To The Woman

Afua Blog

To the woman whose back finds no rest
Checking in men to be mother, your children’s best.
To the woman, who fears the dark
Because your insides housed too many lives
And yet you are without shelter
A mother to children who should be to you siblings.
To the woman
Whose womb has turned graveyard
Burying babies before the first cry
Dreading when the last blood will be seen on the pad.
To the woman whose pillow has turned fertile ground
Nursing demons that haunt at dawn
With streams of tears that should have never flown.
To the woman who cheerfully signed out of life
So she would be mother to children she’d never tuck in bed
Nor have the pleasure of watching them chase after the birds.
And to the woman who signed up for life

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When Love Finds You XXXIV

Welcome to another chapter. Read chapter XXXIII here. Find this week’s poem here.

Tara had both legs lying on the centre table in their large living room – her uncle’s. Her head was rested backwards on the settee; days ago jogging through her memory. She couldn’t settle on what to think.

“I’m quitting.”

Her pained smile was rooted into her face as she handed Sule her letter. He was shocked and hurt. His face bared it all. Not a single emotion hid.

“You’re not joking.”

He had lifted his head from skimming the short letter.

“I’ll still be your friend.” She had attempted cheesy. “I’m traveling to do that master’s I’ve dreamt so much about. I couldn’t miss the opportunity.”

She wouldn’t lie. Yet she wouldn’t say the whole truth. At least not now.

“I still don’t understand.”

Those were his last words before Tahil called and he rushed off. He hadn’t called back. She can’t call yet. She smiled and puffed. Who dictates how to break your own heart? She laughed shortly at her thoughts and closed her eyes. That night when she prayed and cried, she’s never felt any freer. She intends to hold on to it – to jealously guard that freedom.

The glass door slanted and she heard her father walk in. She needn’t open her eyes. His shuffle and short paused coughs were enough to tell her who.

“Only destroys every good thing that happens to you.” He started off with his usual rants. “The car, your job, the TV… What can you hold down?” He sneered, like usual, and kept at it. “I’m ashamed she’s my daughter.” He raised his voice like one would for a theatre audience.

“Same here.”

Tara hissed under her breath. John’s laugh rose up into the air. Tara opened her eyes and watched him. He had walked slowly and grabbed on to the settee. Then like one who has caught a joke last, he burst into another bout of laughter.

“I could never be.”

He held on to the settee, his steps slow and calculated and sat down in a heap.

“I’d have birthed someone better.”

He looked at her and rested backwards, taking up half of the three-in-one settee. His body parts seemed independent of each other with his legs unable to stay without an unusual shake.
Tara sat up. First faintly but becoming clearer and clearer, she could see herself sitting, cramped up, by her mum, both parents were fuming; their words flying at each other around the room. It was about changing her surname from Serwaa to Tafuah; right around her first national exam, her BECE. And that’s the first time she heard bastard.

“Where’s he then? Did you lure my mum to divorce him and live with you in this misery?”

Her mum walked in on them.

“Where’s who?”

She asked Tara, looking at John. She shook her head and returned her attention to her daughter.

“My father? Your husband here is clear on the fact that I’m not his.”

“He’s drunk.”

Selina made for the kitchen. Tara followed.

“And we’re used to him being drunk and still making perfect sense.” She held on to her mum’s face with honest eyes. “Tell me.”

“He’s your father.”

“Then why would he say he’s not? Many times Maa. And why did he say bastard during your argument about whether or not I take Tafuah?”

“What do you want?”

“Who is my father?”

Continue reading

You #25

With You,
I’d have love plain
Only bread of life
We’ll skip the butter.

©M’afua Awo Twumwaah 2017.

Is God Good?

Afua Blog

Off late, I’ve been wondering about how I really see God. I’m not in a hospital waiting hall twitching my fingers waiting on lab results. No. Neither am I battling whether or not to work in any zymurgy field. PS. Zymurgy is a fancy word I found relating to brewing processes. However, I am in a very tight period in my life and if you’ve ever been in any period that has left you confused, you know when you are in a tight place (please, not for marriage oh…let me clarify…lol) sometimes, it’s very easy to lose sight of God. Dangerously, we may forget who God is at all in such situations.

Currently, I’m living life figuring out what the Lord will have me do. Amidst this seeming confusion, throw in my own long ago planned dreams and desires (the most detailed of which He has successfully squashed), my parents…

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When Love Finds You XXXIII

Hi. Welcome to yet another Wednesday. So, how have you been? I am good, happy to still be writing for you…lol. Ok so as I’ve been saying, we’ll be ending this story soon. Soon because I haven’t yet settled what chapter that’s going to be on. You can suggest. Read all chapters here and did you read yesterday’s poem? Find it here. So yes, let’s read today’s.

Kate staggered into the living room, squinting still to the bright light that met her when she woke up. She searched the empty seats, leftovers of the embarrassment from last night hanging on her. Whenever she remembers the way she came unto her husband, so intense and needy, she still feels her face flushing with shame and still a little fear. How did she come to love him so much and be so drawn to him? So much even after these rough two years of their marriage. However hard she tried the five minutes she sat up in bed after waking to look inward and scoop out an answer, she got none. She chuckled and leaned on the kitchen wall. Her husband, Kwaku was bent over the sink. He didn’t notice her for some time. When he did his face lit up. Kate smiled.

“I decided to let you sleep in.”

Kwaku stayed on his wife’s face, holding contact with her eyes as though if he looked away, he will forget how they look.

“Mm” Kate kept her smile. “Did anyone call?”

“No.” He responded, alternating between his wife’s face and the sink. “You were expecting someone to?”

Kate run her hand over her face and covered her mouth as she yawned. She rested her head toward the door frame.

“I thought Dzidzor or dad will.”

“They did.” Kwaku held the fridge open and brought out the mayonnaise. Kate watched on, a laugh lurking around the corners of her lips. “They called on my phone though.” He moved again to the sink, oblivious of Kate’s amusement. “I think your battery died. I put the phone on charge by the wardrobe. I thought you’d see it.”

“Mm.” Kate tried hard to stifle her laughter. Kwaku turned to her.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She covered her hand with her mouth and turned towards the hallway.

“What?”

Kwaku cleaned his hands on the napkin and propped both elbows backwards onto the sink.

“You’re cooking.”

Kate steadied herself so she doesn’t fall over with the laughter. Kwaku turned again to the sink.

“After the first month, I had to make a choice.”

He said, cracks of laughter filling the voids of what has been guilt all this while. Continue reading