This I must know if I Were a Woman for a Day

By tickler

Son of the Unquenched

The conundrum

As I write this, I’m driven by an urge of curiosity. Attempts to satisfy this curiosity has in many instances proven futile. I realized I was dealing with an elusive creature that is a conundrum of what constitutes and makes a woman.

I have come to understand nature than I do women. I mean, it’s easier to put bits and pieces together to conclusively tell what the wild needs and wants than humans in the form of female species. I have come to realize that even wild animals communicate easily and with all ease in their own terms and gesture expressing their desires openly without compromise. The language of the wild and the animal kingdom is what I’m yet to establish. I assume it’s gibberish but that’s beside the point.

               

Science has tried its level best in uncovering what surely makes a woman. Science tells of a tale of great intellectuals with ability to multitask, grasp and think better than their male species. Science also believes that she endures pain than he. A man wouldn’t endure pain but confront it. A man will not endure pain without responding to the epicenter of the entire aggression thus easily predictable. That aside, my point of focus is the puzzle that torments my mind and arouses lots of curiosity. What really constitutes a woman? I’m therefore tempted to assume her nature for a day and uncover my most sought answers to points of interest.

How thick is the line between moods?

I need to know why it is too hard to put a smile upon thy face and yet so easy to irk thee. The woman I know at dawn isn’t the same as the one I meet at tea break. At lunch hour you seem to regain your form back only to assume another at dusk. What is that switch that dims and brightens your mood? Is it located somewhere behind your brain, in the ventricles of your hearts, under your skin or is it just the way I look or what I do and say at any moment in time? I need an imaginary thickness of the boundary between mood swings so that I can measure how many yards to the positive electrode before you burn and sulk. I don’t want to burn the switch. This I would establish if I were a woman in a day.

Looking good and beautiful, for whom?

I don’t wear makeup for anybody, you say. You insist you’ve to wear that skimpy skirt for this and that occasion. I tell you it’s revealing too much and you tell me it’s for your esteem and you want to look curvy for me. I have agreed to your sentiments but I don’t know why it feels so tormenting when this other man stares at your backside with intent. Is it because I’m jealous or you want me to? My cleavage is meant for you to see. I have heard this over and over again. Why do I find you excited when other men peep into it yet you say it is not for them? I need to know whom do you look good and beautiful for. I can only tell if I were you for a day.

Why does it take you five minutes to bathe and an hour and half to get ready?

Before you get into the bath tub you already had sampled and ironed what you intend to wear. You’ve tried the same dress severally and instead have decided to prepare another one. You’ve had it every day and wore it often even a week ago, clad it on many occasions. Is it because you’ve become a gigantic monster overnight that it can no longer fit you or is it lacking the attention it had? Is it that you’ve just noticed flaws of your body that you don’t want noticed or perhaps you’ve noticed your breasts have dilated overnight and want to shrink them in a single session while I still remain patient waiting for you? Your bosom and bums have always been yours and I haven’t seen them grow instantaneously. Is it the acne or that little pimple at your forehead that needs urgent diagnostic attention? Have you discovered it today when we are about to miss that important appointment or just trying to annoy me? I’m thinking these are some of the things that take all the time. I need to confirm what’s keeping me waiting for an hour and half while you “prepare” yourself. In a day I must know.

Could “Yes” be a “No” or otherwise?

I must say your YES sometimes if not most times is not convincing. Why does it sound like a NO especially when it’s my turn to seek financial aid from you? Your YES seems near NO. Your NO on the other hand seemingly sounds like a YES in some instances especially at times when you play hide and seek with me. I must confess it takes intellectual acumen to see it as a YES otherwise I would starve of lack of conjugation. I’m managing quiet well so far. I need to know when a NO is actually NO and when YES is a definite YES. Near NO is what you posses and perhaps I could distinctively segregate them if I were a woman for a day.

What would I prefer between a skirt and a pair of trousers?

I presume a skirt is adequately air conditioned and well ventilated considering it’s openness above the knees. However, if so, why does it seem like you no longer prefer a skirt and opt for a pair of pants most times. Is it because the skirt guts in too much air that you can’t handle? Is it because the skirt could expose your secretive interiors unannounced or it can’t let you sit carelessly as you do in a pair of pants? Doesn’t the trouser hurt and squeeze? Considering your body anatomy below thy belt, I find the trouser a bit disturbing. Doesn’t it squeeze you and perhaps blister you private quarters? This I must know if I were you in a day dear.

How does it feel to orgasm?

