Friday, November 28, 2014

The taste of Love (An excerpt)

Hello Everyone,

TGIF! I wrote this story a few months ago. I really felt close to the characters while I was writing, and so I hold this close to my heart. I really hope you will enjoy reading it, as much as I enjoyed writing.

The boy told me to meet him under the mango tree Sunday afternoon, when the sun was at its highest. I sat on the log and waved to every Tom, Dick and Harry while the pesky mosquitoes happily sucked the life from me. He was too much of a charmer to ignore. I giggled to myself as I remembered him leaning against the stone wall with a piece of dry grass in his mouth.


I was walking with a basket full of spices on my head. Sweat ran from my face, and my whole body felt wet and sticky. I knew my mother would be standing on the verandah with her neck sticking out, waiting impatiently. She would tell anybody willing to listen that “My head tough like rock, and she going knock me into God’s Kingdom”. He was laughing because I kept tripping over my own feet. I was hot with embarrassment and kept walking.  I heard the feet thumping behind me, chasing me, so I walked even faster.

“Hey girl, you drop the black pepper” I turned and faced his amused expression. I started blinking rapidly because the salty liquid pouring from my pores kept going in my eyes.

“Thanks” I couldn’t even hear my own response. It made me uncomfortable for a boy with such a lovely face to keep staring at me. It could be nothing more than the little bumps spread all over my face and my coarse unruly hair. My face has been terribly blackened by the sun, and my hips go out a little too far. I have met people quite unattractive, and stare at them with a smile still in place. I knew he was only being polite, and was quite intrigued by my unappealing features.

“Lemme buy you a drink nah, by old man Henry bar”

“No I’m not allowed in a bar, my mother would skin me” Maybe his friends were there, and wanted to take me along, to let them laugh me to scorn.

I walked away with the basket steady on my head. I knew he was staring at my bottom, and the sweaty dress clinging to my skin. I began fantasizing about being in the bar with a freshly washed face, cleansed thoroughly with river water and sipping on a soda out of a glass bottle, like a real woman. I envisioned myself in the sailor neck dress I wanted badly. He would compliment me, and maybe kiss me on the cheek. After wards we would go to the drive in and watch the pictures. “I hope he has a car” I said aloud.

Sure enough my mother was waiting. She was swatting the flies with the dirty kitchen rag and scaling fish.

“Afternoon ma’am” I said and placed the basket at her feet.

“Hello lady”

“Going to take a bath”

She didn’t reply.

Later that evening I powdered myself for evening choir. The moonlight guided my steps on the rocky, dusty road. Lizards croaked in the distance, and the crickets began their chatter. I heard a giggle in the dark corner, where the ruthless boys and girls did their evil. They shuffled around in the tall grass, and I blocked their sounds and hummed an old hymn.

I heard singing in the church and walked briskly. Mrs. Jones deaf singing could be heard from a mile away. I tried to muffle the laugh as I walked up the steps into the large church. It smelt of polish, and I rubbed my nose. The benches were wiped clean for tomorrow, and the pastor’s chair (throne, I beg your pardon) shone brightly in the dim candlelight.

“Again” Miss Williams the choir director told the singing group. I slipped in the back row because I was late, and mumbled the lyrics because the boy occupied my attention.

“Matilda come to the front” She pointed at me with disapproval in her tone. I was sure she had already put together a story to tell my mother. I stood at the front and tried to join in, but the enthusiasm was not there. I only imagined myself in the sailor collar sipping soda.

The next day after church, I walked beside my mother and another church sister talking about the new generation. She was explaining that I did nothing, and if we had a television set the Devil would need nothing else to take me in his sinful arms. They laughed, and I lagged behind fanning myself with the hat. Young boys chattered noisily in the mango trees, throwing the succulent fruit to the ones on the ground, their backs arched and head high, being careful not to miss a catch.

My mother stopped at the old lady who sold coconut drops to talk. We were going to be there for a while, so I sat on the large stone that has gotten quite use to my bottom on Sunday afternoons. I watched as the one dangly tooth jiggled every time the old woman laughed. They shared the same stories, and my mother held her back each time she let out a cackle. A few other church sisters joined and it became a noisy after church gathering. There was no mention of God’s word that they revered, and held close to their heart. I overheard the whisper about Miss Lawson’s pregnant teenage daughter, and how no one knew if the daddy was around.

