May 27, 2009
A rose by any name...
I guess that says a lot about me; changing, searching, looking, longing ...
One fine Christmas afternoon
When they walked in the door, papa requested the rest of the kids to go play some place else. He said they had important issues to discuss and therefore needed some privacy. Kongai and Nyeko glanced at each other with questioning looks. After asking the maid to give them each a drink, he sat down on the opposite side of the room. Curiosity got the better of Kasai, so he snack into his parent’s bedroom and pressed his ear hard against the door. He could hear the conversation loud and clear. On occasion he peeked through the key hole and as luck would have it, he could see all three of them, strategically situated for his benefit, like pieces on a chess board.
“So Nyeko, how are you?
“I’m fine sir”
“Kongai, you know my house is always open to your friends” “Yes papa” “So why were you standing by the road side like two homeless orphans?” He picked up his glass slowly, took a sip of beer and leaned back in the sofa like he was getting ready to hear the most profound explanation. Kongai was fidgeting with her fingers, avoiding eye contact. Kasai could feel the tension sipping through that key hole, clogging it at points. He also began to develop tiny beads of sweat on his fore head. The silence was deafening. Then to his relief and am sure Nyeko’s too, Kongai begun - “We… well, I didn’t think we would be out there for long … we hadn’t been out there for lo… I was just saying Merry Christmas and was about to come home when you saw us”. Papa nodded his head, as if in agreement, then he said “Nyeko?” “Yes sir” “What were you discussing?”
By this point Nyeko’s shirt was drenched in sweat; one could swear he had been running a marathon. He hadn’t touched the class of juice set for him but I’m sure he wanted to gallop it down and ask for more. His Adam’s apple moved erratically like it was searching for something in his neck. He cleared his throat, tried to moisten his tongue that had long dried up, and then made a motion as if to speak but there was no sound. On second attempt he said “nothing much sir”. Papa’s eyes were now cherry-ish black - some what light maroon.
“Nothing?! What do you mean ‘nothing!’? You were standing out there for a good while. ‘Nothing?!’ So you both left home to have a staring competition at the road side? That is ridiculous!”
Papa suddenly sprung out of his chair like he’d been stung by a swarm of bees.
He kicked the stool with his glass of beer out of his way and headed straight for Nyeko. By the time papa sprung, Nyeko, who had already been in the “get set” position both in body and mind, quickly ducked behind his chair. His sprint for the front door was punctuated by “I’m sori sa, I’m rilly sori”. He jumped over the table in the middle of the sitting room; swerving to dodge a slipper that papa had sent his way.
Papa shouted “Leave my daughter alone! do you hear me?” - all the while running after Nyeko. Nyeko pushed another chair to the side as he grabbed the handle of the front door. The journey from his sit to the door was several miles longer than he recalled. He must have been praying that the door was unlocked,or he would be roasted.
He tagged once and the door flung open, just as papa was about to grab him.
Nyeko run like he was being chased by a pack of lions, he didn’t look back.
All the commotion sprayed the other children out of their hiding places.
Papa, his coat flying behind him like a super hero, was chasing Nyeko, telling him never to come back; Kongai lifting her dress for easier movement was chasing papa urging him to stop. Mama who had been silently working in the kitchen was now standing at the door, hands on her chest, with a concerned look on her face while the rest of the children scampered for the best angle from behind her. Neighbors were peering out of windows, passer-by's fascinated by the drama that had all over a sudden presented it self. Indeed it was a sight to behold on a cool Christmas afternoon.
May 23, 2009
Hair woes
Having to pay over a 300k to get my hair braided makes me want to break down and cry, especially when I think I could get the same job, no, a better job done back home for a quarter of the price. But my options are few.
If I was sharp I would have learned to braid my own hair – I can’t cry over that now can I?
I chose to keep my hair chemical free because I didn’t want to go hunting in spooky zones for salons that could handle this African hair; And again, "self chemicaling" was not / is not an option.
So, when I was in Uganda I expressly implored Nicole to do an efficient job of braiding because my hair was not going to see a comb for 6 months minimum. Okay, I know that may raise eye brows but, I wash it every so often and I don’t have to suffer with dust and things of that nature.
The 6 months are up and I automatically engaged the panic gear.
Obviously people don’t undo braids without a plan, so I held that off for a month and relied on bandanas, hair bands and nice caps until a friend, in no uncertain terms asked me to "style up". Damn! Gone are the days when I could walk through Philly and not bother one bit because a) nobody knew me, b) nobody really cared, c) they probably thought it was some fashion; you know how Africans can get away with out combing – mbu fashion.
