I SAW HIM

I saw him….playing silly games,
and i was six.
Sometimes he wanted to play father,
when i was mother.
Or hold the rope,
and let me skip.
Other times he sat with others,
and made fun of me.
I cried and hid behind curtains,
and hems of mother’s skirts,
Because my emotions,
too young to comprehend.
Was he friend or fiend?

I saw him again.
And i was thirteen,
Almost a woman.
And it was showing.
When the tiny mounds appeared,
and my chest began to hurt.
He teased me again.
Yet he too had bumps on his face,
and a croak for a voice.

We parted ways four more years.
I was away where they wore matching clothes.
And slept in metal squeaking beds.
And he never appeared there.
I never thought of him.
Only saw him in books.
And read about the things he could do.
Like make babies grow in my tummy,
love me like his only,
yet hurt me like his enemy.

Then one day he held me in his arms.
When the four years were gone.
And i was in another institution.
Gently like the last raw egg, then squeezed harder.
Till i could take it no more.
Left me raw.
And i freed myself from his hold.

Now i am done with institutions.
I wake up in the morning,
jewelled and made up….adorned.
And leave to make money….my own.
He still comes and goes.
Squeezes me a little more till i cringe.
And i fear he might break me.
There are no more tears to shed here.
I am a woman…..grown.
No institutions.
No hem of mother’s skirts.
So before i break gradually,
in his arms. Fiercely.
Before my heart slams shut.
I will let him go along.

©Ado Yiembo.

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I MISS HIM

I miss him,

When he wasn’t too exhausted after work,

Remembered that these lips were for him,

Held me as i slept,

and i lay upon his chest,

Because he didn’t smell of sweat,

Having let the day his strength exhaust.

 

I miss him,

Without a single care,

Smiles with none to compare,

When we could talk till dawn,

Fuss and laugh about nothing.

 

I miss him,

No worries, no woes,

no medical bills and electricity receipts,

No landlord at the gates,

No insatiable people called family or  school fees to pay.

 

I miss him,

Noisy Friday evenings,

Crazy Saturday afternoons,

and quiet hungover Sundays.

When we drank all night and forgot to give thanks,

Till our fingers trembled.

and intoxicated bodies rejected nutrition.

I miss him,

Now on his forehead are furrows,

For he constantly worries,

Thinks about work and bills,

His fingers still tremble,

Not after a night of fun or passion,

But because they need,

A burning stick to calm his nerves.

 

Now he is angry,

No longer talks and laughs about nothing,

We fuss,fight about everything,

Now he is no longer ticklish, irritable,

His complements rare as his smile.

 

Now i wonder if he still thinks i am beautiful,

Or my place has been taken by offspring,

I wonder if he still stares when i walk away and sway my hips,

If he still thinks my breasts move in rhythm with my stride,

If my smile still makes him stare

and he tells friend and foe that i am his.

 

Now i wonder if he watches me sleep,

or sees me in his dreams,

I wonder if he looks forward to coming home,

So he can see me,

Feel my moist lips,

Caress my naked breasts,

Bask in the warmth of my thighs,

Or sighs when the clock strikes five,

and only comes home so he can rest.

I miss him.

©Ado Yiembo.

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SONS OF THE DEVIL!

They come at night,

Swathed in dark clothes and combat.

Brandishing weapons, sharpened and of might.

I only have my bare hands,

Hardened and senile from years of toiling,

knowing this day would come.

Wishing it never did.

and i hide my seed.

Shelter them from the painful truth,

that this is the world i bore them to.

and i plead for their lives and mine too.

But there is too many a foe.

With only a single evil cause.

Sons of the devil!


And they push me aside.

Part my legs. Not gently as he did,

before he left us behind.

Brutally as though i never lived.

Hold each limb in place with a strong hand.

Hands that stink of young women’s blood,

with tears of old women, salted.

and they rip my clothing,

Beloved sons of the devil!


And they violate my woman,

laugh and mock my curves, depressions and bumps.

I bleed loudly,

my heart screams silently,

Helpless, worthless.

Till i can bleed no more,

Till the tears run dry,

In a land with plenty a reason to cry.

Let them not get my daughters i pray.

Yet they still do and i hide my face,

from their deafening pleas,

Yet i close my heart to their painful cries,


I am ashamed.

For i cannot hold their little hands.

Or prevent them from touching their budding breasts,

Sons of the devil!

And I cannot hear them call me mother,

I cannot taste their warm tears,

Caress. My naked body.

and i cannot one last time, smell their innocence.

Before they take away their chastity.

and i am ashamed,

cold, unmoved, dead.

Eyes still open.

Tears streaming.

and i ask in death, as i did in life,

”Sons of Africa, why do you destroy your women?”

©Ado Yiembo.

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I am Gone

I am gone.

It’s easy for you to say you are not alone,

When the world knows you will drown

In seclusion.

Be grateful that you had those days.

You go in one book that’s mine.

I see no need to be mangled by my past,

Weighed down by it,

When I have so much left.

I float away with no regrets,

I am a ghost in my own life anyway.

You need not blame anyone.

No one put out the fire

No matches could light this flame.

So do not imagine that I will clasp

At coals of loneliness

Or grief in burnt hands.

Do not imagine that I will fan fading embers,

Trying to make them glow.

Or waste my breath trying to blow.

Perhaps to make them burn again.

There are no embers.

There never was a fire.

