Mirror mirror not on the wall

 Daily Post Blog Prompt; You wake up one morning to a world without mirrors. How does your life — from your everyday routines to your perception of yourself — change?

I knew something wasn’t right the moment I woke up, but I was too lazy to find out. I brushed my teeth. I had a shower. I dressed up. I took a cup of tea. I still didn’t feel right.

One step out the door and everything got strange. It was a weekend, yes, but there just seemed to be too many people just there hanging around. Allan, a guy from across the street, never ever speaks to me but he stopped me and I heard the first ever words from his mouth; “Your hair. It’s messy,”

I instinctively raised my hand and patted it, then I realized things were very bad. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought I was shoving my hand into a bird’s nest. Allan had already disappeared and I didn’t have the chance to say thank you before sprinting back inside, grabbing my wide-tooth comb and yanking at the kinks with a passion. For a second time I left the house for the supermarket, the weird something-wrong feeling still nagging at me.

Down the street a stranger tapped my shoulder oh so softly and told me I have a little speck of food on my lower lip. She smiled and walked away. I randomly ran my hand across my lower face, confused. It began to seem like I had walked out of my house looking like scarecrow on an evil mission.

Frowning, I watched other people, looking for signs that they were like me; that they were a mess too; that today was a royally awkward day for at least one other person; that I wasn’t going a little bit crazy. I noticed people talking to each other; talking much more than usual. People were standing in the streets straightening each other’s collars, arranging each others’ hair……..but mostly, complimenting each other! Helping each other! Smiling at each other!

So that was what was wrong……. People were not able to look fine on their own, they had nothing to tell them what they looked like today. They were being each others’ “beautifiers”. That’s it. I woke up and that reflective glass surface on the wall with beautiful wood adornments around it, that mirror, was not there.

I just had to tweet about it. Jeez, this was better than any zombie apocalypse end-of the-world whatever. Too late I was. I found #BeMyMirror, and it was already the craze. I didn’t know, or care, if this was a dream or reality, but I was going to head out and be someone else’s mirror.



To an unkwown destination

Loneliness is an interesting feeling. And that’s probably because, ironically, there’s no one there for you to explain it to. You can’t quite express it, too. When you’re happy you’ll do your happy dance. When you’re sad you’ll play that soft rock music that you know will make you weep, but you play it anyway. When you’re excited you’ll call up your best friend and scream a bit. When you’re depressed you’ll take a pill. But when you’re lonely…

They told me these rails would lead me to the next town, but I feel like I’ve been walking since the beginning of time. I keep trying to take one step at a time, literally. Not that I would be able to take two at once. I would if I could.

My bag slides off my shoulder and falls down. Good. I was thinking of resting my arm, anyway. I bend to pick it in the slowest motion possible, trying to buy myself some time for rest. My legs think ahead of my brain and decide to give way. In a flash I’m seated in a little patch of grass with my bag lying haphazardly strewn beside me. Normally I’d fret and set it in an upright position. Today I can’t even think in that direction; I’ve never been so happy to be sitting down.

I’ve walked for all these hours and I’ve not seen a thing. Now that I’m not walking, I’m starting to see the stones; to see that each one has its own hue of grey. I’m just starting to see the little specks of rust on the rails, the vibrant green that gets thicker as it goes further away to a place that I don’t know. That’s the other thing about loneliness. If you don’t know how to handle it, you turn inwards and focus entirely on yourself for entirely too much time. You end up like me, supposed to be focusing on getting to the next town and finding a new life again, and instead missing out on all the beauty around you because you’re just not letting yourself see.


But why would a man defile his own daughter??


I saw it on the news again yesterday. Yet another man descended on his underage daughter and defiled her. I need a moment to just try and deal with how extremely miserable this all is.

Okay. So this man failed to find any other outlet for his sexual tension (huh, of course!) and decided that his daughter would do. Someone help me here; his own daughter? Not that he should be defiling any other girls, anyway, and this is what makes this so sick. Already, I gag at the prospect of any male human being that rapes women, let alone defiling young girls……..(such people are the scum of society), so this whole daughter thing leaves me with no more mental and emotional energy. Zero. I know that all sins are equal in God’s eyes, but to us mere mortals, in terms of consequences on other people and level of stupidity of the sin committed, some sins are more equal than others. This man makes me want to abandon my dream of being and engineer and go back to high school, study the relevant subjects, proceed to campus and study law, work insanely hard and somehow rise through the ranks and become a judge, and then go on rampage handing out a castration sentence to every such human being. Every single one like him.

And apparently the victims of this are luckier now than before (huh?), because the cases at least get reported. In the past, such puke-worthy news, when discovered, would be kept within the family to avoid spoiling the man’s name. The girl would suffer the shame of having an illegitimate child at a young age because; we can’t shame the father. Hey, the guy has to maintain his pride and place in society. My goodness. I just cannot conjure up the right words from my writers’ special pocket for this. I officially fail. No wonder so many women find themselves becoming crazily feminist.

This stuff has got to stop. And for that to happen, the men, especially here in my beautiful home Africa, who still see women as objects should simply quit it. It’s the 21st century, yo!  I mean, this man (monster) in the news probably sees his daughter as this weak little object around the house that spends its time helping its mother-object to do the chores, which unfortunately involves mainly doing stuff for him, like washing his disgusting clothes and cooking him food (from which he gains the energy to go do some defilement). He thinks;

I made this object with my own seed and I can USE it as I please. Let it help its mother-object with an extra “chore”.

Because, duh.

It’s sad. Now I no longer blame those women who used to give us talks, advising us not to trust anyone, including our uncles, brothers and FATHERS. I used to think they were bitter women who’d been hurt by their men. Turns out they weren’t always wrong.

I hope this man goes to jail (as a Christian, I’m trying not to wish him death by electrocution or something worse), but he may not even go. You know how these things be. Ahhh. I cannot deal this anymore. My brain’s tired from too much despair. Let me go attempt to sleep it off.

P.S; If you’re reading this and you’re a genuinely good male human being whose first instinct ISN’T to go out raping and/or defiling the female part of the population or your daughters, then this article isn’t about you. Don’t make it. Okay bye.