Passing Me BY

From vantage point by the window Overlooking the street I watch life Passing me by. Look at that girl! Tall and erect With a firm stride; There seems to be a purpose To her life. I watch a while The ever-flowing stream of people. Purposeful strides, Preoccupied miens: Something to look forward to, Something to reflect on. Yes, thoughts I have I think a lot Of the missing piece In my life, That robs it of meaning, That renders it worthless. Pe…n…n…ne…e…ey? (A voice without calls) Are those beds finished yet? Or have they grown hands To challenge your supremacy Over them? That’s my mother, Calling from the kitchen. She too is driven by motivation The motivation Of bringing me up right. Thirty minutes (she adds) You have been in there Making two beds! But thirty minutes later I’ve not plumped even a pillow. Because for thirty minutes I’ve been watching Life passing me by. Look at that young boy Skipping joyfully to school. Did I ever prance my way to school? Was there ever a time When there was purpose Or reason to my being? Even that girl in rugs, Weighted down By an overloaded basket, Has a definite objective ahead. A hungry passer-by will accost her Put fifty shillings in her hand In exchange for a cob of maize; And with a lighter step She’ll proceed on her way And anticipating her next sale, The reward of her sweat. Pah, pah, o this pillow- Is that a bus Screeching to a stop? I must back to the window To watch it unload. Two, three, four people alight And purposefully stride away In different directions. That woman with a baby, That baby, that’s reason enough For her being alive, For her striving on. Perhaps a husband at home She must hurry to, She can run to. Perhaps they’re poor Or she would not take a bus, But slide out of a passenger seat of a limousine Like that fat lady Tumbling out of a Mercedes Benz. Old and fat, Fat and ugly, But even from such a she A purposeful air emanates Making me feel hollow inside. Even a beggar, By the roadside, Wakes up every morning With a definite plan Of where to go, Of where to beg; The role he was cast for On the stage of life. Pe…n…ney, you lazy girl! An hour on those beds When there are score chores to do? You have to sweep,You have to peel And you have to shell Beans for sale. Ah, at that window again Watching for that man! Waiting in vain, He has a wife And they say he has AIDS. How often have I warned you To steer clear of men! Men are evil Men are a danger. Take it from your mother. With the AIDS epidemic, They spell trouble, they spell death To every innocent girl That’s foolish enough To listen to their lies. Now make those beds Or big as you are, I’ll reshape your back. As I peel matooke for lunch I reflect on why grown-ups Always assume the worst. Smiling at a man, they’ll tell you Will result in pregnancy If not the deadly disease They call AIDS. So my mother Keeps harping On the nameless man I’m supposed to be in love with. I dream that someday I’ll meet one like him So that I too Can have a purpose to my life And play my part On the stage of life. Regular as a clock At five-fifteen I stand by the window to watch The evening throngs. Feet firm, strides resolute Faces thoughtful, watchful, hopeful, joyful… Signs of a purpose in view. Lucky they Whom life Does not pass by. Look at that man’s loping gait And secret smile; A lover waiting somewhere? Yes, there’s purpose in his life. A lady with a shopping bag, Her lips in silent communion As she recites to herself Her shopping list And successfully reconciles Her accounts. Wah, hah! Even a mzee! With a wrinkled face And a hairless head Seems to still have A purpose in his life! He locks his car, Heads for the bar; The bottle of Waragi His goal in sight. Ah, here comes he I’m supposed to be in love with. He’s smartly dressed In a grey suit – Black shoes shining Striped tie straight. Lawyer, engineer, teacher or Doctor? Yes, doctor For he carries a bag, The hallmark of the profession. But what matters it? Mother says he’s married, She says he has AIDS – A step behind- O, too late! At that window gain, Longing for a man Old enough to be your father! Don’t you have anything to do? But to stand by the window, Dreaming impossible dreams? No, mother, I don’t dream. I watch life passing me by. What’s that you say? At your age Talking like an old woman! Listen, daughter, At sixteen Life is just unfolding; Good things await; Wonderful things abound. It’s up to you To reach for the best. But spend your life Watching others And life will pass you by. But if you choose – To make your life – A useful one, A meaningful one, A happy one, Then you will not spend your days In the auditorium Watching the stage While others perform. But take your part In the drama of life, And to the best of your ability, Discharge your role. That is the purpose Of your life to the end. Thank you, mother For providing The missing piece In my life. From now on It will be as you say. I’ll take my part, I’ll do my bit On the world’s stage Instead of watching Life Passing me by. Where are the books? The needle and thread? The broom, the soap, the dusting-clothe? French or German, Which shall I take During the long vac? I’ll work too To supplement our income. I will…I will… Oh my head is spinning With lots of ideas. I can’t wait For tomorrow to come. All of a sudden, Life seems too short For all I plan to do; For all I intend to achieve. And for this reason I cannot afford To spend my time At the window Watching life Passing me by.