When my problems begun to glare and I was seriously convicted, I decided I would unbraid and then do nice neat dreads. Okay, so dreads are not exactly my thing but I could get away with it, right? - wrong. I locked them myself – first mistake, this style is high maintenance – twisting the locks all the time? uh uh!.
I did toots for a few days and covered up when I went to church but really that had to be temporary.
Play time was over I had to find a salon. The first place had a Gambian who was too busy to give me sufficient attention. She seemed to make up the price while we talked so that made me suspicious but I could tell she had serious potential gauging from the head I saw, so I put her on pause.
In the second place, I was greeted by a heavily made-up long nailed woman who had the “all the single ladies” kind of attitude – in the Beyonce video? with the hand movement – oh oh oh oh. Anyway she put me off.
At the third place, the lady didn’t even look up. She showed me the prices on the wall and that was it – yeah! Whatever.
Your guess may be as good as mine, no? – Anyway I went with lady number 1, something about her coming from the “motherland”.
I set the date and went to the salon but being from the “motherland” she clearly had the “lateness” disease. I waited 3 hours before she showed up; I was glad her salon was next to the library otherwise she would have had a frustrated woman on her hands.
“Eh! My friend, you are welcom-ooh!” she said the plane delayed – she was coming back from a wedding in “Alana” (Atlanta - for those of you).
She made phone calls and ladies started trickling in, within 6 hours I was done. Time went by so fast - I guess because I was entertained with the conversations that went on.
At some point the salon was an interesting representation of Africa – there was an Ivorian, a Gambian, a Nigerian, a Tanzanian and a Ugandan – yours truly of course.
The lady who braided my hair made sure every strand was locked in and for a week now I have been moving painfully around with a tight scalp and a constant look of surprise on my face – makes me look like I botoxed my forehead eeish!!
May 21, 2009
May 19, 2009
Home drama
It belonged to Daddy.
When he hooted at the gate we all scampered to clear any messes then run out to welcome him. The first there carried his briefcase, while slower folk shut the car doors and checked the boot – daddy always brought home something interesting.
I remember once he brought a beautiful bird that he found by the road – it had pretty colors.
I was all somersaulting (excited) thinking about making a bird cage, feeding it with millet grains, bread, and water – anything to keep it alive.
Another time, I opened the boot and found the cutest, most energetic puppy I ever saw.
Pearl (the name I christened her) took my breath away.
She wagged her tail, jumped up on me, licked my palms, chased me - Oh! it was just like destiny. That was the beginning of a long friendship.
Each day when I'd come home from school, Pearl would be eagerly waiting. She would wag her fluffy tail and tag at her chain as if to say "I missed you all day, you better get here quick or else this chain will be history". I would run up to her, pat her, run my fingers through her fur then head into the house to put down my bag and have a cup of tea.
Pearl would give me this sad look as if to say "Is that all? I waited all day and that's all you are giving me?... what you do to me!".
I know - a dog, yeah, wild stuff!
But then again, isn't that why they are called mans best friends?
Before I get all side tracked talking about Pearl, I was about to tell you an interesting tale about Daddy.
Hmmn, I guess that will have to wait till my next post.
I might as well dedicate this post to Pearl seeing as I'm almost half way.
So anyway, after tea, I'd change into my play clothes and run outside for some Pearl and me time.
She would chase me around the compound until I was rolling in the grass, laughing hysterically. Then she would sit up with her ears pointed, and tilt her head to the side, as if she was amazed at how much fun I was having. If I dared to get up, she was always on the ready to chase me again, then I would plead with her to stop.
Then, check this; one morning she decided to follow me and my brothers to school.
We used to walk, you see. School was not too far.
We kept yelling "Pearl go home!", she would turn to leave, but as soon as we begun to walk again, there she was trotting behind us.
She followed us, passed the golf course, through the valley and up to the school gate. I can't begin to describe the drama she caused. Kids were peeping through windows, standing on top of desks, others were screaming like they had already been bitten (kids imagination!).
We decided to ignore Pearl, we walked to class like we never knew her- she was on her own.
We got home that evening and there she was - tongue dripping, tail wagging, jumping up and down.
"Welcome home guys, you won't believe what kind of day I had. After dropping you off to school ...."