In a day, I must engage in a sexual adventure. I would love to feel the phenomena and uncover the mystery behind orgasm. You look electrifying and yet electrocuted when you say you’re climaxing. It seems like bordering on pain and pleasure. Is it a combination of both? If it’s a combination of both, then it sure is a winning and whining combination on the face of it and the response that I get. The way you moan and grab my body with your sharp nails like a sprinting tigress, tells and says aloud that the moment is phenomenon. Why then does it look like you loathe me at that particular moment and at the same time express how you love me? I need to peel off the skin behind the mystery in a day.

When are you faking orgasm?

Do you really cum every time we make love? Do you fake it at times and how often? You could easily fool me alright. Unlike me, there isn’t evidence to ascertain if it’s genuine or a big fuss. You could easily get away with it you know. Does it feel equally pleasurable even when I’m soaked in mud after a drinking spree and I stink of booze stench? Do you really cum when I forced you into it without you wanting while you cite fatigue? I really I’m curious of knowing this in a single day.

Where does it feel pleasurable to be touched?

Besides the mysterious spot that you talk about often and which I imagine I touch, I notice you also are interested of touch in some other stimulating points. My hands have been cluttering all over blindly. They are just trying to locate the magical spots that seemingly please you. Please don’t mind their carelessness. If I only knew where you would want me to touch, then I would gladly comply and focus there without having to meander all over. Is it your bosom, bums, feet, face, thighs or perhaps some other place? I’m in a waterloo. Only being you for a day would solve this mystery.

Between wealth and the man, where is your love?

You say you love me and would go all the way with me regardless. Alright, I believe you. However, from what I gather, my wealth too has to be where I am with you. Please pardon me if you sincerely can hang for my love. It’s only that what your friends are doing scares me out of my skin. Why is there so much disquiet when I say I’m broke and could go bankrupt? I’m willing to make a prenuptial agreement but I have seen marriages break in a fortnight while a prenuptial is written. Could you do the same to me? When I was penny less, you denied me but when I became wealthy, you said you sought your heart and found love. I’m but cautious. In a day perhaps I would find out where love reigns,

How do you keep such secrets?

I understand and I have been told you are the most secretive species of the humans. Science says you can easily multitask without much ado. What’s that secret you dread telling me? How do you manage to conceal it that long without being caught? I have tried to multitask with other members of your flock but you nabbed me before cock’s crow. I spy on you often but my efforts have proved fruitless every time I snitch on you. Could you be multitasking with one of my close members of my flock without my knowledge? I’m worried of how many you’ve got in the sack. By the look of things, several are in it. If I were you for a day, perhaps I would learn how to and how you do it.

Submission

The aforesaid ten aspects are my curious points of focus in understanding what women really want and feel. Perhaps we could treat them appropriately if we knew certain things like the ones highlighted and probably becoming one in a day would solve the mystery behind the female gender. My curiosity is not limited to these. I confess there are so may not put down on paper.

I wouldn’t want to remain a woman beyond a day though, not long enough to make me pregnant. I have so much adventure while on this other side of human species. I fathom better the devil I know than the angel that is elusive and I barely know. Considering the challenges I hear and some that I have come to understand about women, I’m enjoying being a man hitherto. Twenty four hours would be sacrifice.

©Copyright       

THE EARTH DIRGE; 'I THE DEFILED'

THE EARTH DIRGE

‘I THE DEFILED’

---

“I that was bequeathed to you in good order, in the likeness of our maker; I have done nothing but serve you. I have been of good provisions and I’m of abundance, none rivals me. Without me, you’re nothing but vanity. You ebb and disintegrate with me. All that you’ve done to me is disregarding me, and like trash, you’ve made me tripe. You continue to defy my signals of warning. I want to salvage you and embrace you like a baby that you once were to me. All still, in vain all my efforts. You bury your head in the sand like an ostrich and you show me your posterior self whenever I speak to you of my suffering. What being have you become because I no longer recognize you as the adorable creature that gave back to me whenever I granted you of provision?

I was once green, sprouting of health and wealth. We were once great chums. We cared for each other and natured one another. What animal have you become, mysterious being? I know not of what animal you’ve turned out to be because even the animals that live within me seem to reason with me more than you do these days. All you do is reap of me and enrich yourself. The resources that I carry you exploit of them for your good. That’s alright. They were made for you. But then, the pollution that you generate behind the filthy tracks of your feet as you walk away is humiliating. You do not look back but continue walking away gluttonously like the being you’ve become. You leave me for the dead. I feel defiled by you, I say.

