KIWANI. By: Lawore Temiloluwa.

I want to capture the beauty of this serene breeze in words that will never fade, I want to stamp its essence on a plaque and hang it where it will never be forgotten, I want the sons and daughters of this cracked ground to feel this weightless element caress their glowing skin…

Kiwani would have loved this breeze, she would have screamed in crazy laughter as we all scampered about, running to save our clothes we had deprived ourselves of sleep to wash hoping that the sun will shine upon us and dry them – from the imminent and angry rain that was sure to fall cats and dogs, she would say this is the voice of a mad woman crying in the forest; come out to relieve your burning souls, come and be baptized, let this rain wash away your agitations”. 

Kiwani would hold her beautiful white dog and bathe it in the rain. I thought Kiwani was a mad woman, well everyone thought so too, the mad woman who did not roam the noisy market, the mad woman who dressed beautifully, the mad woman who had been cursed with rain preceded by the breeze.

Kiwani the mad woman and her beautiful dog would turn and swirl to the rhythm of the breeze and as the rain started to pour, Kiwani’s laughter would increase and her transparent blue chiffon dress would stick to her beautiful body and her beautiful dog would run to and fro like the shirt of a boy on a swing. We lived in a place where everybody knew everybody’s business, it was a community with a communal lifestyle, yet, only Kiwani admired everything, she sat down on a broken chair every morning with her beautiful dog by her side and admired everything, how the sweet and biscuit wrappers added colour to the ground, how the smelly gutters gave life to wonderful insects, how some bulbs produced light and some didn’t and how that made it look like the bulbs were helping themselves out, one working and the other resting, how the rusted roofs were a masterpiece of art, Kiwani admired it all, most of all, she told me once, she admired seeing the children’s bare feet on the cracked ground…

I am here; remembering Kiwani and wishing we had all lived like Kiwani, but the herds men fought our farmers as Kiwani sat on her broken chair asleep, our farmers died, Kiwani never woke up, our mothers were slaughtered and our children were sacrificed as burnt offerings on a broken ladder. When all became quiet, I saw dark clouds and felt the strong breeze, there was no cloth to save, so why not be Kiwani, the mad woman? Let me ride this bicycle in the rain to the gates of heaven with the beautiful dog by my side, there is a ground to ride on, there is a bulb to light my path, a dog to guide me and birds to sing a dirge…

This is written by Lawore Temiloluwa (2017). Photo source: Google Chrome. Her Instagram handle is @t.e.m.i.d.e

Read Also:  MURDER ON 15TH STREET. By: Oche_Writes.

Author: stacyspeaks

Creativity feeds my soul.

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