Diary of an HIV-positive woman (7)

By JEZEBEL KAMBO
Published October 18, 2009

Hi. My name is Jessica but my friends (who are very few) call me Jezzie while my enemies –a constituency of them – call me Jezebel. I am 25 years old and HIV-positive. I am a mother of 4 -year –old twins – David (Didi) and Terry (Titi). This is my continuing story.

Week 1

Sunday

People go to church for various reasons. Usually, the church is supposed to be a haven of peace where you seek refuge when befallen by Worldly tragedies. It is ideally supposed to be a friend to the poor. But nowadays, the contrary seems to suffice. The church has become such a commercialised entity that if you attend a service and you are poor (read can’t afford a generous offering) , you feel out of place. The last time I attended church, well, let me just say it has been quite a while.

But this Sunday morning seems different. It has been such a completely transformational week for me; I can’t help but think the gods must have conspired to bring me a full bag of blessings. I am in a mood to say thank you and hence church here I come!

The church seems to have really changed, especially the dressing of the youth. There is too much dancing and shouting. The songs are funkier, the youth rockier, and the dressing scantier. This is not the church that I left some 10 years back. Even the preachers are noisier and more damning. What is happening to Christianity, I wonder?

When the preacher tells all those with a Kshs. 1,000 as offering to lift it up to receive special prayers, I can’t help but join the fray of the privileged few that hitherto I’d never been part of. Not to mention it has been one of the reasons I actually almost despised church- segregation of the congregation on economic basis. I have to admit though that , although I felt a tinge of guilt as I lifted my offering, it felt quite good to be accorded the ‘special’ prayers! It is true that to heaven goes the narrow gate because at this rate, none of us may gain entry!

After church, I , as all the ‘rich parents usually do’, take the kids out for lunch at Kenchic on Moi Avenue, formerly known as Kilindini Road. I preferred the former name. It failed to occur to me why it was decided to be renamed in  honour of a politician whose only contribution to the country was just being a president- a job he did pathetically!

“Mom did you rob a bank?” asks Didi rather too loudly for everyone to hear. I love it when kids pick some of your own phrases and use it on you.“Mom, I want that naked hen,” shouts Titi as she points to the somersaulting chicken.
The kids eat heartily and after that I take a cab to Wildwaters in Nyali for a swim. You don’t get a chance to spoil yourself! I would not trade anything in life for the laughter and squealing of kids at play.

It is here that I first meet Abdul, a talkative but extremely interesting character, who immediately bonds with the kids. I like him. He likes me. I love the diamond stud on his ear, very modern. His buggy jeans and loose T-shirt make him look more of a musician. Abdul drops me home and we exchange numbers.

It is late in the evening when all is settled that I get a message from one of my girlfriends. “It is the third time that you are missing Chama. You have 24 hours to explain your absence or we throw you away!”Not again! Only last month I promised the girls that I will behave and not miss any meetings. Four weeks later and the meeting has not only escaped my attention but even failed to pay the arrears that I had promised to clear.

I need a secretary! I joke to myself.

To be continued.

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