battlefield

My life in this part of the world isn't what most of you dream of. I don't know running water or the convenience of a personal refrigerator . Of these, we only hear . Everyday at dawn begins my walk for school. Mr Bishikwa always says: Knowledge is the beginning of freedom, and the foundation bricks to a brighter future.

I am very fortunate, mr Bishikwa is one of the last to resist the death wish of this atrocious war. My father abandoned us around the time the hostilities started. Needless to say I don't know him. My twelve years of earth pilgrimage has only known violence and men in spotty clothes carrying annihilation sticks. My quick legs always went for a run if I ever caught sight of these soldiers.

I helped my mother, I have two younger brothers and it was my responsibility to gather our daily bread. Every now and then, on our way back from school , Esta, Florence and I would stop by the wild field and harvest the best cassava leaves it had to offer.

That afternoon in the field was no different than any others we had spent there before. Little did we know, hidden under the tall grass, a destiny breaker was hunting us down . We had become the preys. Watching at first, silently the soldier came out of hiding and yelled for us to stand still. Ignoring his words and without a second thought I ran. Florence and Esta got away , but in my crazy race I couldn't avoid the books I had left on the floor, the knowledge made to brighten my future and I fell. I yelled, yelled my lungs out. Nesta, mama eh Florence.....

They would not come back

How could I blame them? They ran for their lives. A giant had come for us. I hadn't been able to escape.

I was on the floor head down. I felt his muggy hands on my left leg, I kicked it off, I fought backbut he was stronger. Like I was a feather he easily turned me around so I could be facing him laying on my back .My head banging the ground, while he did. I begged him to let me go. I won't tell. Do not to kill me.I won't tell. I didn't know that my body was about to become a battlefield. A means to scatter fear and destruction, break spirits, trampling the symbol of progeny. The future.

He pulled my skirt down so hard, he tore it. I cried, this felt so wrong. Was it the way it felt to die? He let his heavy, nauseating body fall on mine and press down on my lungs. I could barely breath. Oh God make it fast, take me with you, take me away from this.

I was being torn apart. The pain in between my legs, as if a heated knife was used inside me. I screamed. Punching on his head, on his chest, and when he put his hand over my mouth, I bit him as I hard as I could. I was expecting death and felt I was going through every stages of it. Time seemed suspended. And when what I thought to be my last breath came out of my traumatized body, he got up, pulled back his pants and without a word spat on me and went the other way. Just like that.

I didn't get up right away. I tried to fix my skirt the best I could. My underwear was completely destroyed. I left it there. When I finally managed to get up, my knees were shaky, they could flinch at any moment, my body suddenly too heavy for them. I felt the blood running down the inside of my thighs and cleaned it up with a cassava leaf.

I went back home.....

My mother scolded at me because I didn't bring any vegetables back and because my cloths were ripped... I looked at her and tears rolled down my cheeks. I tried to tell her and she sensed it. You are not like other girls your age anymore.

I live in a part of the world where nothing is like what you dream of. I accustomed myself to the harshness of my life and had many moments of laughter and pure joy with my friends and family. I lived in the hope of a better tomorrow.

Today I am alive, but I am also dead. I tell you my story but I want to forget. I want to return to the times when I still felt hope. Where has my innocence gone to? My damnation now carries a face. My body became a battlefield.

As we speak there is a despicable war going on in the Eastern Region of the Democratic Republic of Congo. Women, children, and even men are being abused and raped every day as a form of combat, it has been going on for the past 10 years. Over 6 millions have died and this under global indifference . I want to raise awareness as HUMAN RIGHTS are being violated as we speak. History is repeating itself for the worse, let's not become jaded. We can all make a change. Let's talk about it, give a voice to those that have been reduced to silence. Let's bring our leaders to react to these barbarities that have reduced thousands, millions to battlefields.

exploit

My heart happened to take a stroll, looking for another project of love to sow. The promenade seemed harmless and innocent, until the leech began to show. Effortlessly and silently, it clung upon my heart and sucked me dry of my emotions. Dazed and confused, amazed and disgusted, I watched helplessly as it fed and violated my feelings , unable to touch it and remove it from my now wounded soul.

