MOTHERHOOD

As for my children i believed that the night meant entirely a different thing to each one of them. For Aka, i saw him as the man of the house , the night meant a time to give rest to the re-tarted bones which had been working and been busy from the early hours of the sun set. 

 I preferably chose to get the house chores done with the rest of the family, never wanted to involve my first son in any of the house chores, what i wanted of him was after the busy hours of his days from work rest and embrace it with a rest filled weekends. Anyways i also had it at the back of my mind that he was a man and therefore a man was meant to toil in order to survive just as i was taught even in my home we worked no less.

For Morrison and Olivera and Fejiro the night might just be a usual routine of sleeping and waking. They never took things so serious unlike their mother.......unlike me.  A usual routine at sunset to hear bed time stories from Thelma and then buzz off to the crawling hands of death that came with the night. Sometimes they do not realize they had been lifeless even when  snoring which gave the nostril a heavy gasp for more oxygen to keep the lifeless body alive, their unconscious minds left their bodies lonely at night fall.

Little Saint loved most of the night tales from momma as he had been the only one who grew up to calling me not by my name Thelma but preferred to call me momma. The English accent as to how he said it "Momma." Although i had wished that as he grew older he should be able to understand that i liked being called Thelma instead of Momma

It makes me remember my own mama.

Being called Thelma was not a sign of disrespect from my children. It was my recognition, my own nomenclature. With prove of what i had been taught at the elementary institute Thelma was a noun which therefore conveyed the name of a person and i am that person in the picture.

The little lad i had often seen gone off to bed without a bade of farewell in to the sleep right there in the midst of the bed time tales and more often before the end of the stories.

That was the way i had built up my family to become, i had raised my children so well enough to respect my decision and to put each other first and have each others back at all times. That was the kind of love we never had back then in my African home, the kind of love for unity and strength and for that reason  when the aliens had come and told us stories we were swayed off from our firm feet into embracing what really seemed like what it was but was not really what it is. If only we had developed love for ourselves and embraced our identity. We knew nothing, we were like children in the kindergarten college and so were we treated even worse than the children of alpha-beta.

I had taught them the gospel i had learn and just the same way i had been taught at the feet of Padre. Santos. 

Padre Santos

was an angelic figure appearing to become the very image of what he had taught me and my people about the angels and the saints. He was so immaculate in his robe that any one who saw him would fall at his feet to plead for absolution and pray of him for mercy. One would not have a second thought but to agree that he was the Jesus he preached about that went about dong good, healing the sick, working miracles and could even bring back a loved one from the land of the dead. Of course, Padre Santos was doing good works and could heal the sick and that we all believed. Oh! my sweet Jesus, please raise up my Kuma and bring him back to life just for me  just as i was taught you did in your towns. Or do you not care of any other person's clan...? I often utter this words to my lonely self whenever i was sure that i am shut from sight and eavesdroppers. Nobody eavesdrop better in the house other than my darling Fejiro, many a times after getting her caught i would scold and frighten her as if not pleased even i would dare unleash Mama African's palms on her and let it rain upon her like in the days of the old and i would watch her cry out filling the atmosphere with screams of hell blemishes as if the Holy ghost had befallen upon her as of the day of Pentecost.

Among the stories from my pedagogues, i liked the stories of the saints because i was made to believe that these people were common humans just like my Kuma, who had died as an ardent defender of the gospel, they were never angels nor were they made differently from all of us as their kind but by grace i was taught that they lived an extra ordinary life and then merited to become co-heirs of what i had learn was everlasting life... But my Kuma had not died from defending the gospel to be pronounced a saint. Eternal life was the on the look of each one of us who were christened, and for you to be christened you ought to become a born again and to become this you must be baptized.

Sarcastically, i expect doubt in whatever you must have heard from me because as at the time i existed with my people in our Home, we had known nothing. The only thing we knew was these stories which we had embraced as children which we were.

Even our parents were given same treatment just as us....unto them every other kinds in the territories were children.

Sniffing out catarrh from my nose just so as to get rid of the entire moment of mourning periods. Aka held me in his arms, i leaned forward towards him and found my resting moments on his chest... His heart beat was resounding in my head and i counted it as it beat and repeated and there i was rested on my son's shoulder. The six feet figure had become my physical comforter and therefore i had made him my priority. Aka's hands went round my face as i watched him wiped out the entire remains of the stroll from the tears i had shed and with the help of a napkin which he had dragged from the line that had three colorful napkins of different hue. I held unto the napkin and there i released the last puff from my nostril, i blew the catarrh into the neat napkin and then washed up inside the bowl sink. I cleaned my face with a warm water from the heated reserve to make the six cups of tea for the family before sleep. I was done washing and i felt brightened up to walk into their room to start the History i had for today's bedtime story.