My arteries you gush and now I ooze of blood. I’m bleeding profusely from the underbelly. I now emit poison. This I did not create. It is your own doing. The seas and the oceans beneath me now wonder what I’m made of. They aren’t the fresh cool waters that they used to be when we still were chums with you. The lilies have dried and I now hear of hyacinths. The fish no longer live to tell the tale of deep waters. They no longer have a home and now they blame me. The plankton are no more, they tell me. They tell me they have a different name, endangered species! The coral reef is rusty they say and continue to hurl jeers of regret at me saying I defile their territories. Tell me it is not true what they say about me. I thought I gave you the authority to reign over me and all that I’m made of as the creator commanded us to do. I say to the fish, the seas and the oceans, that I’m vindicated of all that they blame of me but point a finger to you that call thyself human being. I bleed I say and I didn’t hurt myself but you defile me.

The heavens are watching and wondering where all this is heading to. The skies are no longer blue. They no longer know not what they are made of but who is defiling them. The clouds are weary and no longer know what drops of rain are made of. They are pale and run dry in wait for extinction. Then you say I’m mean and heartless depriving you of the good and pleasurable rainfall that you once enjoyed. I would want to give you rain people, and the heavens know this all too well. You deprived thyself of rain and on this too, I’m vindicated. You’re in charge of your own destiny, human! I’m scorched by the angry sun overhead and I’m about to go down on my knees, heavy laden and with no iota of strength remaining in my veins and the crust of my backbone. The ozone layer no longer knows its size because it now sags like an extra large undergarment!

The rays of the sun upon me have never been this violent since time immemorial. This time I’m afraid of what shall become of me. The green grass that covered my body, the shrubs and the thicket of lumber that surrounded my arteries are no longer with me. They wither and burn out under wild fires ignited by the angry sun that emits scouring rays upon them. They blame me of deserting them and say I no longer provide them with a drop of water beneath their roots. I cannot convince them of my innocence because even those that I spoke to, you fell them and made wood with them before I could answer them back. The grass that still struggled with me in this misery trying to shield me from the sun, you’ve harvested of it. The river beds now remain bare and barren. The river wonders of the upstream because all that it knows of is silt and sand threatening to siphon it dry. I feel I’m losing this battle as long as you continue to disregard me and defile me. As long as you continue without mercy to reap of me without replenishing me, I too cannot replenish the granaries for you. I say to you human, I’m defiled!

I was magnificent when you were placed upon me. I had plenty to give you and you vowed to take good care of me like your other siblings. Like you take care of those you sire from thy groins, your children. East to West, North to South I was magnificent and I brag not. The North Pole was great and intact and cared what the South Pole was doing. Now the North and the South exist in their own worlds. The East no longer cares what the West is doing. They have had a new teacher, a new human that cares of own interests. The snow used to be adventurous and good for the eye. Now it thaws away prematurely before winter sneezes for the summer is already here. The oceans complain of capacity they know not where to keep it because the volumes are too much for them to hold. They too wonder of their upstream oblivious of what is happening up there. They freeze and so do the creatures that call these masses home. All that remains when summer comes are skeletons, dry bones of what were. I’m petrified and perturbed by horror that you give me. I’m horrified and I can no longer be of provision to you while you hold me in captivity.

The lands are barren because of the chemicals that you churn with my soil intoxicating me and chocking me with acidity. I’m no longer productive like I used to be. Then upon me, industries thrive. That’s okay, but the waste they pour over me and into my arteries is sickening. My crust can no longer hold and support you and your generations. I can only guarantee you today but tomorrow it’s upon thee to declare. The smoke coming out of what you create and burn within your manufacturing plants, makes the heavens speechless. The heavens are in awe people. How then will they give you fresh rain while you poison their bladders? All they can give is acid rain if at all anything yields out of them. The tremors and the Tsunamis that kill your beloved are a result of what you create. The species of the flora and fauna once abundant are now mere examples of what they once represented. A drop in the ocean they now are. They too wonder and ponder of the creature called human.

I’m nature, the earth that I’m today. A fraction of what I was years ago during my forefathers’ eons. I’m nature that once subsisted with you coherently and symbiotically. I’m calm and ooze of plenty when natured. I equally am violent and torturous when I’m provoked and left to the dogs. Not that I want to hurt you but because I’m writhing and trying to kick for my dear life. I feel like disowning you and collapsing with the whole lot of you but I realize the creator gave you authority over me. I then leave you to declare your destiny, our destiny. I continue to bare pain like a woman about to heed in labor but with a smile upon her face knowing that she brings forth a new being. Like her, I shall endure until you heed and yield for me as new creatures worthy of the name human beings. I need you to nurture me, replenish what you deduct of me, clean what you trash me with and siphon while you refill the barrels of prosperity. Salvage what remains of me because I’m about to deplete and crumble with you. Without me, you are nothing. When I’m dead, you too are dead. I’m nature and my nature is to punish whoever defiles of me. My gut is blocking, my arteries carry poison and my heart is about to crumble. Be warned! Global warming so you call it is what I now can give you until you choose your own destiny because I’m defiled, human! I have had it enough human!”

