THE MEN WE MARRY

BIGGA BREAKFAST

Always staring at the door

Even in my slumber, my eyes are widely open and ears are very sensitive, anxious to rush to that door and get that warmth welcome and kiss from my man.

I sleep walk to check if the fire is ablaze, water in the pot is enough for his bath and his food is safe from rodents.

I wake up to prepare his breakfast and pack his bag before the first preacher’s siren is heard.

Gone were the days when we use to meet  under the giant Mahogany tree in the middle of my grandmother’s cocoa farm everyday for lunch.

Not even air could separate us.

Friday nights were spectacular, we walked miles to the next town to buy roasted corn. We steal scare crows from the nearby farms modify it and place it in the middle of the road to frighten the drunk drivers and those who are dozing off.

He was in my emotions, my senses and knew how to respond to my soul.

I spoke to my female peers only during community services.

As I stare at the door every evening, I wait in fear.

He pushes me on the mat and selfishly sexually satisfies himself.

I wonder if I made the right choice when opportunities were swinging at my doorstep

I must admit, my beauty shines like the sun each passing day but am afraid he has found another interest.

He leaves at dawn and comes back with the last bus driver, stressed and barely finishes the meal I spent hours to prepare.

I enjoy my supper with my puppy he got for me on my eighteenth birthday; it accompanies me to town radio center as I rehearse for the evening news on the way.

Though the village loves my works and dedication to church and social activities, I hardly get friends to visit me to share their problems unless I go to their doorsteps.

Money is power but money without love is useless, my mother advised.

How I wish to spend romantic time with my husband on the mat my mother gave as my wedding present and give my bed ridden grandmother her grandchild before she dies.

In the town council hall, I remember back in the days: the old man said there is no turning back when two hearts are joined and we replied: Only death can separate us.

 Yes I have fulfilled my promise and ask God transform my husband into a religious and caring man. 

Poem by: Portia Arthur