I am the President

© Rosemary K, 2008

I am the president
The long-awaited candidate
Don’t call me a dissident
I am not an accident
But a messenger of the prudent
Who knew the time was ripe
To abandon foul play
And seek for fair play.

Yesterday you rifled my nest
Said I was a mere pest
Yester-year you tortured me
Excluded me from the best
Calling me sheer waste.

You riddled me with bullets
Marked me with knife cuts
Desecrated me with rape sessions
As you clamored for power
In bloodcurdling fights.

I now challenge your notion
That I am for idle devotion
A speculating spectacle
To appease your perversion
Mopping rag for the toilet
Doormat for your polished shoes.

I have broken the walls
The walls of indifference around me
I have entered the powerhouse
President from the female citizens
Whose voices were muffled
In bloodthirsty attacks
Conniving war mongers.

You call me a rabid bitch
A mad hound unleashed
Because I refuse your wish
That I keep away from the dish.
You say I think from my skirts
Leading the masses astray
With petticoat government
But resilient I stand
Unmoved by your stints
Unabashed by your crude hints
Immune to your macho mania.

I am the leader you obstructed
With your blind hatred
I am the messenger you detested
Clobbered and raped
In your confinement camps
And eternal power bouts.
For equity I come
To claim my rightful place
For ingenuity I stand
Equal chances in my land.

I am the president-elect
Of voters that never fled
I am the torchbearer
Of the faithful who never feared
I am here by majority vote
With no afflictions of the gun
Or rigged counts of falsehood
I am here by popular demand
Retribution for lost time
I am what you would rather hate:
Yes, I am the president
And a woman, too!

Lessons in Self-Appreciation

© Rosemary K, 2008


This is a message to woman
That self worth is a treasure discovered
A requisite for personal dignity
An invaluable measure to cherish
A door to priceless freedom
Bounteous self esteem.

Woman,
It is you to measure up to yourself
Not to the expectations of the exploiters
Do not listen to the mocking judges
Do not be harsh on yourself
Because somebody told you a lie
That in order to be acceptable
You must fit their mold.

If you have a big build
Do not think you are cursed
Because the cat-walkies
Dismissed you from the parade
As non-standard grammage!
Appreciate yourself as you are
You are the revered Amazon
The BRAVE AFRICAN CHAMPIONESS
Like Mbuya Nehanda![1]

If you have a short stature
Love yourself for your smallness
You are the LIGHT-FOOTED SYLPH OF THE KALAHARI[2]
The quick-paced witty girl
A precious being uniquely built
A fitting nominee
To the Guinness Book of records.

If you have a dark skin color
Subscribe not to the messengers of doom
That you have a hue of gloom
To be swept clean with a broom
Of skin-damaging bleach.
Rejoice in your dusky color
You are the DARK AND LOVELY AFRICAN MAIDEN
Endowed with precious melanin
Unhampered by ultraviolet pestilence
Resistant to skin cancer
You are the AGELESS BEAUTY SPOT OF THE SAVANNAH
Unpolluted African beauty.

Forget about globalization
And attempts to modify human embryos
With design-dictated science
If you have curly hair
Call it a natural tuft of your pride
Plait it in long natural patterns
Forget the hair sizzler and deadening chemicals
Attempts to transform into a Marylyn Monroe
Hold your head high with pride
Let your crest bounce in its rich matt dance
You are the LOFTY AFRICAN QUEEN
Smiling down from the mountains
The snow-capped Mountains of the Moon[3]
Unfettered by scalp-scalding metals
Untainted by brain-damaging microwaves
You are the NATURAL BEAUTY QUEEN
A constant envy to the beholders
Who live in perpetual regret
Of the ills harvested from artificialdom.

Aspire, woman, aspire
To the heights forbidden by the tribe
Steer the ship across the Pacific
Pilot the jet across the Atlantic
Engineer the highway from Cape Town to Cairo
Woman of Africa
Shake off the shackles of bondage
Disown the age-old dogma
Respect yourself for your worth
Appreciate your personhood.
African woman,
While you learn the school lessons
The main tutorials start with yourself
And those are the invaluable disciplines-
THE LESSONS IN SELF-APPRECIATION!




[1] Nehanda Charwe Nyakasikana (1840-1898) was a revolutionary woman who led the 1896 Chumurenga revolution, also known as the Shona-Ndebele rebellion, against British rule in Rhodesia, present-day Zimbabwe. Due to her popularity, the title “Mbuya”, which means “grandmother” in Shona language, was added to her name. The maternity wing of the capital city Harare’s Parirenyantwa Hospital is named after her. Mbuya Nehanda was executed by the British in 1898.

[2] Covering about 260,000 sq km (100,000 sq mi), the Kalahari desert stretches into Angola and Zambia to the north, across Botswana, into Zimbabwe to the east; south to the Orange River in South Africa, and west, to the Namibian highlands. The total surface area of this basin is estimated at 930,000 sq km (360,000 sq mi). Kalahari is derived from the Tswana expression, Kgalagadi, which means, “the great thirst.”

[3] The Rwenzori Mountains are also known as the Mountains of the Moon, due to their scenic beauty. These legendary mountains stretch 120 km along Uganda’s western border with the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The mountains comprise of six peaks with permanent snow, and three peaks with glaciers. The highest of these peaks, also the third highest in Africa, is Mt. Stanley’s Margherita peak, which stands at 5,109 meters above sea level. The Rwenzori Mountains were formed by geological forces of the great East African rift valley.