---

Another Kenyan Wins Caine Prize

Okwiri Oduor Wins Fifteenth Caine Prize for African Writing 2014

Kenya’s Okwiri Oduor has won the 2014 Caine Prize for African Writing, described as Africa’s leading literary award, for her short story entitled ‘My Father's Head’ from Feast, Famine and Potluck (Short Story Day Africa, South Africa, 2013).

The Chair of Judges, Jackie May MBE, announced Okwiri Oduor as the winner of the £10,000 prize at a dinner held this evening (Monday, 14 July) at the Bodleian Library in Oxford.

‘My Father’s Head’ explores the narrator’s difficulty in dealing with the loss of her father and looks at the themes of memory, loss and loneliness. The narrator works in an old people’s home and comes into contact with a priest, giving her the courage to recall her buried memories of her father.

Jackie Kay praised the story, saying, “Okwiri Oduor is a writer we are all really excited to have discovered. ‘My Father’s Head’ is an uplifting story about mourning – Joycean in its reach. She exercises an extraordinary amount of control and yet the story is subtle, tender and moving. It is a story you want to return to the minute you finish it.”

Okwiri Oduor directed the inaugural Writivism Literary Festival in Kampala, Uganda in August 2013. Her novella, The Dream Chasers was highly commended in the Commonwealth Book Prize, 2012. She is a 2014 MacDowell Colony fellow and is currently at work on her debut novel.

Also shortlisted were:

Diane Awerbuck (South Africa) "Phosphorescence" in Cabin Fever (Umuzi, Cape Town. 2011)Read Phosphorescence

Efemia Chela (Ghana/Zambia) "Chicken" in Feast, Famine and Potluck (Short Story Day Africa, South Africa. 2013)Read Chicken

Tendai Huchu (Zimbabwe) "The Intervention" in Open Road Review, issue 7, New Delhi. 2013Read The Intervention

Billy Kahora (Kenya) "The Gorilla's Apprentice" in Granta (London. 2010)Read The Gorilla's Apprentice

The panel of judges was chaired by award-winning author Jackie Kay MBE. Her novels have won a range of awards, including the Forward Prize, a Saltire prize, a Scottish Arts Council Prize and the Guardian Fiction Award. Her most recent collection of poems, Fiere, was shortlisted for the Costa award. Her most recent book, Reality Reality, is a collection of stories and she is currently working on her new novel, Bystander. She was awarded an MBE in 2006, made a fellow of the Royal Society of Literature in 2002 and is currently Professor of Creative Writing at Newcastle University.

She was joined by the distinguished novelist and playwright Gillian Slovo, Zimbabwean journalist Percy Zvomuya, Assistant Professor of English at the University of Georgetown Nicole Rizzuto and the winner of the Caine Prize in 2001 Helon Habila. This is the second time that a past winner of the £10,000 Caine Prize will take part in the judging.

Once again the winner of the Caine Prize will be given the opportunity to take up a month’s residence at Georgetown University, as a Writer-in-Residence at the Lannan Center for Poetics and Social Practice. To mark the fifteenth anniversary of the Prize, each shortlisted writer will also receive £500. The winner will also be invited to take part in the Open Book Festival in Cape Town in September 2014, the Storymoja Hay Festival in Nairobi and the Ake Festival in Nigeria.

Last year the Caine Prize was won by Nigerian writer Tope Folarin. Tope is the recipient of writing fellowships from the Institute for Policy Studies and Callaloo, and he serves on the board of the Hurston/Wright Foundation. He lives and works in Washington, DC, is part of Africa39 and is working on his first novel The Proximity of Distance.

Previous winners are Sudan’s Leila Aboulela (2000), Nigerian Helon Habila (2001), Kenyan Binyavanga Wainaina (2002), Kenyan Yvonne Owuor (2003), Zimbabwean Brian Chikwava (2004), Nigerian Segun Afolabi (2005), South African Mary Watson (2006), Ugandan Monica Arac de Nyeko (2007), South African Henrietta Rose-Innes (2008), Nigerian EC Osondu (2009), Sierra Leonean Olufemi Terry (2010), Zimbabwean NoViolet Bulawayo (2011), and Nigerian Tope Folarin (2013).

Courtesy; allAfrica.com

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Standing before the sky I had little idea my next two weeks would be overwhelmed with wild love, lust, confusion, tears and a beautiful girl. She and I would share the stories of our hearts...our right-sided hearts. Right-Hearted: Finding What's Right With A Wrong Sided Heart is the story of two lustful teenagers who together confront their life-threatening conditions. 

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Stages | Episode Five

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A collection of poems and proverbs beyond oneself and so borrowed from a spirit greater than I. 

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