I was about to rest my head in my lap when I saw the boy walking towards the stall. I subconsciously wiped the sweat and straightened my dress. I pretended to look elsewhere, hoping that he wouldn’t see me. A couple girls walked past and giggled to each other, while stealing glances at the new handsome boy.  A cigarette rested on his ear, and he wore cut off khakis and an unbuttoned shirt. The sweat glistened on his chest, and when he ran his fingers through his curls, places ached and throbbed that have never hurt before.

“Afternoon ladies” His accent was a town one, and my mother looked excited. She placed her hands on her hips in a sassy way, and pursed her lips. “Afternoon young man” She replied, placing emphasis on the man. He paused when he saw me and my mother blatantly told him “Order what you want boy” with a sharpness in her voice. She turned to face me, and I directed my gaze to the boys under the mango tree.

He gave me a final stare and walked away. My mother pointed at me with fire in her eyes that if I bring home baby, me and my trunk will taste dust. I gazed at him under my hat. He shook hands with some boys leaning against a tree, and kept turning to look at me.  I felt moisture in new places that afternoon.

It was a rainy September, two months since I saw the boy. I was standing under Henry’s bar with my bag straining my shoulder. At two in the afternoon, drunken cane cutters stumbled out of the bar, some fell face down in the rain. I watched the water fall from the sky and quench the Earth’s thirst. A few of my other school mates leaned against the wall with me. We silently waited from the rain to stop showering, because the smell of alcohol stung. We wiped our noses and rubbed sleepy eyes. I kept my eyes open, in case a church sister happened to be passing. It wouldn’t matter if she decided to take shelter under the bar; I would be the only one sinning.

Saturday afternoon I went to pick up fresh spices for my mother. The boy was leaning against the stone wall and blowing cigarette smoke into the cool air. He stood straight when he saw me and crushed the cigarette under his shoe.

“You need help” He commanded, I didn’t know why my feet wouldn’t move. He took the basket off my head. He smelt like cigarette and nature. He stood so close that I could see the little hairs on his face, and stains on his teeth.

“Thanks.” I mumbled

“Anytime Miss Matilda.”

“How you know my name?” I was shocked and a little amused.

“Small town.”

We walked in silence and I kept looking around because I feared seeing anyone who might not agree with me walking with a boy.  I stared at his shoes; they were scuffed and beautiful like him. He gently swung the basket and kept glancing at me.  I felt hot in the cool September, and tried desperately to hide my smile. He stopped at my gate, my mother wasn’t outside, and I breathed a sigh of relief. He handed me the basket, and held on to my wrist.

“Meet me under the mango tree tomorrow, when the sun high” He wasn’t even asking me. I felt as though God was finally answering my prayers. My knees would no longer be rough from kneeling too long, nor won’t my heart ache for knowing what the opposite sex was like. I planned in my mind what dress I would wear and what I would smell like. I jotted carefully in my mind what type of illness I would fake, and prayed that God would forgive me for the evil I was about to commit.

My mother was sitting on her high bed when I walked in. Her room smelt like oils and her Bible sat comfortably on her pillow. Her head was tied, and she seemed quite content  in her night dress with her eyes closed. She was humming a hymn, so I knew it was reflection time. I tip toed to my quarters.

I was nervous that night, but she didn’t seem to notice my odd behaviour. My mother with the keen eyes and sharp ears didn’t feel my shaking legs, and how the fork would clatter against the plate, sending a loud, aching noise through the quiet house.

I listened to her in the early morning shuffling about her room. I heard the occasional bang of the wardrobe door, and the soothing sound of old hymns from the radio. The children’s programme was about to come on, and at seventeen I was still expected to listen to it. I waited for the call, and at the appropriate time I began squirming in my bed. I held my head and moaned. She opened the door and peered in curiously at me.

“You okay Lady Matilda?”

