WHEN I WAS SILENT

By. Sr. Esther Jeruto Koros (OSF)

Remember when you came here raging mad about my mother?

How she had too many children, her bank accounts clean like a whistle?

How the children’s feet were cracked white from dirt.

And I was silent,

Yes, I had answers in my head, ones I didn’t want to say.

For aren’t I one of those many children?

 

I remember too, the priest in church,

How he spoke until snort and saliva poured out the edges of his lips.

Asking us to give and give and give…..

And I was silent,

Yes, I had answers in my head, ones I didn’t want to say.

For I recalled how he rushed my aunt’s funeral coz she died poor, giving.

 

I remember too, growing up, shy and timid and feeling stupid,

 How you looked at me and wondered how I survived my infancy.

Since I was too tiny and frail.

And I was silent,

Yes, I had answers in my head, ones I didn’t want to say.

For I am still here strong and intelligent and way better than you thought.

 

I remember too, when the house was full of guests,

How my father drooled out words about how he built us a house,

How it took him years of hard work and sacrifice.

And I was silent,

Yes, I had answers in my head, ones I  didn’t want to say.

For I saw my mother humiliated trying to earn money to complete her own house for us.

 

I remember just recently, the shock written on the priest’s face

How he didn’t expect me to understand politics and business and  architecture.

Women are the custodians of ignorance.

And I was silent,

Yes, I had answers in my head, ones I didn’t say.

For I saw the ignorance on his face getting mocked.

 

I remember too, when you called past midnight,

I didn’t answer the phone,

But was raging with annoyance.

And I was silent,

Yes, I had answers in my head, ones I didn’t say.

For I realized the disrespect, how you thought my world revolves around yours.

 

I remember how noisy it got recently,

How everyone wanted to fix you,

The village idiot wasn’t left out.

And I was silent,

Yes, I had answers in my head, ones I didn’t say.

For I realized, a woman’s life is a damping zone for foolish exhortations. 

 

 

As a matter of routine, the holder of the microphone is exulted,

How they can pour their ignorant hearts out,

And get away with it.

And I am always silent,

Yes, I always have answers in my head, ones I don’t say.

For the microphone is always in the hands of a he.

 

©November 2020