A poem by Onyango Otieno, Kenya in honour of #WorldMentalHealthDay

 As a little boy mama would say 
Child, spread your bed every morning you get up
 I was cheeky and rebellious 
Said boys are rough and I needed to be

 Mama would say, no tea if you haven’t made your bed 
Cold shower when you get from school 
No peanut butter, you’ll eat dry bread 

Said I can do without them all except I fear cold water
So mama, see, I’m spreading my bed 

When I was 16 life became a little unbearable 
And I didn’t like mama
 Her voice was always high and 
She beat me up for burning my first chapati 

I was suicidal and lonely, with no one to talk to
 My sister, Jael, died at 5 months 
And brother too young to understand depression

 But what happened to mama? 
Why was she always shouting?
 I ran from home searching for peace of mind
 But never stopped thinking of mama
 In the streets these women hustled with their bodies
 On those cold June nights 
While taking care of me

 When I was found, mama asked, 
“Son, do you hate me?” 

I saw her in all the kind women who kept me warm out there,
It was difficult to say a word

What I didn’t know was she could barely put herself together
Having to endure humiliation from daddy’s nasty beatings and abuses
The last thing she wanted to hear was that her son 
Her eldest son
The boy who first made it after a miscarriage and two dead children 
Hated her  

The years to come were filled with daddy’s,
 “Boy, I regret marrying your mother” and “has she ever paid your school fees?” 

Children get depressed when there’s violence at home
Home, home
Home should be the first temple, the first heaven 
The first trust and the first church 
But nothing like that happens when home is a war zone 

At 28 I got depressed again 
This time the wave came with seven other demons, 
I wanted to kill myself
My peers were dying sudden deaths, had rent to pay 
And jobless 

Mama held on I tell people she’s a god, for I can’t understand
How she keeps re-inventing herself 
Where does she go when she can’t take it anymore?
 I fear asking her these questions 

She said, “do you remember what I taught you when you were a little boy?” 
I asked, “what, mama? You’ve taught me a lot of things. 
Is it to tie my shoe laces?
 I’m still slow but I do it right.” 

“No, son, to make your bed.” 
“Yes, mama. I hated it but I’m good these days.”

“That’s what keeps me going, son.
When you spread your bed, you spread your mind 
You take your time to fold the sheets on one end 
And set the pillows on the other, you organize your mind 
You open the curtains to welcome the new day, You lighten your mind

You don’t know what the day will bring 
But whatever happens 
If you manage to return at night; 
Heartbroken, tired, broke, lonely, forgotten, 
The site of a clean bed reminds you 
There’s still a lot of good that can come out of you
 It is not over yet 
When you spread your bed, you spread your mind, son.” 

I was never the same from that day 

About the author

Onyango Otieno is a mental health advocate from Kenya. He runs a 200 member mental health support group that uses storytelling to tackle mental health stigma. His advocacy spans from from social media, traditional media activations to poetry. He aspires to see an Africa that is open to mental health conversations, eradicating the stigma, shame, and reproach currently associated with mental illness. And to work with stakeholders of diverse fields campaigning for better access to mental health facilities and treatment, public awareness and social justice.

Onyango is our second guest in the Voice Disruptors Series, an occasional series to provide a platform for guests with a strong message -at time controversial but always thought-provoking.