I was insensitive to the bite. I didn't feel a thing. I accustomed myself to the lump the leech created as it swelled up on my love. The ugly became beautiful and the insanity became a fantasy.

I could live with the lump. I could make that leech a part of me. I could cater to it and make sure it never ran out of my affection. And so I bestowed....... until I felt empty. I desperately hoped it would realize how much I cared for it and would eventually express gratitude towards me, devotion perhaps. But it was a leech. They absorb and never give back.

The leech exploded, I had too much love to give and its gluttony ruined it. After I gave body and soul, you'd think my pain considerable. To no avail, I heaved a sigh of relief. I learned.

Never make someone your priority if you are only an option in their lives.

Mistakes really shouldn't age you, but you are smart. Avoid doing those you've already marked up in your not-to-do list.

kalanga

i,with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman. -Anais Nin

I had put on makeup, maybe too much makeup. The only way for me to cover my insecurities. I loved the way I felt pushed to get better as a person, as a human being. He was the first man to make feel this way. And he did that simply with his words, with his voice. His exotic singing, barely perceptible African accent turned my name into a lullaby each time he would pronounce it over the telephone. I loved that. He gave me so little, but it was enough to make my heart race and beat.

We would finally have a moment to ourselves. Or so I thought. We sat at the McDonald's terrace, his brothers and friends sitting a few tables away. It made me so self-conscious. Why had I put on so much makeup? I hope I don't look like a whore. He took my hand and put it over his. You have such big hands, he said. I smiled. Yeah I know. It felt good to finally touch him. I barely looked as his face. I couldn't bear to look at him. But furtively sometimes I'd scrutinize him. I don't remember what I said and what we talked about. I remember thinking I wished he took me on a real date. Without over lookers. That would have made the difference. I didn't feel special. And I really wanted him to think and make me feel I was. The minutes flew. It was time to go.

He took me back to the metro station, and sat with me as I waited for my train. That's when he put his lips on mine. Cold, soft, thinner lips. When he talked they would curl in. I imagined him as a child. And those freckles..... When he kissed me, I didn't budge nor did I return his kiss. I wanted to, but I loved him too much to risk letting him disappoint me. I knew he would break my heart. The train came and I said goodbye.

thanks Nana, for this beautiful excerpt by Anais Nin. It accurately describes what made me choose the man I am with today.

heaven

Can heaven be on earth?

I see it there, by the banks of Kongo River, somewhere on entering the district of Maluku when you come from Kinshasa. Sitting on the terrace of my stately Eco-friendly wooden mansion, my eyes glazing on the valleys standing on the other side of Pool Malebo.

My sons and daughters laugh and play and jump in the swimming pool. My mother, busy with broiling the Threadfin caught earlier in the day. I get up and pick mangoes from my orchard, they are just ripe. I don't forget the tomatoes, which it seems I have only right now discovered the real taste of. In the kitchen overlooking the esplanade , I delicately mince my fruits. My rougail will be perfect with the fish.

The night comes quickly and all the little lights in the courtyard set the mood for enticement. Soki yo te nde l'amour na ngai ekoma, neti phrase etonda ba fautes ébélé. Under the lattice, I lay in the hammock. The locusts sing in chorus the rumba notes emanating from the radio. A warm breeze coming from the river brush on my gleaming skin. Steven takes my hand and pulls me on my feet. We share a very slow, very tight moment dancing to the songs that speak the words we feel for eachother.

I close my eyes and smile. Heaven is on Earth.


...my home, my Kongo.

