LETTER TO A CONFINED WOMAN

Dear Jane Eyre,

Although I appreciate your morals and discipline, I have to tell you that you awaken in me a violent need to slap you repeatedly. I wouldn't want you to think me a brute, so I will therefore explain my somewhat bitter opinion of you.
First of all, I thought you were a wonderful child, full of sound and fury, never letting anyone step on your toes or belittle you. Fine attribute that every child should posses. Well done indeed. Your education was quite frankly a nightmare and as we all know surviving an all girl's boarding school in England could only be compared to an evening with Jack the Ripper. You finished school quite the young lady, even though you were humiliated, lost your best friend and beaten. At this point, you are as brave as Conan the barbarian in spirit and vigor.
I begin to get agitated with you when you begin working as a governess at Thornfield Hall. Your employer, Edward Rochester, is a mysterious man and could even be compared to the "Beast" in Disney's fairytale. Rochester is a little frightening, I'll give you that, but he teases and flirts with you in such a romantic way that your dress should have been flung into the fire upon your first encounter with him. Well, not in the forest but when he invites you to sit with him by the fire and is clearly, as we would say today, "really f###ing into you." I don't care that religion, status symbols and the rules of society have been your bread and butter until now. You're supposed to be a strong, independent woman Jane!! You've had to fight all your life and now the undeniably sexy and verbally arousing Rochester wants to see you in your knickers and you play hard to get for the entire story. And in Hollywood's latest version of your tale, you immediately succumb to Rochester's undeniable longing for you, especially when it's being played by Michael Fassbender young lady!!
Yes, you're not a damsel in distress and you want to be true to yourself but even the trees and sheep outside are aware of his steadfast desire and love for you Plain Jane. Someone should have given you the Marquis de Sade to read. That would have been far more educational and beneficial than drawing portraits alone by the window or lonely walks in the rain. You must be a sadist somewhere, my dear.
And then you get jealous, in a composed manner of course, when he has female guests at his home. What do you expect? He's desperately trying to get a reaction out of that somewhat frigid mind of yours. You're so confident and pleased with your unshakeable poise buy you don't know how to live.
I love you Jane. I really do. You're a credit to your race, as Woody would say but loosen your imaginary emotional corset. You seemed pale, at least that's how they've portrayed you onscreen, during your quest. You should have drank more wine and frolicked around Thornfield Hall in the nude, teasing your darling Rochester until he was begging for your flesh. You should have shocked the staff with your bare assets and Jane.... allowing desire to crawl up your leg will give your cheeks the natural flush they so obviously seemed to crave.

Best Regards,
A Very Irritated French Woman

KAMILI'S SONG

In the little village of Abala, located in Congo, a little girl by the name of Kamili awoke from a deep slumber to the sound of birds chirping outside her family's hut. She lived with her parents and younger brother. The village was beginning to stir and she could hear some of the other children playing football outside. She smiled at her Mama, who was drinking some coffee from an old, tin cup. Her mother's warm gaze always made her feel safe. Kamili ran outside as her little brother Fumu was gathering the large, clay jugs they would need to fetch the day's water at the river.

Kamili always enjoyed her morning walks with Fumu. They always played chase and competed to see who would spill less water on the way home. The river was peaceful and Kamili always hoped that she would see the hippopotamus she had seen the previous year with her Papa. She had named it Bobo and secretly prayed that he would return to her little river. The walk to the river seemed longer this particular morning and the air felt damper than usual. Kamili had a feeling it would rain so she grabbed Fumu's hand and they ran as fast their little legs could go.

When they got to the river, Kamili screamed and covered Fumu's face. The hippopotamus was dead by the riverbank, blood oozing from his back and neck. Hot tears streamed down Kamili's dry cheeks. Fumu sank to the ground and began crying for his Mama. Kamili told Fumu to start filling the jugs with water. They needed to hurry. She'd already felt a few raindrops on the tip of her nose.

As Fumu was gathering water, Kamili slowly approached Bobo. She was sure it was him. She could feel it in her bones. She knelt down beside him. " I wish we could have become friends Mr. Bobo. Who did this to you?" Kamili looked up at the sky and as she predicted, the rain grew heavier. There was very little time left for them to get back to the village. All of a sudden, Kamili felt Bobo move. She gasped. Bobo was looking right at her. A little tear seemed to roll down his face. And then he spoke to Kamili: "Little Kamili. I am sorry that I have not been here more often as you would have liked but you see, I was protecting your village from the bad men that live in the woods. They are killers and thieves and I have been successful in my endeavor until now. Today, I decided to rest for a little while and come down to the river for a swim. They were already here and shot me many times. Little Kamili, I am sorry I have let you down. I have tried to protect every day but my time has come. You must protect yourself now. Take you brother and go back to the village. The bad men are going there now. You have to hurry. May the sun always guide you by day and the moon by night, Little Kamili." Bobo's eyes slowly closed and he was gone.

Kamili began to shiver with fright and called out to Fumu. She told him to forget the jugs and they raced back to their village. By the time they got there, the rain was coming down in sheets and the road was muddy and slippery. What Kamili saw in the center of her beloved village would never leave her mind, even to this day. Her parents were dead. Shot in front of their home. Their hut had been burned to the ground. Fumu started running for his parents but Kamili grabbed him and forced him to go hide in the forest.

After hiding in caves and in the trees for two days, Kamili and Fumu found a refugee camp by chance. Her little life in Abala was over. Her parents were no more. But she knew she had to stay hopeful. Afterall, Bobo the hippopotamus had spoken to her. She wondered if she was the only this magical moment had happened to. She closed her eyes and hugged her little brother that night, and told herself she would always let the sun and the moon be her guides.

This is what goes on every day in Central Africa. This is my rendition of life in war torn countries. So be thankful this holiday season. Cherish what you have because in the blink of an eye it could vanish. Smile. Love. Give. Be open. My prayers go out to all those who only have hope to keep them warm at night.
Till next time...