My husband whom I married in dust storms and scorching heat

Posted: June 21, 2014 by PaanLuel Wël Media Ltd. in Poems.

By Adut Anthony Dharuai, Australia

My husband why do you’ve to throw me in the garbage bin?

You think I am no longer your standard

You call me an illiterate woman who is nothing but an embarrassment each time you bring   home your colleagues

My husband, you say I do not speak English like your friends’ wives, fiancée and girlfriends

But have you forgotten the time you used to run after me as if I was your air-conditioner in the scorching heat of kakuma?

Remember those days?

Remember me, it’s me your Ghamar

I am a standard eight drop-out

But, my husband, you are the reason why I did not continue my education

Remember how you used to visit me in primary school during lunch breaks

Was I of any embarrassment then?

Remember me, it’s me your Ghamar

You named me Ghamar, the Moon.

I do not even remember if you’ve ever pronounced my name Amekjang

But now that you’ve got me in the decrepit seat

You shout me my name over and over again

You do not even care if I have children with you

That you should at least call me with

You grew up in a culture where you  can still regard

your children’s mother with respect whether you’re divorced or separated

Do not tell me it is part of education to turn this way.

You keep on shouting and standing up every time we have something to talk about

But then you were soft, polite and calm

Where did it go, my husband?

Remember me, it’s me your Ghamar

You were two years ahead of me, my husband

You think I am nothing rather than an embarrassment to you because I am not fluent in English but then I was the moonlight to you

you even told me countless times even last year when you graduated

You call me uncivilised woman because I do not  wear high-heels, tight jeans and half dresses that show my thighs and chest

Didn’t you have enough of my chest and thighs?

Why do you want to see them outside?

Or do you perhaps want to share them with the public?

Remember me, it’s me your Ghamar

When was the last time you worn shorts in public?

What happened to you, my husband?

You used to admire me in my long skirt called ‘side-pocket’

and many other fashions which I used to wear

You were in a distant group

but not a single day would pass without you coming by

You would crane your neck over the fence just to take an eyeful of me

which left you with a long neck

I was your nostril

It is me, the woman you were crazy about thirteen year ago, your Ghamar

You call me illiterate now but you used to write me hundreds of letters

I read  and replied them

We did not have phones to communicate, we only wrote one another

How many illiterates that could read and write, my husband?

I finished my grade eight but you spoiled me, by tying a knot with me which stopped my school in that torrid and dusty place called Kakuma

Remember me Wun-mith, it’s me Ghamar

Remember when you dropped out of school to find a teaching job?

My husband, I encouraged you to finish your secondary school

We got lucky enough to resettle here in Australia

Life has never been easy even here

We then had two children when we arrived

We agreed to pursue our education, I enrolled in English classes and you went to TAFE, Technical And Further Education, to do your certificate

When things got tougher, after I finished my ESL, I then went to work and encouraged you to continue your studies from certificate to degree.

Wun mith, it’s me again, your Ghamar

My husband, now you are bragging

I worked all along, raising you with my children, our children

Now that you earned a degree last year, you think I am uneducated

My husband, you forgot all that we went through, our remarkable journey

Now you think I am garbage

After I had four children with you

That I am no longer fruitful, but…

It’s me Ghamar, remember me

Give me your ears Wen Adheeng, Wen Monydit

You have started rejecting me in public

You don’t want to go out with me when invited

I have seen you with girls,  the one [s] you called ‘potential’

You sit on your laptop the whole night, pretending to be doing some academic writing

But chatting with girls from within Australia and around the world

You sometime leave your computer on

I read and never ask

I thought you were ‘Wen Adheeng,’ Wen Ting Thiekic, to diagnose bad in good

I thought you could digest my quietness

even after catching your chronic stupendous mind operating against me

My husband, you should remember me for better or for worse

It’s me your Ghamar, the one you once loved!

Adut Anthony Dharuai © 2014

 

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