May 17, 2009
Revelation Song
At the mention of Your Name
Jesus, Your Name is Power
Breath, and Living Water
Such a marvelous mystery
Yeah...
(Chorus)
Holy, Holy, Holy
Is the Lord God Almighty
Who was, and is, and is to come, yeah
With all creation I sing:Praise to the King of Kings!
You are my everything, And – I - will - adore You!
We sang this song in worship today and I can't begin to explain the power that was released.
The freedom, the praise, the worship from my heart. I didn't come to church psyched and even singing this song didn't feel ooey gooey - it felt that the Holy Spirit was singing it through me.
Talk about a higher power.
(This might sound gibberish but there is no other way to explain it)
Certain lyrics are God inspired more than you could ever know - it's like the words themselves are so potent that saying them makes all the difference.
God, you are awesome.
I love you, I praise you, I adore you - above all.
You reign in glory and power, who can ever compare with you?
Break down the walls
Melt all the barriers to loving you and living for you
I want to be with you Lord
Part the waters,
Pave the way from here to you.
You are awesome and I love you.
Amen.
May 14, 2009
Switch?
Trodden a different path? - the road less travelled? or the one with all the foot prints?
Ever wonder where you would have been if you had studied that and not this?
What sort of family you’d have if you’d married the other guy or lady?
Where you would be living? If you would be wealthy?
If you would be dating or planning to marry? (for those of you)
Or are you simply glad that you are where you are without any regrets - no "if’s", "ands" or "buts".
I was musing about this when I came across a story about two women who found out they were switched at birth;
Raised by people they called mom and dad only to realize decades later that even though mom and dad were mom and dad, they were not actually mom and dad. Didn't that shake the core of their identity? wondering who and where they would have been if they had been raised by their actual parents?
Now am not sure I want to wonder any more - these ladies take the cup hands down.
Even though they made me profusely grateful to know who I am, from time to time it pops up:-
What would it be like to work in an office, discuss work related issues and not wonder about laundry or getting dinner ready?
Leave the house in a rush to beat traffic, get in before my boss - just so that she knows I love my job and am ready for a promotion.
Wear makeup and look all snazzy not in a track suit, gown or whatever, waving Mich off to school in the morning.
Thinking;- deadlines, procurement, appointments and not dish washing liquid, mops, brushes and detergent.
Make hair and manicure appointments not just slapping on a cap and sneakers.
To get a pay check at the end of the month – yeowwww!
Very tempting.
But then I wouldn't have time to check homework and play tag.
Attend class parties in the middle of the day.
I wouldn't have all the time to read novels and blog or have the prestigious title of manager of domestic affairs.
Errr I think it's all good for now.
May 13, 2009
Love me some
Musing about the rain.
They say when it falls it holds nothing back - it pours.
A drizzle, a down pour, hail stones, storms, thunder, snow, ice needles, sleet - name it.
This is how trials have visited me, except lately it feels like a hail and ice needles special.
Oh! why am I constantly going through wet seasons?
Just when I think the sky is clearing up and the master of the day is about to show his bright happy face – drip drip drip, it begins again.
I long for the day the sun will shine on me, dry my clothes; spur the butterflies to flutter around and the flowers to bloom.
Let it shine Lord! Please let your light shine on me – not in bouts but constantly.
Blind me with your rays yellow fellow, warm me up real good.
I need to smile again. It’s hard to sparkle when I am constantly drenched.
Once I asked for the rain but now, I can’t take any more.
My poor back is breaking under this load.
(Hmm reminds me of that song "I can't stand the rain").
Lord, love me some - in the way I understand.
May 10, 2009
For you a thousand times over
Mummy! I fell down.
Mummy! Look – see what I can do.
Mummy! How do I handle this?
For years you've embraced my desire for attention - my selfishness.
When I tripped, was scared or troubled, “mummy!” was the first word to escape my lips.
Your warmth, your tender touch, the loving gaze, your quiet spirit.
I loved to rest my cheek on your arm – soft and smooth to the touch.
With you I felt secure, who cared what happened?
The times you were silent, yet fully aware of what was going on - waiting patiently for me to divulge.
I cherish the way you lean over, placing your ear close to my lips to hear what I have to say, even after all these years.
When we were hungry you fed us with the best, the choicest, I could literally taste the love.
I know I can count on you.
It never crossed my mind that you too needed love, to be asked how you were doing, or how your day was.
I was solely engrossed with self.
Who listened to you when you had just about had it with us?
