Laments of the chief lamenter

Every morning she wakes up before the rooster crows, in fact she is the village rooster herself. She crows she croaks, she roars, she purrs. She is the village frog, the village lion and cheetah. Her mouth never tires, never empties. She leaks in the morning, gushes in the afternoon and flows in the evening

“Oh look, father of my children, you have wet the bed again! And you lazy hens, do we, for that small egg, really deserve the racket you put up every morning? And you good for nothing cat, you only announce your presence when you need food, how about showing up when I’m out digging in the sun?”

Why, lord, did you give the biggest mouth to she with the most problems? Why did you give many problems to she with the biggest mouth? Why is it that trouble spawns and hatches in her tiny abode? How comes she is the one with the largest share of woes and tribulations?

 Do we have to know every morning that their debt at the village shop is higher than where he ties his trousers? Do we have to know that her children trailed behind in class again? Lord at this point I know her prayer off-head. She prays for a pair of brains for her husband and his children, a kilo of meat so that the wind doesn’t carry her thin frame away, and that you come down soon and save her from her problems. She abuses the hawk when it swoops down on her starved chicks and curses the cow when it kicks away the milk bucket. She blames everyone and anyone for being the source of her woes. The village lamenter cries about the sun and mourns about the rain.

We are tired of the lamentations of the village lamenter. We are tired of carrying on our shoulders the burden of she who births but cannot tend, she who talks but never does. We are tired, lord, of her lamentations, if you can’t save her please save us..