By Moses Abeka
January is unlucky as the beautiful bride in an alcoholic violent home. The anticipation to her wedding is overwhelming. Fowls are slaughtered, beer is brewed. Thieves, pastors, witches all find themselves at the same table, the same altar, the same stadium praying for her. When she finally shows face, the night sky lights up with fireworks and crazy merrymaking follows.
High on the hangover, she becomes a mirror. The better version of us is seen in her early presence. We draw plans, resolutions.
Two weeks later, we start complaining. Her meals, her breath and her smell harbour poverty. The darling is discarded. Her glowing smile withers with coal becoming gray ash. We pray she passes on. Soon, just like wind blows away ashes, she goes. And so will the remaining eleven. Find your fuel. Keep the flame burning. Keep cooking. The meal will taste more delicious when in plenty. The drink will be more satisfying.
“[katogoaward]”