By the way, did you ever get to that point? It sure didn’t show.
Strength, Love, Support, Advice; - a few of the virtues that only begin to describe you.
You never cease to amaze. Your hand bag was some kind of factory.
When my shoe snapped – you had sandals on the ready.
When it begun to rain – out came the umbrella.
When my skin was cracked up and dry – you always had a lotion to spare.
When my dress was torn – you had a needle and thread there.
A band aid and cotton wool, dettol and spirit, a cabinet full of tablets for every illness that showed up by surprise.
Amazing woman!
Today, I’ve got a family of my own.
Concerns for Mich - will he grow up to love Jesus? to be gentle man? tough and tender? responsible? respectful? loyal? hardworking? ….
The molding is full of ebbs and flaws, uncertainties, and questions.
But to think you did this 6 times over blows my mind.
I treasure you.
I respect you.
I honor you.
Every day is Mothers day.
Mummy - ‘For you a thousand times over’
May 8, 2009
Dear Mich
Sooner or later you are going to read mom's blog, I hope you will find it a fun read and not boring old peoples stuff.
So anyway...that morning I saw two blue lines.
Putting the little gadget down to one side, I reread the instructions on the packet just to be certain of what the two strips meant.
Aaah?! I was pregnant.
The queasy feelings were not from food poisoning after all. I shared the news with your dad just before we left for work – it was exciting but a little overwhelming.
I became a mother the moment you were conceived.
Soon, the skirts, dresses and trousers were ill fitting.
I didn’t have to tell my workmates, it was written all over my face – the glow, the chubbiness that crept on slowly and then picked up speed.
I started getting those “I know what’s going on glances” - I was good with it.
It was a natural process; your dad and I loved each other – you were a gift from God.
I was always thrilled to feel you move and kick and somersault – a reassurance that you were alive and having fun. I could easily tell the position of your feet and hands; they were never still except when you slept.
After 9 amazing months of unsolicited advice, getting “lucky you” glances from friends and colleagues, enjoying special treatment from men, even taxi drivers and conductors - it was time for show.
You didn’t like the idea.
But eventually... mind boggling, out of this world intense pain – the kind that ushers all the gory unspeakable words ever to the fore of ones mind. Yeah, that is how you announced that you had finally made the decision to leave your comfort zone.
Daddy rubbed my back like he was about to unearth diamonds but honesty if felt like a light massage.
Oh! When I saw you, it was love at first sight – the Lord had been good. You were healthy – 10 fingers, 10 toes, eyes, ears, everything was perfect.
It seemed like the end, but it was actually the beginning.
The beginning of sleepless nights, breast feeding, baby blues, memory loss, the beginning of joys unspeakable; watching you learn to smile, laugh, roll, sit, crawl, stand, walk, run, fall, talk – miracles!
Responsibility.
It's been great so far and I look forward to many happy years with you.
I had an inkling that you would be a boy and I thought Mich would be the perfect name. It means blessing - you are a blessing, a gift from God and the scripture that was our minds as we looked for a name was Psalm 127: 3
Psalm 127:3-5
Don't you see that children are God's best gift, the fruit of the womb his generous legacy?Like a warrior's fistful of arrows are the children of a vigorous youth. Oh, how blessed are you parents,
with your quivers full of children!
Your enemies don't stand a chance against you; you'll sweep them right off your doorstep.
May 7, 2009
Medals of Honor
Crying them selves to sleep at night - breasts gorged with milk but no tiny lips to feed.
Whose tears are triggered at the sight of tiny boots, mittens and baby scent.
Who never got the chance to feel their baby’s warmth - the firm grip of little fingers wrapped around their thumbs.
A medal of Honor for moms who’ve had to gaze at their angels through tiny glass boxes, wincing as their babies gasp for every breath - their tiny chests heaving ever so slightly.
Praying their babies would gain an ounce or two, hoping that God would hear their desperate groans, yearning for the day they would be discharged.
Traumatized by the sight of tubes running the length of their baby’s body like it was a little highway.
For mothers whose hopes and dreams fortified as they watched their kids; learn to tie their own shoe laces, read their first book, pack their cases for college.
Hearts swelling with pride at the endless chatter of what they want to be when they grow up.
For mothers whose dreams where chocked, who watched as candles were suddenly snuffed out – leaving them breathless.
For the mothers who left early, got the show on the road but were called away before the standing ovation.
You are missed and forever treasured. What the devil meant for ill, God used for good. I can almost hear “Mom I wish you were here to see me now” – “look what I have become”.