Aka assisted me in finishing the chores and we made the tea and poured the hot steam rising drink into the tea cups he had earlier sorted and i watched him as he begun to proportion the pour from the kettle into the cups and i watched the hot drinks in the cups as it evaporated steams into the thin air. After the hot drink had settled into its bowel of carved silicon made cups i went ahead and with a spoon stirred it, took a sip to make sure every thing was well proportioned. The milk had to be average of sixty percent and the chocolate take up thirty percent and the rest of the percent to the sweetener. The cups each had its own unique design . Saint's tea cup had the Marvels Amazing Spider-man  picture it was most colorful and it was this design that made kids get attracted to it. Kids whom are his age grade. Olivera and Fejiro had Disney  princesses what they called Barbie sleeping beauty and princess frost respectively. My two young men of the house both loved sport games but in their different course and of-course i did most of the shopping in the house and i knew what my children would fancy. Aka loved football so his cup had a design that of a player named Seedorf... Morrison was into the game of basketball and his cup had a one time greatest of all the time basketball player McCurry. A mother knew what was best and what could fit in the house and let me let the cats out of the bags... A woman who does not pay attention to her family is an adulterous wife and is never fit to be called a mother in my tribe where i came from so was the standard of the African culture and let me warn for the last time do not throw your stones at me yet because the truth that we sought of, laid in the roots of that which we sought from.

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I was followed from behind. It was Aka following as i made my way into the children's bedroom. He was holding  a tray carrying the lunch for his younger siblings . Upon our arrival into the room they sprung up from their tucked  bed and sat waiting for our services and they all got served. Each one of them knew their cups so it was not so difficult for their individual allocation of their lunch. Olivera helped him in the distribution while Fejiro adjusted their table into a proper position which would be comfortable for each one of them to enjoy their hot tea drink and listen to the story from Thelma...momma.

Morrison was was still struggling to come back from a short journey by rail towed by the cabins of sleep managed to get up from bed and stretched his muscles out leaving his mouth wide open to release an uneasy pressure from the sleep... he yawned.

Little Saint was never left out he had waited patiently enough for my arrival right from the time Aka had left them in the room  gave me a hand in finishing the chores  in the kitchen. He was the last borne of the house and nobody bothers hi with so much chores. Everyone understood that he was still a juvenile.

Now everyone had a cup of tea each, mine was made of mother cow's design and i had chosen the design of the mother cow as the mother of the house i should be able to give out the best milk to my children.

I shared some loaves evenly to the table...

Halve a doze goes to Olivera and Fejiro and another half for me and Saint. Aka were the men of the house they were allowed as much as they could eat.

The African culture spelled out that men should be treated with so much difference in a more sophisticated manner and that is what still stands and can never be eradicated.

In my land men were seen as the pride of a woman, giving a more complex appraisal probables for a woman to become complete she is required to have her own man. There had not been any form of comparison for the type of male a woman had to chose between to go well thereof and we were not taught that there was one Mr. Right out there which as a woman you should wait upon and hitherto  my other half would be in search for me and that was the ideal picture of love architects. The only thing we knew was this love that a man could have as much as many numbers of woman he could have as wives...It was one man for many women. 

The African culture forbids a woman from having as much as many man as she could have in the polyandry marriage right, a practice which could have been altered centuries ago but the millennial tradition was inscrutable to that of our pedagogues and the rite had remained indisputable even though they had been marred by the alien teaching and contradicted with those stories we had embraced where we sat by the big trees and there we were taught.

Similarly i had juxtaposed my home tradition between the stories which i had learn from Padre Santos and some of his kind, he called them reverend and sister. I recall one of the stories i was taught it was that story of king Solomon who had seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines all to himself, it really portray the ideal image of the African culture which allowed men to take up as many women as they wanted.

But Padre Santos had taught us different from the stories he told. He had said it is one man to a woman, i wished it was the case of my Kuma. My Kuma loved me so much he took me in as his wife and i shared him with his other wives without refute. It was a routine of days, some nights were for me and other nights to the other women and there was no agitation, no insubordination towards my husband and the older wives.

It was the African blood penetrating through our blood stream, it had us under control, covered with mystery of myths and ancestral beliefs. 

The immaculate presence had also told us that as for him and his kinds they were not to have any form of relationship with their opposite gender, there shouldn’t be any emotional attachment  and no sexual intercourse ...He lied. I had been christened by him and saw his flaws.

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Motherhood meant entirely different things to me as much as i was concerned motherhood was not just about bringing children upright to the standard of the society we have found ourselves in. There was more to it as it had to deal with sacrifices both in the family and outside the family framework, a mother should be able to extend the sacrifice to the outward society she dwelt in. That became the reason why we had to cry unto Mother Africa when ever our land needed to be sanctified of the evils that had been committed, but has there been Father Africa too? Ha ha hah!!!... Maybe he had travelled across throughout the Mediterranean in search of the green green world and had forsaken his own children...i despised him if that be the case. This were moments of thought that ran through my head whenever i had to spend a moment alone in my abode and just like a tortoise....i was in my woman shell.