A Kongo built on freedom, democracy and innovation. A Kongo who doesn't hesitate to learn from the mistakes of the Northern Nations. Her Sons have traveled the world, have seen and acquired knowledge that would enable the country to take a leap into the future.
Solar panel on the roofs of our home. Those homes designed on distinct architecture, the result of extensive research of our history. A celebration of our know-how currently neglected in the benefit of imported conceptions not suitable to our country.

Kongo you're soil is rich. Yes you do carry many treasures coveted by the Great Powers, and they may be the reason of our misfortune. Yes, too many die of an empty stomach. Where are the organised crop productions? I cannot think of a seed that would reject your fertile soil. I see last generation railroads routing products through the whole country. The agitated marketplace offering our very own harvest. Children enjoying the fruits of our Nation. .....

Wake leaders of audacity, servants who will seek their countryman's welfare before their own. Deliver us from extreme capitalism conspiracies that hinders our capacity to deal peer-to-peer.

Oh, I think I hear my name....could it be Kongo calling?

interlude

Are you there God? It's me Ako.

pursuit

Dear little brother,

I had meant to write promptly when I received your letter. I was delighted to hear from you, and heartbroken when I felt your dismay.

The sad news you give me.... loss of a friend is never easy,especially when the "divorce" is pronounced so brutally. We always expect to evolve, to grow with the beloved friend, that sister or brother we actually got to choose....I can only imagine your distress.

I lack words to comfort your heart. That of a betrayed friend.

Little brother, I have seen you as a child and you have now grown into a man. Full or resources. I am not worried at all. I know you will find the strength in you to bounce back and be able to open yourself to Hope and Faith that brings new amity.

Hope that everyday that God makes, will take you closer to the aspirations you nurture deep within. Believe that your aspirations will come to be, as they are your path to your ultimate happiness.
Cultivate discernment and sensitivity to feel the warm breeze emanating from an open window. Remember when a door closes,a window opens.

On my side, little brother...I'm fine. I love my mate and the fruits of our love. I shall not want......or should not want

Sometimes I run after chimeras, it's true. I run behind palpitations of the Flesh. The blood in my veins still wants to express the passion of youth I still feel in me. I seek to do everything on my own terms and I do not let that part of God in me act effectively.

I am so weary enough from my dilemma. I always want to make amends for my mistakes, it only pulls me deeper into the quicksand. My throat gets clogged up with mud, I lose my appetite and all situations take on enormous proportions.

Man is condemned to long for more, to live for more...It is our Fate. How we choose to answer to it is what makes us different.
We can try filling this "instinct" with the fleeting satisfaction of trinkets and other sparkles. Or focus on the entirety and the quintessence of our Humanity.

But I thank God, he teaches well, you never forget the lessons. Changing is hard. But I'm well surrounded. My side was withdrawn from Stephen's flank. He is my escape from the quicksand.

Life is a journey, it's not always the trip we dream of taking, but looking back you see you've traveled so far...you might as well keep on going.

Little brother, I will see you very soon, until then, Beam up Live and Become.


I Love You, B.

Like it would behind closed doors, the bells of hapiness ring timidly in the depth of myself. I like the melody, it inspires a song to me. My tardiness will not go unnoticed if I swing the door open.

Walking into the hall, I heard the whispering cry of the enchanting guitar. My heart raced a little faster and excitment mounted to my head. I held my breath as to make sure even a fly would not hear me passing by. I took a seat and let the melody take me places I had never been before. I went up the sky, touched heaven with my bare hands and dived into the sea to ballet with the dolphins. I swallowed butterflies and let them flap their wings inside of me I closed my eyes and smiled, this was a good idea.

seven times

I will take time to take time.

Time to crown my head with the halo of the intellectual.

Time to master my craft and speak without a doubt. It is the time.

Time to commit my hips to the sensual rhythms ringing in the warm nights of Cuba. Hanging on to him. His strong dark chocolate colored shoulders, while he leads me into an uncontrollable trance.

Time to hear the cascade of diamonds echoing in my offspring's laughter. Be amazed I was chosen as their guardian and ensure their first flight to success.

