Usikawai Panic!

It’s the pain in your heart:


when you have been home for three and a half months and you don’t want to go back to college;


when there’s so much jam on Thika road, Lang’ata road, Ngong’ road, Mombasa road, Waiyaki way and you are late for work on your last day; 


when you have procrastinated too much and you have to do everything in a hurry;


when you haven't finished your packing;


when you see those “Back to School” advertisements;


when you don't properly say goodbye to the one you love;


when you haven’t read during the holidays and your exams are coming up;


when you are in a new place but you feel out of place;


when you love him but he doesn’t love you back;


when you heard about her plane accident;


when you were scared that he has been kidnapped;


when you hear that someone went to be with the Lord;


when you are scared that your plans won’t work out;


when you get that eviction letter and you don’t know where your kids will stay;


when you can’t even pay their school fees;


when your friends all leave the country and you are left behind;


when you miss your flight (my siblings where you at?);


when you call him but he doesn’t pick your calls and you’re scared he’s not ok;


when they said they love each other but fight all the freaking time,


when you are so alone in the world and your journals don’t comfort you anymore,


when you miss Sunday service coz you thought you wouldn't feel bad;


when you undergo culture shock and you can't make friends;


when you are homesick and you wish you just went to school elsewhere;


when you forget to read your Bible every day;


when you forget to pray;


when you forget that in this life, USIKAWAI PANIC!

Where Her Sorrows Lie

Every day at 1 o’clock sharp, she closes down her computer, pushes away from her desk, gets up from her
seat, walks out of her office, takes the elevator down to the ground floor, trudges out of the building, and crosses the street to the building where her sorrows lie.

She approaches the manicured lawn in front of the main building. Today, her favorite seat is taken—the metal seat that heats up in the noon day sun and burns her cheeks, reminding her that she’s still breathing. She opts to sit on a wooden bench facing the tall jacaranda trees that line the borders of the lawn.

And then she takes in her surroundings.

Several women are lying on the grass. She can’t make out any of their features, but one woman stands out. The woman is dressed in a green tailored suit, with a white kitamba wrapped around her head. She’s laid her head on a brown kiondo, the kind that are sold on your way to Nakuru. From the way her back is arched, you can tell that she’s weary. Perhaps she’s waiting to see a sick relative, perhaps she’s just said good bye to her love, and can’t summon the strength to get back up.

Then a gangly warrior in a purple shirt and grey trousers walks into the lawn. He strides towards one of the jacaranda trees, and begins praying. He crosses his arms, closes his eyes, mutters quietly, and reaches to the ground, his mechanical movements reminiscent of a man in a deep search for his Maker. He gets up, mutters a few words, and repeats his movements. Perhaps he’s praying for his ailing friend, drawing on supernatural powers to deliver healing; perhaps he’s just fulfilling his religious duties, and can’t wait to get back to his friend’s side.

But she soon stops looking at all the people. She’s observed enough. Even the model, who crosses the lawn in her red micro mini and killer heels, can’t avert her gaze. She arches her eyes to the place where her sorrows lie. She imagines how it must have been, the pain, the madness, the uncertainty.

She relives that time that she never lived. She can hear the cries, and the voices that call to the departed. She feels the knife that sears the heart, the blood that drips uncontrollably, and the adrenalin that rushes through the body to sustain the vital organs. But she can’t take the pain. Her heart rate increases, and she’s back to the time when she first heard that...

“He’s gone…and he’s not coming back.”

A tear drops down her face. Then two. Then rivulets. And soon, she sobs, she weeps, she can’t control the overwhelming pain. The immense sadness envelops her, and all the people on the lawn disappear from her view. She calls into the vast unknown, holding her breath, longing for a reply from the one who left first. But she feels nothing, hears nothing, except the wind that blows into her face, and the sun that cracks her skin and dries her tears. Then she looks at her watch. It’s almost 2 o’clock, and she needs to get back to work. She wipes away the remaining tears, for now. She gets up, walks off, crosses the street, gets into the building, takes the elevator back to her office, walks to her desk, and sits down. She’s back to her life.

But she’s hurting. She’s still hurting.

Will You?

Will you wait for me on the other side
be patient as I hesitate
reach out for me
hold my hand
help me cross the bridge of love...?

Will you accept me as I am
put up with my strange notions
my strange beliefs
traditional fixations
and the occasional irrational behaviour...?

Will you please understand
my dark moods have nothing to do with you
my bright moods have everything to do with you
my sarcasm is not meant to hurt
that my teasing is only friendly jest...?

