Womans Day Unlikely Celebrated
We always hear of the great feats women accomplish despite
the odds
The hurdles they’ve overcome
The battles they fought
Right From the stoic, stately, matriarch
To the seasoned professional who balances perfectly on the latest
heels and in the perfect cut suit
There are a few women whose story we rarely share above a
whisper
And if they are shared out loud, compassion is tossed far in
the narration;
The story told not without a tinge of disdain to their place
in the female fraternity
This is the untold story of many a maa’m uncelebrated
Never do they carry
their black eye with pride and joy
Or their broken limbs and stitches
These are concealed charmingly under meticulous make up
And well weaved stories
Nor are we told of the unseen gaping, bleeding, festering
wounds;
Nor are we told of anxiety and fear so bad it cripples maa’m until feels she cannot breath
Nor are we told of completely shattered souls that the fragments
seem too many to ever put together
Nor are we told of depression so murky that it completely hazes
out her capability to feel or share love with even the children of her womb
Nor are we told of the addict driven to her to suicide when
her family threatened to disown her
Nor are we told of the absolute and complete nervous breakdown
Dr. Carson (Gifted Hands) and more recently Apostle John
Kimani William (MBCI) are the well renowned male personalities I have heard openly
confess of their own mothers’ strength being in these womens’ utter brokenness.
Not their degrees or skillful prowess in the boardroom or
market place was their strength, but the ability to check into a mental
facility and release their children into the care of others; or simply laying
prostrate before the Lord, utterly and completely crushed and broken.
These womens’ stories are told candidly to an audience who
would rather deny the truth that lies within the walls of our own homes.
Bold, public confessions and intentional, concerted attempts
to heal as a family from failed abortions, attempted suicides and everything in
between.
These mens’ stories of their mothers, bravely told are
weaved with only the purest love and deepest compassion, and to me superceed any
heroic acts ever attempted.
Sadly, few will ever dare strain their souls to achieve even
a fraction of this love and healing in their entire lifetime.
The real martyrs, the real heroines I choose to celebrate
today are the women, fighting or died fighting, barely clinging onto nothing
but faith and truth, kneeling in fervent prayer for their families; wailing for
their loved ones’ souls’ restoration to the Lord.
In their living life these women are clobbered and battered
by their´’ loved’ ones. It deceptively appears an easier choice than to love
and empathize and heal together.
In their death, these womens’ graves are spat on by those jeering
saying they were fanatic, crazy and every similar adjective, to scandalize
these womens name and their message. The coroner thought he had the final say
in words that far described her death It is by far, much easier; so they all
think.
Those heroines now gone, sit with the ultimate trophy;
A crown on their heads in the glorious presence of the Lord
God has the final say
The living heroines smile in peace, like Stephen, praying
for their stoners understanding to be opened to know and work towards, for that, which when is all said and done, really
matters.
Gakenia Thumi
19th March 2023
Painting by Maistry Shah
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