I am Not your Dolly Girl

© Rosemary K, 2008

Listen, lover boy
I’ve had enough
Now I’ve gotten tough
For I can’t be your dough
To knead as you like
Or your playground
To tread as you think:
I am not your dolly girl.

When the phone rings
You spring up like a dog
Incoherent murmurs are you say
Keeping to ‘yeah’ and ‘ah’
Dating your string of wenches
Thinking I am too stupid
To catch you cheating cupid.
Listen, lover boy
I am not your dolly girl.

I have not forgiven
The secret messages
The ribboned pledges
Tucked in your shirt pockets
Neither have I forgotten
Your perennial business trips
Which turned out escapades
To luxury spas in Spain
Consorting with your leggy spaniels
Enough is enough
I am not your dolly girl.

Listen, lover boy
I’ve grown too wise for your moods
Your lies and wiles are now thinned
A ‘bad day at work’ no longer works
To make me grieve pretended woes
Or flee with terror from your slaps
Thinking myself a martyr of sorts
Enough is enough
I am not your dolly girl.

Today I packed my things
I no longer wish to dwell in distress
For sure I am now my mistress
Having fled a gruesome trickster
Who sought my humility
And sunk low in profanity
A rag doll in insanity.
I have left you, lover boy
Do not expect a curtain call
I am not your dolly girl.

Job Interview

© Rosemary K, 2008

I saw the advert
And knew I matched it
My application I forwarded
Got to the shortlist
Then the interview.

The panellists were okay
The questions alright
They wrote on my forms
The highest score
I was the right one
And the job was immediate.

I went to see my boss
A huge man he was
With a belly like a pregnancy
He said I was fancy
So would be an asset
The company’s gift basket.

He opened his diary
Of glittering lettering
He booked me for Tuesday
Citing another interview
Before confirmation
As newly employed.

The appointed day came
I turned up my best
Blue dress and sandals
And awaited my call-in
On the time agreed on.

As I entered his office
A broad smile he switched on
Telling me to sit
He bolted the door.

Thinking it was strange
I inquired of him
Why he locked the door
Yet it was an interview
And the general overview
That was occasioned.

He said he was authority
In order to get confirmed
He had to verify
My extra abilities.

Like an electric lift
He descended in haste
Touching my breasts.
When I complained
He said he would be fast-
Was I so naïve
That I was ignorant
Of the carpet interview?

He threw his paws
Around my shoulders
He pressed me hard
With his pregnancy
I began to shout
I clawed and bit
I grabbed his necktie
And tightened its noose.

There was a stampede
As the door crashed in
Broken by security
I exited in a flash
In a lucky escape.

I was a rare survivor
Of the job interview
I escaped the candidature
That terrible exam
Of debased systems
I outwitted the corrupt
Who hired females
Via sexual exploitation.

Sugar Daddy

© Rosemary K, 2008

He walks with springy strides
Pretending to be king of wiles
His face creased in smiles
His belly bulging like a pot-
His name is Sugar Daddy.

Sugar Daddy lives behind his times
He wears tight shorts like a teenager
To show off his hairy legs
He dyes his hair like a stage clown
And speaks street lingo like a tout.

Sugar Daddy drives the Mercedes Benz
Hooting even when on clear road
He wants everybody to nod
He wishes everyone to notice
As he flies past with speed
To snatch girls from school.

Sugar Daddy gathers tits and bits
Toys and trivial gifts
Knickers
Trashy jewelry
Packets of biscuits
He gives them to his prey
He calls himself a benefactor
And lures girls into his trap
Squeezing their breasts with his paws
Frolicking in sleazy hotels.

Sugar Daddy thinks he is sweet
He calls himself the girls’ honey
He claims he is commander of money
An accomplished connoisseur of sorts
Who must taste all the girls
Tricking them with goodies
Dragging them to the gullies.

Even today, Sugar Daddy drove past
Rushing to get his latest catch
He has forgotten about yesterday’s Diana
Who now groans with excruciating pain
Her life on balance in intensive care
Having ingested an herbal concoction
To expel Sugar Daddy’s embryo.

Flight to Paradise

© Rosemary K, 2008

You called me with promises bounteous
You lured me with visions of affluence
You fanned my desire for abundance
Urging me to denounce my homeland
For a flight to paradise.

In much haste
You concocted an invitation
You said it was a visitation
For me to get the visa
That I may join your company
Lucrative deals plenty
And a taste of paradise.

Although a humble tea girl
My file read like a diplomat’s:
Rich polished language
Overflowing finances
Certified bank records
And a top job on return.

So I got the visa
Was so excited a Lisa
Sleep tactfully withdrew
As I lay awake in awe
Awaiting the blessed hour
My flight to paradise.

When you met me at the airport
You said I was an illegal migrant
You confiscated my passport
Said it was for security
You handed me to the employer
Claiming I was a refugee
Taking a needed break
From turbulent Africa.

If I knew the deception
I would never have accepted
To be party to concessions
Conducted in sessions
Behind the cold walls
The darkened brothels.

I wish you told me
I wish you made the hint
That you traded humanity
Agency to depravity
Tricking girls into captivity
For sale in the brothels.

Now I am eternally shackled
A nameless foreign victim
Undocumented alien visage
Slaving away in a brothel
For swarms of mean brothers.
I am a slave prostitute
Turned into a destitute
By cruel hapless ingrate
As I sought for repose
In a flight to paradise.

Photo credits: FreeDigitalPhotos.net