Joseph Okumu
A girl by the name Ndekwe,
Was born raised in a village,
Rukala, the heart of the countryside,
Her education is limited,
Or let’s say,
Perhaps that she has passed KCPE,
And has gone to high school,
Let’s even assume that,
It is a good school and not like those,
Public schools where the poor pay good money,
Even when the classrooms boast no teachers,
Yes! They boast no teachers,
They’re always on streets singing,
“Solidarity forever, bado mapambano,”
They’re on strike!
Before she reaches Form Two,
Ndekwe has had it,
She’s two in one,
She is pregnant, but who is responsible?
A student, say,
The student doesn’t have a cent to his name,
Their friendship has been a matter of lending each other,
Novels by Sharon Obanda, Pauline Kea, Phibian Muthama, or Henry Indindi,
It has been a question of singing songs,
From the records of Wadagliz, Mejja Genge, or Ssaru,
Little Ndekwe daughter of stream,
Where can you turn now?
On the other hand,
We could imagine that,
The man responsible for expectancy,
Is a loafer from village,
The loafer is jobless,
He hasn’t even a place to lay his head,
Their love affair has been sustained by Namwenge’s guitar playing,
And evening dances in the village,
Courtesy of Wabebe Sound, Violin, ChapChap, and MwendaPole melodies,
It has been conducted in borrowed huts,
Or in open fields after dark,
Young Ndekwe, where will you turn?
The baby will need food and clothes,
Perhaps the loafer has a job in the city,
But his salary is 8 thousand shillings a month,
Their love has been nourished by Bruce Lee,
And MC Tonde films in a cheap hotel,
At the famous shanty MauMau centre,
Who will wipe away Ndekwe’s tears now?
Or let’s say that, a rich mubabaz,
Is the father of the child,
Isn’t that kind of affair, the fashion of these days?
The rich mubabaz has a wife,
The affair has been the question of rendezvous,
In a Mercedes Benz, on Sunday.
It has been fueled by small cash,
That Ndekwe has received as pocket money,
Before returning to school,
It has been lubricated by hard liquor gins,
During KalaKlash Bash,
In Winam Restaurant, far away from Rukala.
Student, loafer, rich mubabaz or bodaboda guy,
The response is the same,
When Ndekwe tells them about her condition,
“WHAT! Ndekwe,
Who are you claiming is responsible for pregnancy?
Me?
How have you worked that out?
Go on and pester someone else with your delusions,
Ndekwe of the easy thighs, ten-cent Gonja,
You can cry until your tears have filled KEG drums,
It will make no difference,
Ndekwe! You can’t collect pregnancies wherever you may,
And then lay them at my door,
Just because I happened to tease you!”
‘Say Ndekwe need no borrowed tongue,
She stands there, arms a Kimbo,
And lashes out at yesterday’s sweetheart,
“You think you’re sugar itself?
I’d rather drink tea without sugar,
I’ve lost my faith in silken_tongued Ngulusumu,”
But Ndekwe is only trying to put brave face on thing,
Deep down, her heart is dancing with rage,
Poor Ndekwe, where will you turn?
Let’s say Ndekwe refuses to abort pregnancy,
It is appaling that babies should emerge,
From their mothers’ wombs as corpses,
Ndekwe has a baby,
And she doesn’t throw it into a pit latrine,
Nor does she abandon it at the roadside,
Or in a bus,
Like the famous Luhya Maestro Ongunyi Riyoni sings,
In one of his hit songs.
Ndekwe places on shoulders,
Of her older married sister, her mother,
Or her grandmother,
The burden of bringing up this baby,
Who has come into this world,
In spite of the fact that her parents,
Ain’t prepared for her arrival,
But Ndekwe’s older married sister, mother and grandma,
Warn the girl not to make a habit of this,
They tell Ndekwe,
Not to forget that men have stings,
Vicious and corrosive,
The poison of which never leaves,
The flesh of their victims,”
To my good honorable reader,
My December Holiday poem ends,
Focus is the name of the game,
Tell your generation-Z kids
Poem Hunter Writes!
~Joseph Okumu
©️ Poem Hunter
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