Will you accept the fact
I will always love Chelsea
but after the argument with the boys
all I wanna see is you
that my 'vodka' will never take your place
Because I'm only addicted to you...?

That when I'm absorbed in my novel
I can hardly hear you
But I will feel your hands on my shoulders
I will spot the cup of coffee
and when I'm through,at whatever time
I just wanna be in your arms...?

Will you please look me in the eye
and gently bring me back
when I delve into Russian literature
archaic poetry and philosophy
or weird principles of physics...?

Will you please remember
the little boy in me will never grow up
I will always be naughty
I will always be up to mischief
always need your love,care and affection...?

PS:
I wrote this note because love and and reality can never be separated...they complement each other...
So,if you love me,as a friend or otherwise...this is for you...

©Yves M. Dushimimana.

Tai would say...

One of the amazing things about my late friend Tai was her passion for the youth. She would often write facebook posts urging people to know Christ. She went out for missions, and had a great desire to ensure that the people around her came into the knowledge of Jesus Christ. At her memorial, twelve people gave their lives to Christ. She was an example of a human being who knew that this life is not our own, and that at the end of time, we will all give an account to God of how we lived our lives.

This weekend, I have remembered Tai in a number of ways. Yesterday, I attended a farewell bash of a young lady whose life reminded me of Tai. Everyone kept advising her to anchor herself in the Lord. But even more so, everyone commented how she really loved the Lord, and her mother said how she would pray with her sisters and even put her (the mum) to shame. I was really impressed by this young lady, and my prayer is that she will continue living her life unashamedly and unreservedly for Christ, just like Tai did.

Today, I learnt about the death of a young lady. And immediately, I began remembering how so many young people are dying. Just a month ago, one of my former classmates had passed away after suffering from stomach cancer for four years. My friend called to tell me how just last week, she heard about the death of three young people. It’s really clear—death is inevitable, and sometimes, often times (especially this year), it happens to the unexpected of people.

So what would Tai say?

I’m almost sure, no I’m sure she would refer to Ecclesiastes 12:1-7. Remember God, young people, REMEMBER GOD! This life is too short, and even so, it’s not ours. It belongs to God, everything belongs to him. King Solomon said that life is meaningless, and that the conclusion of everything, is to “Fear God and obey His commandments”. I choose to dedicate my youth to him, and I hope that you will too.

Remember your Creator
in the days of your youth,
before the days of trouble come
and the years approach when you will say,
“I find no pleasure in them”—
before the sun and the light
and the moon and the stars grow dark,
and the clouds return after the rain;
when the keepers of the house tremble,
and the strong men stoop,
when the grinders cease because they are few,
and those looking through the windows grow dim;
when the doors to the street are closed
and the sound of grinding fades;
when people rise up at the sound of birds,
but all their songs grow faint;
when people are afraid of heights
and of dangers in the streets;
when the almond tree blossoms
and the grasshopper drags itself along
and desire no longer is stirred.
Then people go to their eternal home
and mourners go about the streets.

Remember him—before the silver cord is severed,
and the golden bowl is broken;
before the pitcher is shattered at the spring,
and the wheel broken at the well,
and the DUST RETURNS TO THE GROUND IT CAME FROM,
and the SPIRIT RETURNS TO GOD WHO GAVE IT.

I wish I could wipe away your tears
Make the pain go away
Make today the end of your worries
Make you happy.

Sometimes the mountains are too steep
And you let go and come back down
I wish I could take your mountain away
Make it a hill
Make it disappear
Make you smile again

Life is so hard, you say
Your life is full of stress and pain
You don't know how long you want to stay
Because when the pain comes
It hurts so much
You want to disappear

I cry for you in my sleep
I cry for you when I wake up
I carry you in my heart
And I cry for you
When will I see you smile again?
When will I make you happy?

And then I remember
That death is the last enemy
That the Son of God
Died
That God the Father
Cried

And that if death is the last enemy
Then death will not defeat us
Whether in this life
Or in the life to come
Because the Son of God
Defeated the last enemy

The mountain may not disappear now
The pain may linger on
The troubles and the stress may plague you
But God the Father
The Father of Compassion
And the God of all Comfort
Will never let you go.

He will stand in the gap
He will hold you
Like a mother holding her baby
He will comfort you
For He alone can wipe away our tears
Forever

And then at the end of time
When we stand before His throne
You, I, and those who left too soon,
We shall declare
"Where, O death, is your victory?"
"Where, O death, is your sting?"