Diary of an HIV-positive woman (56)

By JEZEBEL KAMBO
Published May 18, 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 5 -year –old twins – David (Didi) and Terry (Titi). This is my continuing story.

Week 9

Sunday

Hurricane, screams, and banging of doors characterise another morning drama. Someone gotta tame this Victorian male chauvinist called Jonah.

“Where are my children?” he shouts.

The reply is another scream from, I guess, Mwikali. Aly is already out of the house.

“Come and fight, you uncircumcised piece of meat!” comes Aly’s voice. Two hot headed fools, squaring it out for a woman. History is definitely repeating itself. By the time I am out, the two men are rolling on the ground.

“Stop it!” Mwikali shouts, as she tries to get between the two men.

She is bleeding from the lips. Before I reach them, Aly flashes a knife, and swifter than a Samurai warlord, jabs into Jonah’s stomach. I cannot believe it, nor make a move. Mwikali, hand in mouth, cannot scream. Jonah stops the struggle. Only Aly, has the presence of mind to continue the madness. He extricates himself from the mangle of Jonah’s body, and raises the knife for a kill.

“No!” the simultaneous scream from Mwikali, and myself, stop him mid air.

Jonah recovers from the shock of the stabbing, but the gushing blood creates panic in him.

“You have killed me you Digo dog!” he whispers hoarsely. The blood is now a trickle. He is writhing in pain.

“Aly. No!” I tell him, the knife still over Jonah’s head.

Any moment, and Jonah is past tense. He looks at me with renewed anger. I can see the fire in his eyes, and it is a matter of the wrong trigger, before he does something foolish.I walk towards him, and motion him to give me the knife. Aly ignores me, bends down, and wipes the blood on Jonah’s orange T-shirt. Jonah flinches. Aly walks from the scene. Jonah slumps and passes out. Mwikali’s hysterical scream brings my children, running out of the house.

“Bring my phone, Didi,” I check Jonah’s pulse. It is not very weak.

“Where is Aly?” Titi shrills, holding on to my night dress.

I decide to call a cab. The watchman is already outside the door.

“Mwikali, stay with the kids,” I order her.

I watch as the watchman, and the cabman, struggle with Jonah. The neighbours are awake and a sizeable crowd has gathered out.

“The Klinik,” I instruct the driver. I call the OCPD about what has taken place.

“ Meet you at the hospital,” he tells me.

This is complicated. Aly has disappeared, and his phone is off. Mwikali is with my kids. Jonah is at my mercy. At the Klinik,I tell the OCPD, “My houseboy and my neighbour fought.” I notice his distant gaze.

“Your mind is not here,” I jolt him his dreaminess.

“Many things,” he whispers. We check on Jonah, who is conscious and keeps clicking, and muttering to himself. Sounds like “Ther meru!” He is wheeled into theatre.

“Finally, I think I have tracked down my kids, and their mother,” the OCPD whispers, as he sips water.

It is hardly 7 a.m. and the fury of the coastal humidity can be felt.

“And?”

“She is married to another man,” he replies dreamily. “A white man!”

“And the kids?”

“They are gorgeous little adults.”

“Where did you see them?”

“ It was accidental, at the Nyali Nakumatt.”

There is relief and pain, in the OCPDs voice. He seems glad to finally trace his family, but sad he cannot have them.

“Did you talk to the kids?”

His voice is nostalgic. “Yes. Lovely kids, or should I say, young adults. After a short silence.

“What next?”

“I really don’t know,” he replies as we move towards the doctor, who is just out of theatre.

Another doctor, Kyanda, is taking care of the stab.To my relief, no vital organs, seem to have been touched.

“Where is your Aly?” the OCPD asks.

“Most likely at his mother’s, but you never know with these Digo men,” I reply. We walk to the car park.

“I have a lunch date with my kids at WaterWorld,” he excitedly tells me.

That to him, is approval from them.

“Cell Five?”

That seems to make him tense. “A big mess. A story for another day,” he says.

Jonah will remain in hospital. I drive back home, to find another drama unfolding. Jonah’s wife is back with her kids, and her earthly belongings – a paper bag of shoes, and a mutilated bag of clothes. She is perched outside the house, conveniently locked by Mwikali. I don’t need this on a Sunday morning. I get into the house, and prepare for church. That is what Sunday was ordained for.

To be continued.

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