© Ado Yiembo

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The Unspoken Rules Of The ‘Kalocal’

Lately I have become a local fanatic and am starting to think I have outgrown the idea of organized rave…. if there is anything like it.  I totally love the idea that everyone knows each other at the kalocal and those that don’t can get introduced because they came with someone that knows the other person…… and the way the men show their love by the ever so fascinating shoulder bump. (The idea never seems to rub off on the ladies)

An old friend of mine once showed up at my local in the company of one of the usual ladies. We exchanged niceties and to save him the hustle of introducing the lady, I volunteered that I had met her before. She retorted in near disbelief vehemently denying that she had ever seen me and demanding to know how I knew her. At this juncture I almost mentioned that I had seen her on numerous occasions exchanging hands among the men owing to her seductive dance moves. Instead I chose to withdraw my previous comment and apologized saying I must have confused her for someone else. There really is no moral to that story but I realize that when you sit at the counter you observe a lot of things. My observations have led me to add five more rules to my unpublished rule book.

1. There is nothing wrong with the guy in bathroom sandals.

Indeed the word local is pretty relative. Picture this…The guy in sandals had probably decided that he won’t be going out and was indoors watching movies with his girlfriend until around 10pm when he runs out of smoke and needs to rush to the shop to restock. Unfortunately it is closed and he has to go to the shopping center. We all know that the music is usually hypnotizing and he decides to pass by and check if any of the boys is around. There are plenty of them and he is convinced to stay for a pint. Of course it does not end with a pint and so that is how he ends up in shorts and sandals in the pub with no track of time. Such species have become pretty common…. they haven’t made their way to Westy yet though. Makes me think dressing up for the rave is completely over rated.

2. Do not pick fights if you are not in your neighborhood.

The word local (once again) is pretty relative. If everyone would make rule number two their thumb rule then the era of bar brawls would be shadowed into oblivion. Some weirdo once made a derogative move towards me at my local and I wasn’t too happy so I told him off. I guess he was one of those people that make it a point to pass on their discontent after two beers because he did it again. I was boiling with rage but before I could act on my anger the guy had been thrown out and banned…..need I say more? Usually you cannot tell whether the person you are picking on buys the each of the bouncers a GK in turns and has therefore earned their unconditional favor. Tihihihihihi :D

3. Let the guests do the entertaining.

There is really no point of drawing attention to yourself if you frequent the local. If the barman and three other people know you then please keep off the microphone on karaoke night unless of course you can sing better then the karaoke host and the dance floor if you have taken more than five beers. They see enough of you when you are heading to the shops in sandals and that old coca cola t shirt so do not draw more attention to yourself….. and trust me no matter how suited up you are on Monday morning the guy that is staring at you awkwardly at the bus stop is doing so because he can still picture your sweaty self dancing to ‘’get down’’, toppling over and showing the crack of your butt to everyone who cares to look.

4. No intimacy.

Ladies please refer to the unspoken rule ‘’ Men are all the same” You both visit the local so chances are he might want to slap some arse. Keep them gawking…….it guarantees that your head will stay on top of your neck. The conversation at the local is as local as the customers. It will dwell on the new flat that is coming up, the hot lady that just moved in next door, the new barmaid, so and so’s new car and other local news. Trust me the fact that so and so chips fungad so and so may inevitably come up and am not sure anyone likes to be associated with such a topic except for the ever so malicious men that see it as an achievement. The moment you give it away you will no longer have a face at the local and this takes away the privilege of having a good time without worrying about where to get a cab home or drinking and driving.

P.S. Relationships are out of questions.

5. No hard feeling…..company is company.

Refer to rule no 4. If one time you have the privilege of sharing a table and I don’t do tables with the cute guy that sits next to the DJ do not lose your cool. He will, like any other man be trying to flirt with you (refer to the unspoken thumb rule)You will soon see him in the company of some beautiful young thing clinking glasses and staring into each other’s eyes. The green eyed monster will begin to show up and the only way to banish it will be to remind yourself that it was just company. So smile, wave and mind your business.

The list is still open so i may be adding more rules as i visit more locals…..that is why you should subscribe…………… Trust me you need my advice.

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Day dreaming

I think you are sweeping me off my feet. Stop at that! Coz am too heavy to lift. You call me sweetness. I don’t know why. I call you weakness. Because I’m getting addicted – high. Am blushing. cheeks flushing. Am smiling, even at nothing……and am wishing more and more in your arms to be nestling. I’m not sure i like this feeling. Usually for addictions, there is no healing. Damn! i hate to write about you. I swear this is the last line, the last time.Because the more i do, my head wanders into the clouds – further.

© Ado Yiembo

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I Want To Be Like You

I am a child,

Innocent yet bold,

Enough to ask,

Why you put me to the task.

Yet i am unequal.


Teach me first how to be selfish,

Hateful and unkind,

Isn’t it weak to be kind?

Show me how to walk,

On paths of evil and petty talk.

So when i, my first words, speak,

Or my first steps take,

I may make no mistake.


Take my puny hands,

Let me lie on your wings,

Teach me how to fly, in the vast evil skies,

Like eagles on the winds,

So i can grab more space,

And care less for others’ sakes.


Show me how you swoop low.

And i will keep tow.

Show me how you steal,

Little ones from the meek and humble.

So when i grow up, i will be just like you.

Then let us sit back in glee,

Let us, from good, flee,

Shelter justice from my unknowing eyes,

Freeze my heart, make it cold as ice.

Show me hurtful words to say,

I see you do it too.

Teach me never to be the server.

Always the master.

So when i cannot be,

I must be still.


I want to walk in your shoes,

They will fit me in season,

When i have learnt your ways.

Teach me how to steal, please.

I want  to learn to be unworthy of trust,

And utterances fabricate in haste.


Teach me the art of war,

I want to make many a foe.

I am your student, in the school called Life.

Teach me before i grow.

So when i do,

I will be just like you.

© Ado Yiembo

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