Retroviral Chronicles part 4- Virtue's reward

This shouldn’t be your reward, the payment for being a good wife. All the holy books are full of praises for the woman who is faithful to her husband, they call her blessed, honoured and virtuous.

 They do not say she should be waiting to collect antiretroviral medication in a hospital, imprisoned by a virus that has no cure and that will transform into a disease that will strip you of every dignity before it kills you. They are all silent on this matter, perhaps they did not foresee an idiot quite like the one you married.

Retroviral Chronicles part 3- A Heinous affair

I am a forty-five year old woman who has never been kissed, yet I’m sitting in the reception of a HIV testing clinc, legs pressed together as my vagina twangs from remembered anguish. How did I get here? It’s not a story that I like to tell. I’d rather tell you about the young man who fainted just before his result was announced.

Retroviral Chronicles part 2- The Sampler

The ceiling fan’s laconic twirling seemed to be holding the attention of the middle aged woman sitting on the red plastic chair, she’d probably been staring at it for at least ten minutes. It was clear that she didn’t want to initiate or receive eye contact from anyone, everyone in that room was happy to oblige her. The man with long and pointy beard was watching the ceiling too, his face seemed calm but his left foot was drawing an interesting pattern on the ground.

Retroviral Chronicles part 1a- The Big Sister

 She looked down at her gown as she got off the bus, the engine oil stain from the mechanic’s overall had spread a little wider. She worried about getting the stain off, wearing a white uniform frayed the ends of her patience. The thing attracted more stains than a young girl at a boys boarding house would magnet eyes and she spent a good chunk of her salary on bleach and detergent.

Searching for Sunset

  I’d looked for you for years, I’d gone crazy over you, wondered about you almost every day. I talked about you to people I’d just met. No one seemed to know you, though they agreed that you tickled their minds. You were that strong.

Dreamt

I dreamt of you again,
Lying in another's arms,
His breath warming my fevered brow,
I dreamt of you.

Beat the ground

  I didn’t know I had dreaded this visit, had no idea that the motivation for finding reasons and excuses was fear. This fear was the type that crippled, the type you couldn’t taste or touch- as transparent and weightless as air. You live with it, you’re not even aware of its presence and importance. Like wind, it will hurl you when it’s strong enough, it will leave destruction in its path.

Holy

“Our mission is to depopulate the kingdom of the devil, to save souls bound for hell” 

He’s pacing the length of the stage, his hands waving in an unworldly rhythm, he means those words, the force of his sincerity touches you even through a television screen. He’s talking about soul winning, the great commission of evangelism. The noise from the congregation would drown the voice of a less gifted speaker, but this man can’t be overwhelmed by this frenzy of adoration, this crowd was small potatoes.

A friendly coup

They watched the flurry of activities from their perch at the window, their feet rested on the seat of the club chair propped under the window and their noses were pressed on the window louvres- different louvres because the girl was taller. A woman rolled dough and cut it in strips for chin-chin, another was washing cuts of beef and frozen chicken, their mother was chopping vegetables for fried rice while their aunt had just finished washing a gleaming white mass of rice.

Unfurling

 “They don’t have iodized salt and I don’t understand this sea salt and rock salt that they have” she said looking up at the man beside her who was carrying their basket.