Herispeak

I can feel it. I don’t have to close my eyes or reach deep inside me to feel it. It’s right here on the surface, close by. Close enough for me to touch, yet I cannot. On the days that I do not feel it, it is simply because I get too caught up in the present. I see the pain, I see the failure, I see the lack, I see that which I cannot provide. I see that which I cannot offer.   I see too the looks from people around me. Some are looks of pity, some are empathy, some are sympathy, some apathy pretending to be empathy. In some of the looks, self pride stares back at me and I see the mockery deep in their eyes. I suppose I cannot blame them. Perhaps life has been kinder to them and they have made better decisions than I. But then, perhaps they really are just filled with the pride of life.     It will not last this darkness. I know this. What I wonder however is whether I will survive this. I know I must but will I? Do I have what it takes to ? Only I can answer these questions. O

Taking care of her daughter Zuleika was an easy task. Zuleika's mother enjoyed it immensely. No, she ADORED doing it. Zuleika was a pleasant little girl. Chubby yet not fat, with beautiful round brown eyes and deep dimples on each side of her cheeks. Her mouth was love-shaped and naturally lined as if someone had taken a black liner and tattooed her lips. She had long, naturally soft hair which was always neatly held or plaited. Her mother took great care of this. When she smiled, the world seemed to brighten up. It was as if she was the most important person in the room. Well, to her mother she was.   Zuleika was the kind of child who would tempt you to steal her just by flashing one of her smiles. One was immediately compelled to smile back, even the harshest or most severe of persons. Like Mrs Migwe.   She lived a few houses away from Zuleika’s home in the heart of the small village of Mukeha. Everyone avoided Mrs. Migwe. She was a widow and a loner. Her children hardly