A medal of honor for children who took on mom’s role – shocked into adulthood before their time.
A medal of honor for mom’s who assumed the role of both dad and mom.
A medal for mothers who continue to walk this road; holding frail hands, feeding and cleaning their children - gracefully carrying the stigma of “the one whose child has …”. Swallowing snide remarks and sinister stares but loving their children even more.
For the moms whose children were sacrificed in the name of gods.
You are all that and more.
In Christ alone may you put your trust and walk with Him on this journey called life.
May 6, 2009
You stayed
Tempting him like an ice cold coke on a hot summer day
Did you shut your eyes and turn away –
Pretending it never happened?
When money hit the bank - Ka ching! Ka ching!
And they swarmed his path, smiling ever so sweetly –
Unashamedly craving a piece of the pie,
Did you stand up and state your claim?
Reminding him of the vows you exchanged at the altar?
As the sun receded behind the horizon
And there was no sign of his return,
As his meals grew cold –
And you waited up, your eyelids drooping with sleep.
Did you wonder where he was?
Who engaged him into the wee hours of the night?
You lifted the hat off your head to shelter us from the rain
You peeled the sweater off your back to keep us warm
You slipped the shoes off your feet to protect ours from blisters
You lacked so we could have.
But tell me -
When the twirling skirts and so-called buddies vanished
And the bank recognized him no more
When strangers knocked on your door
Demanding to see their dad,
Did you think of leaving too?
Packing your bags and leaving too?
You are still here,
Gracefully giving, tendering, nurturing,
Faithfully keeping your vows.
You stayed.
By MM
To all the moms who are committed to their husbands and children even in the face of unfaithfulness.
May 5, 2009
All things mother-in-law
These words weigh heavily on almost every girls tongue.
It either provokes a smile or sudden ulcers.
Will she like me?
Will I be good enough?
Shall we get a long or avoid each other?
Will my cooking be good enough?
Will she consider me a friend or a foe?
Am I pretty enough?
Educated enough?
Intelligent enough?
It’s an endless stream of uncertainties; some legit, maybe even a case of sheer anxiety and other times - a reaction to horror stories passed down "4th hand".
One fine Thursday evening I gather my wits and traced my boyfriend's residence.
I knocked at the door and I introduced myself to the lady who was clearly his mother.
“Good evening, my name is …, I’m a friend of your son (who at the time was outside countries). I have come to introduce myself and also to get to know you”.
Crazy stuff!!! – The things we do for love.
She welcomed me with open arms and that became my second home.
We spent many Sunday afternoons together and our friendship grew - it's still growing.
She sacrificed incredibly to make our wedding day special and I know she loves me like her own daughter.
As far as it is possible, every lady should spend a few nights at her mother in-laws.
Not only for bonding purposes but it's amazing how much you find out about your man from living with the people who raised him; experience his family traditions and their perspective on life.
You have set a beautiful example for me.
Thanks mom.
May 4, 2009
All things Mother
I start this mini series with my moms favourite song from the 70's.
In those days it was either radio Uganda or nothing.
David Ogwang or Mike Arereng would say "Kampala, Mbale, Soroti, Kabale, Kotido... every where - habaaariiigaannii!!!"
SWEET MOTHER
Sweet mother I no go forget you
for the suffer wey you suffer for me.
Sweet mother I no go forget you
for the suffer wey you suffer for me.
When I dey cry, my mother go carry me--she go say,
my pikin wetin you dey cry ye, ye,
stop stop, stop stop make you no cry again oh.
" When I won sleep, my mother go pet me,
she go lie me well well for bed, she cover me cloth, sing me to sleep, "sleep sleep my pikin oh."
When I dey hungry, my mother go run up and down
she go find me something when I go chop oh.
Sweet mother I no go forget you for the suffer wey you suffer for me
When I dey sick, my mother go cry, cry, cry, she go say instead when I go die make she die.O, she go beg God, "God help me, God help, my pikin oh.
"If I no sleep, my mother no go sleep, if I no chop, my mother no go chop, she no dey tire oh.
Sweet mother I no go forget you, for the suffer wey you suffer for me.
You fit get another wife, you fit get another husband, but you fit get another mother? No!
And if I forget you, therefore I forget my life and the air I breathe. And then on to you men, forget, verily, forget your mother, for if you forget your mother you've lost your life.
By Prince Nico Mbarga 1976
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