This is a poem done for women in SIGION Village,

Babatl. These women have terrible problems of

fuelwood, and in their effort to continue with living

walk 3 hours to and fro in search of wood but the consequence is ... RAPE.

Looking for Wood

by Jamilla Chipo Cushnie

The sister lies on the Dareda Hospital (Mission) bed.
Her husband has never been, and she is torn between a
Thought of suicide, alas a thing horrid.

Every few moments her eyes open -but are hastily closed
As she vainly tries to lock out the memory of the incident.
She had gone several miles and into the shamha of the Brewery
To take she thought the blessed wood, food now looked imminent.

Her wood luggage hoisted on her back, feet set off to move
Then a strong wiry hand held her as a vice, sssh sssh shhh ssshhh.
She cannot count how many, but each had placed his wood in groove.
Thought of her husband, children, family, sssshhh shhh ssshhh.

Who remembers the village women in these erstwhile ministries.
Bureaucratic faces behind desk places, each one hefty salary
Have their feel ever trod the denuded, treeless hills. Or
Have they made provisions to plant, regenerate or propagate.

As of late the sisters walk in groups, they wander far and wide
To find firewood to put food upon their child and husbands plate
So instead the would be raper has been insisting on a fine
Several hundred shillings, while he belligerently shut his eyes

The sisters pass, they have managed to today
But also there is tomorrow and the other days
Who really cares who'd like to know, this and more
Our plight-for it is women the providers.
Of the Home affairs who bear the scars, the battle wars,
The indignity - the filth from humanity to
Humility.... and now woe be woman - RAPE

Source: ECHO AAWORD'S NEWSLETTER issue 12, 1989