Diary of an HIV-positive woman (8)

By JEZEBEL KAMBO
Published October 22, 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 2

Monday

First official day reporting at work. I am the personal assistant to the boss as well as in charge of all the workers – actually they are only three of them: Pamba, the immaculately dressed driver cum messenger, the granny like Teresia, a tea girl cum cleaner, and Juma, the guard cum grounds man whose faded blue uniform definitely needs replacement. The three look amused that being the youngest, I am their immediate supervisor.

The office is too simple to my liking. We can do with some local paintings on the wall, a different coat of wall paper and some brighter curtains. I wonder where the girl I found there on Saturday has disappeared to. But who cares, at least I am the PA for now.

Teresia possesses a genuine honesty that could shame a priest. She says it as she sees it. If something is ugly, she will say it without any reservations.

“Mwana, there is a funny rotten smell around here,” Teresia tells me frankly when she is in my office. “Have you bathed?”Now, three things you should never tell a woman: she is old, she is ugly or she is dirty! That stings, and I look incredulously at Teresia! Lady, did you say that? She reads my silence as consent to continue advising me. “You should shave your armpits daily; change your underwear after action! You know men don’t like dirty women!”

This time silence is not going to do me any good. So I snap. “What if it is you and not me?” Teresia smiles at me, exposing her uneven teeth. “Because, my daughter, I no longer sleep with men!”Suddenly it hits me – the itchiness down there that has been bothering me for the last couple of days, the excessive wetness! I would never imagine that it would turn out to be smelly.

I excuse myself and slither out to the washroom, with my f-bag to check my panty and true to Teresia’s words, the smell is from me! How embarrassing! I unzip my f-bag, that bag that all women possess when going out to see a friend or to a party. It has everything that a woman needs at the drop of a hat – spare clothes, spare make up kit, pads, ob, shoes and just name it. I remove one of the underwear; clean myself, change quickly, then spray the room and myself.
My day and morning is already ruined. I cannot concentrate and when Mr Kombo comes in, I excuse myself.

“I need to see a doctor – women’s problems,” I tell him. He chuckles about women’s problems that never seem to end.
I pass by Teresia, murmur a silent, “Thank you!” She glows at either having been helpful to me or just for seeing the humiliation on my face. Time to see Dr  Njoroge, my gynaecologist cum family doctor. Four years down the line, and I still owe him money from my deliver. He says that I need the cash more than he does and should just forget about it. But I really want to pay him. One day doc. One day I will surprise you.

Mum has gone quiet. I guess that her medicine is working and that the boys are not misbehaving. I will pay her visit before the end of the week.

Abdul calls, and I am happy that he has followed up our last meeting. He inquires about the twins and about the car. He gives me a date, which I am sure I will honour.

To be continued.

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