Aunty Violet
She was a tall, dark
voluptuous woman
with big eyes.
Waiting outside his office
She sat still and upright
Hands folded in her lap.
Only her eyes hinted at the fire within.
Finally they let her in.
Mr Bob sat across the desk
His face pink and sweaty
On this humid afternoon.
‘Where is my husband?’
She asked quietly.
Her eyes glinting.
Her body, very still.
‘I don’t know’ he replied.
Very slowly she leaned forward
And said,
‘You have taken him
again
and I have come to fetch him.’
‘I do not know your husband.’
His thin pale lips
Twitched as he spoke,
His eyes, cold and empty,
Staring back into hers
.
Suddenly
She stood
And pushed his desk up
Against his big belly
Pinning him helpless
Against the wall.
Her eyes blazing
She said
“Bobu! Tukooye okutuyisa
obubi!
My husband has done nothing wrong
and I will NOT leave here without him!
I will NOT raise my children alone.
WHERE IS MY HUSBAND?”
.
Mr. Bob’s eyes opened wide
And he gasped!
Face ashen,
pinned between the wall and the desk
Unable to move or breathe.
He looked into her burning eyes
Her tall body towering over him
And suddenly
he remembered her husband
… and where he was!
“Please Madam,
Let go of the desk,”
He wheezed.
“Your husband will
be here soon.”
That day
Her husband came back home
And was never taken again!
********
Going home (formerly known as In a Foreign Land)
Nabutiiru.
At the dinning table
shoulders hunched.
Quiet tears .
A soft moan .
Two aunties next to her
hushed words
taut faces.
A child
leaning against the wall
Eyes flashing, fists clenched
’What did they say?’
Nabutiiru says
‘I’m alright.
Khukhu passed away last night.’
The child
Wraps her arms
Around her Mother
Mourning her Mother.
Nabutiiru.looks around her.
Their homeland
Fast falling into war.
She dislocated
With three of her children.
Far away from home.
The older two
wheel-chair bound.
Minds alert
Unable to speak, or walk,
Or care for themselves.
The younger one, 13.
The caregiver barely 19,
She must go.
Can she leave the children alone?
Bury her Mother
Will she be safe?
Her husband kilometers and kilometers away,
Her eldest child further.
The second born at home –
maybe she will be at the funeral.
An aunty speaks.
‘What if the soldiers get you? Stay.’
Nabutiiru stands.
‘I must go.
I must bury my mother.’
‘We will be alright.’
Bag packed.
She gives the child some money.
‘I’ll be back soon.
If you need anything
Call Aunty.’
Nabutiiru travels
In a Matatu
Through the Rift Valley
Towards Busia
She remembers
The last words her mother,
Hand on cheek, she had asked:
“Nabutiiru, will you manage
With the children in a foreign land?”
Nabutiiru crosses Manaafa,
The river of her home.
The floodgates open up
Tears wash over her.
At the homestead
They wait.
Coffin lowered into
The grave.
They wait.
Corrugated iron sheets over grave.
They wait.
Nabutiiru.
As the sun sets
She steps out of the car
Into the homestead.
They see she is here.
The voice of an old woman
Singing a dirge
Rises through the air
One by one
They move,
As if dancing,
To the grave.
Nabutiiru is here
She will bury her mother.
They will be alright.
And far away
In a foreign land
The children now wait.
namutebikabalikagwa 