Do not Look for Me in the Crowds of Those Celebrating

 Do not Look for Me in the Crowds of Those Celebrating

Today is the 8th of March 2019. I ask you not to look for me in the crowds gathering and celebrating in the streets of “Free Cities”. For I am locked up in some dark corner of the earth, forced to be a hermit by the crisis rocking the foundation of my city! I am here, alone, my only companion children who know nothing about Women’s Day!  How do I manifest my capacity as a World Pulse Ambassador? Yes, do not look for me in the conference rooms, the roundtable talks and all the places in the entire Universe where women have gathered. I weep the lost merriness and I weep for the women down shivering in the bushes under palm trees, shrubs, and shifty rickety huts for homes and in search of safety from the raging war. Now the rain comes thundering down like an earth quake with hail stones and heavy storms. I wonder if the palm tree under which the wandering homeless women and children will fall on them.

 I weep for the innocent babies tugged under shriveled breasts of starveling mothers. The lips jarred, the eyes sunken, the gape to the sky is useless for no help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth at this moment of agony.  Do not look for me in the streets of those celebrating Women’s Day and raising their voices to the world, for my voice is chocked in the trauma that enshrines my village, medication can’t reach my sick mum who should have received her parcel of medicines as a gift on Women’s Day from a daughter who cares so much for her well-being, but no, the messenger returned for the gun shots were too deadly. Mama waits, mama looks to the road, “when will a message come from the city? Will there be any visitor to bring some good news?”

I weep for the women who are stuck like myself. As I mourn the calamities that have befallen my people, a call comes from my aunt who has braved a hill so to get network. She urges me to send medications to mama, we both forget to wish each other the usual “Happy Women’s Day”, but is this really happy? This is an usual occasion! We hurry over the telephone conversation, conclusions are drawn, my aunt switches off her phone on the other end without bidding me goodbye.  She has to hurry back down from the hill where she has climbed to look for network. I understand. I look at the parcel containing the medications lying at my desk. I pray some brave eagle will come take this to my mother.

The day is almost gone. It is 2:23PM. I listen for any noise of celebration and the only sound I hear is a gunshot. Then the silence returns. I think of the Champagne that should be flowing in the party halls now where women have no cares, for their voices are being heard. Then, I notice that the tears streaming down from my eyes and flooding my cheeks are like bitter Champagne! The rain cries with me, I hear it drizzling and the ‘tip tap, tap, top’ on the roof top from the branches of trees overhanging over my roof.  I pray the rain washes every pain away. It appears the rain hears my thoughts, it is now raining heavily, it takes away the silence. I am still sitting in my dark corner, and I ask you not to look for me in the crowds of those celebrating this day!