BESTIE LET ME TELL YOU!

Dear Bestie,

My memory belches unpleasant evocations strenuously entered into its reserves.

I recall for instance, the snake bite of my aunt, how frightful it must have been for her.

I recall my mother’s painful strokes, an astute testifier of using canes on kids, aha!

I recall my athletic cousin who duped us into emptying our pockets, only to vanish in the prodigal son’s manner.

I recall my step mother, locking up the corn stores so that we starved in my Dad’s absence.

I recall my aunt’s disappearance after facing the sharp knife that would end her education.

I recall the violence that erupted after one election period scattering us like frightened chicken.

I recall these things; 

I recall them with a remote lingering haziness that would rather be left alone.

I recall these and more, I recall the decisions that emanated from these moments.

These experiences were bearable, these memories, melancholic as they sound, are bearable. 

But Bestie, let me tell you:

This grotesque godly lady, for whom I work, detests my thinking, delineates my capacities, despises my glances, dehumanizes me.

I am the shoe rug at the entrance to her world.

I am the tree back on which she rubs her snort.

I am the bin into which she empties her aches. 

I am these and a lot more. 

For, what is a person without their intellect, without dignity, without honour?

It is:

As though I am a zombie intruding the human habitat.

 As though she might kill me with a stare.

 As though I came to eat her babies like a cannibal.

 As though I might slash off her enormous backside.

This, more than any other affliction, weighs down on me, it is terribly unbearable.

A million times, I have decided to respect myself and walk away.

But Bestie, how am I to feed my babies if I did?

By Sr. Esther Jeruto Koros OSF 

Dedicated to everyone working in unbearable conditions. All will be well, some day, let me tell you!