They came galloping on their horses, nasal voices that sounded like a song and authority that was perpetuated by the evil weaponry they carried. They had an aura of death and life, evil in flesh, in form of handsome men with silk hair. Pink self-serving reprobates. It was a dark era.
Being the youngest wife out of three other women I had to handle hostility from the other wives; our husband obviously fancied me the most. At this moment we stood as one, they had taken our husbands, men from the village were shackled and dragged in the dust to incognito. We waited for days, which became months until we began doubting their return. We relentlessly prayed to our ancestors as our last bastion of hope. They returned surely without our husbands, we became victims of bewilderment and confusion as we were made to slave in the fields of tobacco. We worked, women and children, picking tobacco leaves with a dash of good whipping for those who slacked.
It was in the midst of this purgatory when my eyes feasted on him for the first time. He wore his hair longer than his mates, long golden wisps of silk fell on his face illuminating the pools of blue in his eyes. My soul fell numb, he was a beautiful demon. He was their leader, the cruelest and merciless. I would strategically position myself to be in his column so I could receive his whip lashings which made my lady bits writhe uncontrollably. I had him in my dreams, I was unashamed and knew that I had to have him. I learned of his name soon enough. His mates referred to him as Rhodes. I tasted colonialism, its sour taste that had taken over our lives, I had to taste its penis too. I had to.
I diligently observed his daily routine, I watched my prey and calculated my moves. At the dead of the night I crept out and headed to the camp of the enemy. I felt my muscles contracting, veins thick with blood rush. I knew exactly where to find him…there he was sitting by a small fire smoking a pipe. The moment he saw me, he took out his rifle and pointed it at me. I was not afraid, I stood there in front of him in all the glory of my nakedness. He uttered something which was a lot of gibberish to me, I could not respond because he wouldn’t understand too. But there was one universal language, I nimbly walked towards him, his gun still pointed at me. A few feet away from him I laid on my back and spread eagled my legs so he could see the vulgarity of his colony. He colonized me all over again, the penis of colonialism was delicious. I never wanted to be free again.
It became a pattern, whip me by day and screw me by night. I loved being objectified by him, I loved being enslaved, I Loved him. It was not long until I felt nauseated and irritated. I was with child, the fruit of our passion was pulsating in my womb. The fruit of the lust of imperialism, was it peace, unity, freedom? I knew I would know once I told him. The night couldn’t have fallen any sooner as I was engulfed in impatience. I arrived at his tent, wanting to surprise him only to find him on top of Randazha (one of the village girls) groaning and moaning in ecstasy. Like a wife from polygamy, I waited quietly for them to finish.
I smiled and watched Randazha disappear in the night. She was nothing compared to me, I was carrying his child. As he walked out of his tent I rushed to him in all smiles, with my severely-next-to-nothing broken English I told him. He was silent for a while, before he went back in his tent and came out holding his rifle. He took one aim without flinching and shot me.
I lay here in a pool of my own blood. My beloved Cecil John Rhodes standing over my body as my spirit slowly fades into death. I hope my ancestors will forgive me and welcome my spirit.
Imperialism. What a bitch