I will take time to take time.

Time to tell him about how I was carved out of his rib, and that each time we clasp we become one again.

Time to remember about and nurture my roots. I heard the Motherland call. She, the Cradle of Humankind beseech my footprint on her wealthy soil. My turn has come to help relief this blessed land from the curse it has endured.

It is about time, I took time to acknowledge my humanity and embrace the existence of a Higher Love.

contrition

It definitely was a mistake. I deviated from the path that seemed charted out for me. That of a mature , standing and balanced woman all tied up in a guardrail of principles.

Drawn by the mirage of a sumptuous feast held by the edge of the cliff, I took off my dress of Virtue and wore that of Jezebel.

The affair was promising. He offered me some Cabernet-Syrah. A bouquet of red fruits and spicy notes infused my glass with its ruby red color. Ruby, the tint of my heated blood. I drank from the palm of his hand. Never had I felt so free, unbreakable. Ruby, precious was the moment. The illusion would not abide . In a last effort to prolong the excitement I took his hand and led him towards the very tip of the cliff. He followed in a very hesitant step. Foreseeing what I was to do, he let go of my hand just as I jumped into the abyss. He watched me drop helplessly. I looked up and blew a kiss, he was gone. The phantasm had vanished.

I didn't die. My hair was undone my libidinous attire shredded. Remnants of a desire doomed from the start. I cupped my arms around my breasts in the attempt to keep some dignity. How could I resurface? My distinguished and reputable woman apparel was left behind on that cliff. The ascent would not be without clashes.

mate

We share a special connection. Our relationship is well defined. We don't have to say much, we understand that what brought us together wasn't the flesh. Not even love according to fairy tales, even though it does feel like a fairytale sometimes.

People often wonder, often ask me. How it happened? How do you know for sure? All I know is my soul claimed him. My soul stripped the rest of my reasoning being of the ability to chose. He was my soul mate.

It screamed from deep within, when he conceded that he loved me and wanted me his own. I got scared and not only did I look the other way but I ran. As far and as fast as I could, looking for a way to drown this inner cry.

I could only run for so long. I'm a sprinter not a cross-country athlete.

I believe there is a God and that he loves me. When my mind, body and soul finally merged into one, I let him save me from my tortured self. I found my companion and we combined our steps in unison.

Lately I've stopped walking. I have closed my eyes for a second and I wished to frolic in the meadow. He did not realize I was left behind, that he was getting ahead of me.

The road to freedom is strewn with pitfalls and despite the progress, the end always seem unattainable. The misfortune of the past no longer seem unbearable. The head fills up with polished memories and distorted versions of the reality left behind. I longed for the existence I was blessed to escape when I followed my soul mate.

Jumping around in the meadow with imaginary friends loses its luster. The truth always finds a way to remind you what matters most. I remember now...

I found my companion, he decided to slow down and I woke from my delirium and hastily hurried to join our steps again.

reason

I never really read the classics. For instance all I know from Shakespeare, is what urban and street culture has taught me. I never felt the urge to know. To learn from the source. I believed way too long that you are born into the passion you want to portray. Wishful thinking....

I have always wanted to write.(Among many other things). Write from what I know. My knowledge certainly is not of the most admirable, I admit, but it cannot alter my need to write. It is the corresponding therapy to my anxious heart.

Writing to my best friend to let her know I am sorry I have caused her pain and installed doubts in their mind about our friendship.

Writing to someone I admire, my most embarrassing and insignificant spontaneous thoughts...the ones you wouldn't usually share because they don't last, and often appear and disappear from your mind all at the same time.
Writing to my husband, to remind him and probably myself too, that I don't know why I love and need him, but that I would rather not know why I do . It gives him room to evolve, to change without my love shifting because the specific reason I love him is gone.

Writing because every thought I pen down is like a weight off my hot-air balloon. Writing to array my reflections and by the same token my life.

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B.