Not woman enough yet.

I’m barely 30 years of age. I haven’t even hit 25 yet. I have experienced about a decade and a half of my share of the world. No, I haven’t toured various countries to discover the enrichment of diverse cultures. All my friends are of African decent. And by African I mean Kenyan😂😂Half of my first decade after birth was spent reproducing my cells for growth and development of my brain. Unlike the woman who thought the mind was in her breasts, mine is somewhere integrated with my brain. I’m older than 15 years. I don’t know how much longer I have to live. The days are slow too. I may not look that much of an ‘oldie’ but somehow inside me I have aged 100 years.
Allah had His infinite plan when He was making me of the female gender. Surely He must have and I respect that but I can’t help wondering why. It’s not a matter of questioning the plan.
More times than one, I wished I was a boy. They have no struggles. It’s all easy, a straight road laid out for them for their life ahead. Eat a lot, grow and wife some village dancer after securing a white collar job. When I was younger, I used to try out outfits that would me boyish. It didn’t make me a tomboy like many of the girls I grew up around. I came to appreciate me. How for instance would I deal with the trauma of having a small manhood? Wouldn’t girls taunt me if I bedded them when I passed in front of their clique? My wife would surely sign the divorce papers in the middle of our wedding night. I was better off not spending my whole life worrying about the size of my penis.
I don’t like being a girl very much. Am I supposed to like it? I worry about anything and everything. If the food I’ve made will be eaten. Did I put too much cooking oil in it? Is my underwear sticking out in ways it shouldn’t? Do these sunglasses look right when I wear them with this dress? Are those guys looking at my boobs? Does my boyfriend like her ass better? What should my favourite colour really be? Worries reel back and forth round the clock.
My menstrual cycle is a mess for instance. Cramps. Pain in the lower abdomen, pain on my lower back. My waist sometimes. Migraines when they set in kill me completely. I have to take bitter pain meds for pain to subside. They elevate then might or resist to go down. That’s 2,3 days every month. Multiply it by 12 then sum up all that pain from the year I started my menses. It’s I’m living anticipating the pain all month. If it doesn’t come, I get worried. My periods aren’t flowing the way they are supposed to..I crave the pain that comes along during my days.
I’m watching my sister who’s in marriage right now. She pisses me off. She follows the old rules of the game too much. She says as a woman you belong to the kitchen. Especially when you are at your in-laws place. She has a new born baby yet most chores are on her by virtue of being a woman. I want to argue out my points with her but I don’t, she’s been married into a different family all together. She has to absorb to their constitution. Mine will be positive 21st centuried in-laws who don’t abide by the old age customs integrated in marriage.
Today, I was fazed out more when Bibi asked her to call her husband first before she could have her lunch of chapati and mbaazi. He had gone out for a while but I was asking myself silently why she had to seek permission from her husband to have a meal yet she’s the one who is breastfeeding. What if he said no?
I’ve been suicidal several times. There was no counselling for me as no one noticed it. Rather I didn’t show them I had it in me. They know me to be strong but I’m a crumpled mess. I recently watched 13 Reasons Why and by the time I got to the end I didn’t see any reason as to why the movie was even produced. I would be attacked with ‘you have no idea what she went through’ but life is precious I’ll say. It doesn’t matter if you are bullied, raped or abandoned. Many people have been there. I’m living there.
That night after my step mother and I had a feud for the umpteenth time, all initiated by her, I got into bed and thought hard. The only times I cried was when my dad came to talk to me about them. Weeping to be more precise. All the anger seems to flood in and tears rush in. That night I opened the medicine cabinet and from it took out every type of pill in it. They were a colourful sight. It is the last thing I would see before my death. Beauty. What I had lived a quarter of my life convincing myself I was. I carried them to my bed, scrolling my options on which liquid would drown them down quickly. Jik? Spirit? Water was out of question. Juice, milk, soda or yoghurt too.
I had to do it. There’s nothing worth living for. Everyone hates me. I pictured how my burial would be. What people would say when they hear of my ‘untimely’ death. It would have been suicide. Look at me giving fancy names to sins. I will burn in hell if I took my own life. My dad crossed my mind. His dearest child, dead? I cried myself to sleep. The pills were all over the bed in the morning..

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5 thoughts on “Not woman enough yet.

  1. I think we have all had suicidal thoughts,..well I know I have…but courage comes in when we actually overcome them…kudos to you Rehema for showing courage in a time where cowardice was the easier option(as it always is)

    Liked by 1 person

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