This week, I wasn’t feeling well and I decided to go seek help at a local clinic. I found the nurse occupied with a young girl of about fourteen. Unfortunately or fortunately, whichever way you look at it, this particular clinic doesn’t have a ‘doctor’s room’.
I swear i did not mean to eavesdrop but my ears are big and they picked up what the young girl was saying. This is was what she said;
It hurts when I pee. And it really itches down there. I don’t know when it all started. I cannot, in all honesty, pinpoint the day it started. I do remember though how it started. The discharge changed. It was smelly all of a sudden. The color changed too, it was now white and it was clumpy. It did not look normal. Not like it was before.
She was from a poor family. They lived in a two-roomed house in Bwaise that would flood whenever the rains came.
Her mother could barely afford rent, let alone fees. But she was determined that her children would go to school. She was determined that her children would not end up like her.
So she worked two jobs. At a fish factory during the day and at night, she sold tomatoes in the kalerwe market. She was often too tired to do any mothering by the time she came back home, late in the night.
On days that seem to go on and on, I cannot imagine sweating over a charcoal stove trying to cook supper, when I finally get back home.
I usually just go to my rolex* guy at the roadside and supper is set.
Yesterday was such a day. So in the evening I just trudged to the roadside to look for supper.
As I stood aside watching the rolex guy work his magic, I noticed that the next stall was occupied by a young boy, about twelve, thirteen years old. I realized he was helping the stall owner. My curiosity pickled, I decided to have a conversation with the boy.
It went something like this:
First Term: March This is not it. This cannot be it. It’s not what is written in all those novels. The Mills and boon and all those other novels with the half-naked couples on them. Am I not supposed to be tingling all over? Or as the books say, ‘….in places that she didn’t even know existed…’ The books’ heroines spoke of a release like none they had never felt before, yet all i feel is pain and shame And I’m sure it’s supposed to last more than just one minute. This is very disappointing and embarrassing. I should probably get dressed before anyone walks in…..
Sandra sat on the ground listlessly staring as the paramedics lifted Kenneth’s body from the ground onto the gurney. She didn’t feel the rain as it started to fall. Her bridesmaids tried to pry her from the ground. But she didn’t put in any effort.
She started to cry when his body was put into a body bag.
But then she saw the man who was responsible for Kenneth’s death. The man who was now looking so remorseful, his eyes downcast. Surrounded by his co-conspirators. Her brothers. She was filled with rage. One that she had never felt before.
It has been brought to my attention that my fiction has been rather dark lately, between evil Boris Kodjoe lookalike, Mr.Asiimwe and the dead Kenneth, its all gloom and doom. So today I’ll take a break from the story with no fitting title and write something light……I think. Something with rainbows and daisies and unicorns and a happy ending. Atleast. Today.
I am very proud of myself. I’m all patting myself on the back, I made it to day 3 y’all!!! Without flaking out or getting lazy!!!! ….I hope it’s not a premature celebration though.
Day 3…..today i share the first installment of a story I’m writing, just for just. I don’t have a title for it yet but I hope you enjoy it.
I started to write fiction when I was a teenager. At the time I thought I could write a the next best greatest teen romance novel. A better version of sweet valley high as it were…..my first attempt wasn’t that good but I guess I got better with time.
My post today is a story I wrote for the first edition of the Dennis Assimwe’s Notes* short story writing competition and I am proud to say I came 7th!!!
How? I’m still not sure…but this is my story, titled, The Statistic.