

Some say that their cultures dictate they be beaten as a sign of love. Wait till you are in hospital with fatal injuries, we will see where that culture will be to heal you. Why do we allow our reasoning to be done by others, yet we are the ones who feel the pains and even die?

Some say they persevere because of the children. Will your corpse feed them when you are dead from ‘a knock inflicted by a blunt object’ like a rolling pin?

And as for the gold diggers who are too lazy to work for their own money and are afraid that if they run from the man they won’t have anyone to feed them, give them that posh limousine ride their friends so envy and take them to posh hotels, all I can say is that you are the most stupid person on earth.

Is the money worth the black eye you try to hide every week which you claim is as a result of an unfortunate fall? Deep down your heart it hurts. Deep down your soul you know you feel like a piece of trash. Deep down your conscience you know it is not right. It is not right because you are a beautiful woman, dignified mother, lovely sister who deserves the best. But if you treat yourself as garbage, why would anyone else think you are worth anything?

For women who, like that girl, value the cheap plastic covers of second hand Nissan Sunny cars that they can be slapped and kicked and abused yet refuse to open that door and run, heaven have mercy on your poor souls when you go there prematurely. Me, No one will ever beat me, love or no love.