she looks like she is dancing?

Sometimes, just sometimes, something holds her down or seems to hold her down. But not her. She moves, she walks along, jogs, runs, plays and she is new again.. and all this time they think she is dancing. She creates. She writes. She moves on.

Form clnics in Rwanda to painful burials in a village in which post poll violence took lives, making women, children and youth wear a crown of thorns made by politicians.... and now they skip the long delayed mass burial... and all of them have valid reasons for not being there...

Women watch and wonder. They knit. They light little fires. They twist their lips and make sounds about motherland. They walk, they run, they skip... and the people think they are dancing. We have endured... post partum blues of a nation. And someone says to us... or to her... in unconquerable Kiswahili..." eh, ni nini mama naniiiii?" ("what is the thing mother of thingy?") and somewhere else... " iiii ni kii nyina wa twana?" ( hey, what is it mother of children?)

Why should she not be this uneasy? And she writes and moves, looks and prays and sometimes sees a black cloud as she passes past State House. She sees it on a bright and shiny afternoon.. she sees it. It hovers above the trees... flies up to the top and hangs about there... a black cloud of death. And she cleans the road... and picks up papers and she hums... she sings. She also remembers the high cost of milk... but most of all, the black cloud hovers that there and darkens and does not fall in rain....What will make it rain?

You see, they say she is dancing and singing like all women do, they say. She looks like she is dancing..and they do not see more.