Diary of an HIV-positive woman (36)

By JEZEBEL KAMBO
Published February 3, 2010

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 6

Monday

The kids are back with a vengeance – endless stories about their adventure: what they did and did not do; the endless accidents that took place; the pranks that the teachers pulled on them; the cry babies who wanted their parents on the first night; and many more stories which my sleepy head could not accommodate.

I spent last night fighting with the twins to go to bed, but they did not seem to give in. They finally fell asleep after midnight. It is morning and Aly, my houseboy, cannot get the kids to wake up.  Five more minutes turns out to be more than that.

“We are tired. Can we miss school today?” asks Titi sleepily. The fatigue has finally caught up with them, and I can actually see it. Didi does not even lift his head up.

“Okay. Just sleep,” I tell them before instructing Aly to keep an eye. “If they wake up early and want to go to school, just let me know.” Kids never cease to amaze

“Aly?”

“Yes boss!”

“Please be careful with that Jonah man. I don’t trust him!”

“I am a fully grown man, who can take care of himself,” he tells me. “There is no way a man can scare me about a woman. My medicine is stronger than his.” He removes some herbs from his pocket, and lets out an eerie laughter.

My drive to work takes me through the back route of the Makupa roundabout. It is one of those deserted roads, where dubious deals between truck drivers and loaders are always struck. As I drive and listen to the annoying accents of the radio presenters – ranging from the vernacular to the American – I just marvel at how some aspects of Kenyan society is stuck on the same thing for years on end. Look at Vitimbi – ever since I was a kid, that guy Ojwang has had that Luo accent, and it has become his trademark. Why would a radio presenter imitate him? I change radio stations, and it is the same crap over and over again. I turn on the CD, and listen to some gospel.

My mind turns to the morning ahead of me: mum’s operation has not been sorted out; Susan has permanently moved into Mariam’s house, though I do not know under what terms; and Cell Five and the OCPD are having their meeting in two days time.

At the gate, the affable now turned moody Jumah opens the gate for me. One of these days I will write a best seller on Jumah. Pamba is early at work, too early for my liking. I do not remember the last time he reported to work before me. Teresia is also at work. Something is not right, but for now let me play along.

“Good morning my people,”  I greet them. The mumbling means that they have heard me. That is what counts for now. I turn to Pamba, “Do you have your abstract from the police station?”

“No,” he replies as he avoids eye contact with me. I hate it when a grown up man lies like a baby. I have already talked to the OCPD about the incidents. He has promised to pay Pamba a visit.

“The company loses Kshs.750,000 worth of a car, and you haven’t reported to the police, or the insurance company?” I ask him, my eyes boring right into his. He looks down.

“My life is more important than the car,” he replies rather too loudly.

“Precisely Pamba. Your life is far more important than the car,” I remind him, though I doubt whether he sees my side of the argument. I have already notified the insurance company, and they have instituted their own investigations.

“Please stay around. I would love to discuss this matter with you,” I tell him.

Two smartly dressed gentlemen walk into the office, and I am 100 percent sure that they have come to arrest Pamba. They talk briefly with Teresia, who points at me. They head in my direction, and drop a letter on my desk. I tear it open.

“Warrant of arrest?” I shriek. “What for?”

“You will have to accompany us to the court,” the taller and meaner looking one explains. Shida Mingi has struck again, and this time he has struck too close to my heart. I arrange my desk , and get my bag. I accompany the men out and notice the relief on Pamba’s face. I make a call to the OCPD to inform him of my dilemma.

“Don’t do anything silly,” he tells me as I get into my car to drive to the Law Courts. Sorry, the court orderlies will have to find their way out; just the same way they found their way in. There is no way I am carrying two male strangers in my car.

Within five minutes, I am at the Law Courts Family Division. I report to the court clerk.

“Contempt of court?” he laughs aloud.

“Not really,” I tell him. “That is why I am here!”

The ruling about the custody of your children is scheduled in the next 10 minutes,” he tells me.

“Ruling? When was the hearing?”

“On Friday last week, and neither you nor your lawyer were present!”

Friday? Where was I on Friday? Oops, my twins had their sports day, and the Cell Five members came to harass me. I did not go to the office that day. The ruling is set, and I walk into the courtroom. They need to do something about some of these Government offices. I mean, what does it cost to do a coat of paint or vanish? Everything is old and run down – even the magistrate looks run down with those ugly white wigs that have been a colonial tradition in courts for the last 50 or so years. They need to adopt the African Council Of Elders style of hearing.

After the preliminaries, we all sit down, and the magistrate starts reading his verdict. He quotes extensively on sections of the law, but it does not escape my attention that he mentions two witnesses whose names grab my attention.

“State witness number one, Jonah Onyango, testified to increased absenteeism, orgies, and drunkenness by the accused. This was confirmed by state witness number two, Mwikali Musii, who worked for the accused for a total of two years and one month!” He mentions days, dates and times that I was absent from the house.

Jonah? Mwikali? Those two, practically, are jokers! How can the state rely only on their evidence? Shida Mingi must have parted with something to get Jonah to testify against me!

“I hereby award custody of the children to their biological father, Shida Mingi. The mother, Jessica Kambo, will only be accorded visitation rights of twice a week, over the weekends!”

The gavel bangs, and I involuntarily wince. My two lovely twins, David and Terry, to be brought up by that rogue Shida Mingi!

“I have the right to appeal!” I shout at the magistrate as he walks out ignoring me. “You beast! Tonight, may your balls shrink to the size of a dengu!” I scream hysterically at him while furiously shaking my fists.

The orderlies lead me out, kicking, shouting, biting and insulting them, just like in the movies. And just like in the movies, I am thrown out of the court compound.

To be continued.

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