“No ma’am” I groaned, trying my best to frown and wiggle. She placed a cold rag over my head and rubbed me with the pungent bay rum.

“Best you stay home and rest” She sighed, and I heard clearly the disappointment of me missing church. I could see the gathering and my mother expressing how the Devil work hard… hard on Sunday.

The noon sun seemed as though it had forgotten and took a long to come. I hauled my best dress over my head and sprayed some my mother’s special occasion perfume on my neck.  The sun blazed and burned the back of my neck as I walked to the mango tree.  He wasn’t there and immediately I regretted skipping church. I sat and waved at those who didn’t bother with church. No one seemed to mind that I wasn’t in step with my mother and my oversized church hat covering my face.

I was fidgeting on the log, because my bottom was itching from sitting too long. I saw the figure in the distance, and knew that my new adventure and the long awaited experience was about to begin. Beads of perspiration formed a line around his hairline. He smelt manly of sweat and perfume.

“Whew, the sun” He smiled politely. I returned the gesture and made space for him on a log. We sat in silence until finally I perked up the courage to speak.

“What’s your name?”



We laughed.

© Copyright 2014 Renee (UN: reneej at Writing.Com). All rights reserved. 

For the full version, visit my profile on

Until next time,

"Love as long as you breathe, laugh as long as you live"
Cheers Renee'

Friday, November 21, 2014

It gets hard sometimes

It is so hard when you thought that you did a good job on an assignment, and feel the weight of disappointment when you receive an unsatisfactory grade. This week I was allowed to express myself in a creative manner, an exercise that I have been yearning for ever since I started University. I wrote a feature story on an elderly lady ( I might share it after I read through the comments while cringing). She announced the name of the person who did the best work, and when I didn't hear my name, my heart literally sank. During that moment, I threw my dreams of becoming an author out the window, because I didn't feel as though I was good enough. It gets hard, and I have been told on many occasions that rejection and the words "No" and "Not what we want" are sometimes the hardest to read  or hear. After that class, as simple as it sounds, I wanted to stay in a dark room, but that will not help, so I dragged on. 

This week I lost the motivation to do any work. I wanted someone to make me laugh, and a shoulder to lean on. I desperately needed someone to talk to, but I could not manage to see lost eyes, and confused expressions. Many people find it hard to understand certain dreams, and many do not get the passion that a dreamer has. I am quite young, but I believe that as long as I can write, I should, it doesn't matter the age. Disappointment is a hard pill to swallow, and to be honest, I still have not gotten my drive back. I am still moaning a bit, and trying to get back to my old self. I realized that it took only one experience to tear me apart, and I learnt that I should be tougher, because this was so small compared to big, bad world I am about to venture into.

I am just trying to give a bit of encouragement to everyone. I want people to understand that we are humans and we are allowed to get sad, but at the same time, "Do not weep as those who have no hope." We are not sure of the future, and how good or bad it will be, but while we work and wait, remember "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength." Sit a little and analyse the situation, but please remember not to sit for too long and glue your bottom to a chair that's going nowhere.

Until next time,
"Laugh as long as you breathe, love as long as you live" (Unknown)


Friday, November 14, 2014

Thirsty Soul (An excerpt)


I welcomed the boom of the thunder like vodka warming my insides. The palm trees rustle and hit my glass window every few seconds, begging me to be mesmerized at the grass, wet with the rain’s kisses. Darkness seems so beautiful, as it permeates  the sky. The mist glides slowly across the high, majestic mountains, brown and green, creating a beautiful contrast. The cool breeze slowly reach under my shirt, and caress my skin, stroking its long fingers across my stomach. I smile, in two long months I finally smile.

Call me strange, but I prefer the dark skies and sound of rain hitting the sunburnt leaves. I breathe in the scent of the liquid falling from the Heavens on the Earth, lighting up my room with the sweet aroma of nature.  The sun has the ability to expose emotions that I am willing to hide.  The puffy clouds remind me too much of a children’s TV show, and the blue sky is a little too friendly for my grim expression and anti-social attitude.