There was like nothing that Padre Santos and his colleagues had left untouched. They seemed to have studied well enough to know all things that were made and events that had happened and things to come and through the teachings of the doctrine from the scriptures they had taught us everything that we needed  to equip ourselves with. These Holy ones had taught us the strength of a woman there was absolutely nothing that could limit the power of a woman. We carried it on to our chest that we were blessing to human race and to our very own society were we had once felt we  were the cursed ones and of a little and worth nothing to mankind because our dear tradition had restricted us from performing certain ceremonial rites, going into certain places and holding positions.

Little did we get to know the discrepancies between the functions of our tradition and its similarities to the teachings of the new world. The latter exposed our consciousness and that had made us to become elites of the knowledge of whom we were... we are Africans.

I tell you again mother hood was a battle of struggle triggered by the overwhelming feeling you felt over a disaster which when inflamed turned into a like of the heart of a man and if not controlled you could Balkanize the society and destroy lives and properties... it becomes unquenchable... never under estimate the heart of a woman. A woman whose heart had turned wild cause from feeling and emotions becomes uneasily remedied and it becomes outrageous blunt up burning leaving tears, sorrows and pains to the children of the land... Had Mother African been so hurt that she turned her back at us because of the treaty the greedy men had signed...they had sold out her heart of nourishing natural endowments. I had worked in the non governmental women organization and i had experienced it in the refugees camps, i had seen what can make a woman so strong and yes we are strong even though the society saw us as the weaker vessel but i tell you beneath the weaker vessel lay the strong vessel of visions.

I had eaten up my last slice of bread when i broke the long silence that had  journeyed from the graveyard and paid us a visit. It had been a momentarily moments of silence in my house now, no one spoke to each other this night, it was quite different from the other nights... I could aloud the sound made by the children as they crunched their damped loaves and there was a sound of ...ssssszzzzppppp    from the sipping Morrison drank from his cup. Little Saint was busy with scooping trying to get his desired temperature  of the tea before sipping so he wont get a burnt tongue. Have you ever had that hurtful burnt tongue...What then could you have done? 

He got up from his bed where he sat and dashed into the kitchen and when he did came back everyone else likewise i wondered what the heck had he gone to fetch. The handle to the bedroom door went down as the young lad made his way in, all the gaze were fixed on him but no one had said anything still only the face of curiosity faced mask we all wore at the young lad.

The atmosphere was humid and warmth, although it was cold outside, the street statues were frozen in snow falls... More snow falls during March to December snow falls. I had a humidity conditioner just like the other white people who lived in the neighbourhood. At winter especially everyone in the neighbourhood who could afford the humidity regulator would fix one in the rooms and i guess i should be lucky to be one of those who could afford a standard life in the country. It was more advanced compared to the glazing house built at the corner of the house which may not be always safe especially when you have a kid just as mine Saint who was capable of turning the house just  a minute.

He walked in soft and gentle steps he had to his left hand his cup of tea, he had gone to fetch another cup of water from the dispenser in the kitchen. His tea was too hot for him. In the house everyone knew that little Saint does not like his tea hot or cold, lukewarm it should be. He was being careful enough so as not to spill a drop of the drink to the floor maybe for fear that i may scold him at such silly out of character but was not perfect. He did spill the drops. There the drops of the drink showed his passage route until he had reached the table area close to me, i was still seated almost done with my dinner. I had my last bite and gulped the entire liquid into my mouth and i was released of the pressure which had surfaced when i had been at the kitchen with Aka.

The bread we ate from was remained of three loaves while Aka and Morrison  had fifteen leftovers. They did not eat their usual way of diminishing the crunchy baked bread. I bought the bread from the supermarket where i did shopping the Quakers shopping mall. The Quakers shopping mall was where i bought house hold utensils and the beverages we use. The mall i learnt had existed for about seventy eight years, it survived the wars even though the earlier structure never made it but the investment did. I chose to patronize the firm because they had goods of good quality best for consumer consumption unlike the other malls nearby in the neighbourhood where i lived i remembered i had bought inferior products from the mall, one Inch malls. Ever since then i had been patronizing the Quackers. 

Abike unlike me shopped at the Inch mall for some reasons i do not know, as enlightened we were in the neighbourhood about the Inch mall i would still think it over why anyone should go to shop there. She'd only walked a three minute away from her house to get to the Inch. The Inch was owned by an Indian who lived in the country and does business. Quakers was a thirteen minutes drive from where we lived, which i never mind. I can journey in search for the best in quality and as to what is affordable.

The super typhoon Binatone standing fans in the house i had bought all of them from the Quakers mall. I had got five pieces of it, placed two in the children's apartment more comfort, one to the dinning, one to the sitting room and one in my room...we were not the air conditioner type mate otherwise it could had been Binatone and one from the Quakers. The Quakers was owned by a Native but managed by a Singaporean. Mr. Goh Boqin.