I was never the typical girl, my mother named me Lucy. A name for a girl who loves pink and tiaras. I wore ripped jeans and scaled from tree to tree, doing my best jungle boy impersonation. I preferred black, while excited mothers ran their fingers along yellow sunshine dresses for prom. I tore mine, and exposed a little more than my mother wanted. She curled her lips, making her face appear deformed, and folded her arms across her chest. We stared at each other, until the tears started falling miserably from her old, baggy eyes.

At sixteen I left, not in body, but mind. We communicated in mumbles, and roamed through the house at night like ghosts. My skin was pale, almost translucent; but Jason, my first boyfriend didn't mind running his fingers inside my underwear, or kissing the spots where the moon shone. I felt the moisture from my mother’s eyes seep through the walls.

I could sense that she was pressed against the wall in her room, as usual and her broken spirit stood in front of me. I lay naked with the boy, watching the steady motion of his chest. I would blow the smoke from my cigarette towards the wall, reminding her that I haven’t changed.

He would leave me, cold and unclothed under the sheets, never bothering to kiss my cheeks or smell my hair. He often closed the door without respect, which made me jerk, coming back whenever he chose, whether the day after or weeks. Jason ditched me, after he saw us in the light one day. He witnessed our hatred and grew distant and afraid of my heartlessness. I got paler and my hair darker.

My mother grew weaker with stress, and I witnessed her dying every day. Her lips sealed and her eyes concentrated on the ceiling, until it was night and she closed her eyes, grateful to forget me and the world for a few hours.

When she finally left, I drank all the liquor in her cabinet, and forced myself to sob in front of strangers. I ran my hands through her Givenchy and Lanvin, and took her Louis Vuitton, stuffing them in my overnight bag. I left her house, not even bothering with the legal issues. I walked and kicked the dust on my boots and on my jeans, humming to myself. Her expensive scent seeped through the closed bag, until it appeared as though her hands were gripping my neck. I threw the dress from my bag, and walked on, humming and keeping the image of my mother in my head.

“Lucy” a voice questioningly called to me in a far away city one day. I thought I had left Wisconsin behind.

© Copyright 2014 Renee (UN: reneej at Writing.Com). All rights reserved. 

For the full version, visit my profile on

Until Next time:
"Love as long as you breathe, laugh as long as you live.


Friday, November 7, 2014

Vegan Bean Dish :)

It has been so HARD  to eat on campus these days. I spend all day at school, so I need a more filling type of  lunch to keep me throughout the day (cause I don't want to overeat :/ ) I have tried basically everything that my University has to offer. There are vegetarian options, but if it doesn't have milk, it has eggs, so you see how difficult it can get. Food stores or Delis don't usually cater for people like me, because the general population is all about Meat and pastas or rice (which I eat, but rice with what?). 

There is a particular canteen with vegetarian options on their menu, but ever since my friend told me about the Chinese restaurant that used the Pork spoon to serve the chicken (she doesn't eat Pork) I have been sceptical about eating out. Many people who do not understand this lifestyle often tell me to turn a blind eye, but for me, my life is serious business, and I'm not about to mess it up.I love my life choices right now and I choose to be strict about it.

I used to visit a popular patty joint (a pastry with meat filling, I get soy), but the food is so greasy that I have been getting tiny pimples all over my forehead, and since late my skin is looking greasy ( My Aloe Vera Gel has been solving that problem :)....So I decided to go back to my roots and cook my own food. I stopped for awhile because the Microwave at school broke down :/ but I am on again!!! I have decided to share this delicious and filling Bean dish because I feel like the world should know about this healthy, quick and easy recipe.

1 tin Butter Beans
1 cup Rice (you can use any type, I chose white. I know, not the best choice)
1 Green/Red Bell pepper
1/2 Onion
3 Cloves Garlic
1tbsp Olive Oil

Cook Rice by using a rice cooker or a sauce pan
Drain water from Butter Beans
Saute Onion, sliced Bell Pepper and Garlic in Olive oil until tender
Add Beans, stirring lightly for 1 Minute (Don't want to mash beans since they are already cooked)
Pour over Rice and enjoy
Serves 2

I hope you tried this and enjoyed it. Until next time:

"Laugh as long as you breathe, love as long as you live"