Her laughter was so hearty. It went on and on and on… I could feel the echoes in the corridor she stood miles away. I could picture the joyful tears streaming down her beautiful cheeks. Her laughter, one of the truest expression of emotion I have witnessed my entire life. I, on the other end of the phone call stood blankly staring at the spaces in my room, my bedroom. I muttered phrases, in attempt of expression, of my shock of how she found that amusing. Bemused I was… So was she, from hearing words she is too familiar with, perhaps, maybe from a realization that I would eventually come to that statement someday? Maybe from a foundation that I could be incapable of saying words as I did on phone to her, the loveliest woman.
The conversation was silent, for a while. We talked without talking, even when she was trying hard to recapture her breath from a rather funny statement, to her. ‘Ok, ok… Lord, you’re killing me with this… What did you say…?’ She said, followed with further, prolonged laughter. This woman! I thought… Sigh, I am I such a cartoon? So unbelievable…of such developments, whatever developments our banter was that evening. It never occurred to her that at some point I’d tell her I am tired of running around, tired of experiments and looking, or waiting… Neither did I ever expect her to concur with my sentiments. With breath recovered, and laughter settled, we talked some more…
Pictures of harvested beans and groundnuts littering the compound, on the roofs, and the half court we played tennis and basketball from while younger clouded my mind. The simplicity with which this fabulous lady takes her life and the enviable satisfaction she derives from it. She reminded me of the first time I hopped on the tractor to the farm; harvesting beans… harvesting beans in a maize plantation for those who do not know should feature as capital punishment. The cuts from maize leaves, on your arms, face, the trickling sweat feeding the cuts… Lord; the shower after harvest, the soap in the rather invisible cuts. She reminded me, of how I arrived to the farm, dressed in hand-down FUBU shorts, a Nairobi stall shopped Enyce T-shirt and suede boots… Farmer indeed not. Culture shock at first, appreciation of her genius after… I was a boy; over the next holiday, with little saved pocket money I bought her a pack of red Cutex, and fudge, chocolate fudge. She still values that till date.
We have told tales, this wonderful lady. She was there when I first fell in love… not with excitement, much like panic. She raided my room, burnt love notes, confiscated collectibles from girls and invested in Eucalyptus and Cypress twigs, to chase away the girls that hovered around our drive way. I must admit, dating back then was fun, no ‘SMS’, ‘Tweets’, ‘DMs’, ‘Updates’, Inboxes… not even ‘Google Chat’ and ‘Whatsapp’. If you wanted to see your love, you went there where they were. They came to you…and that’s how mine were chased away, with twigs…sigh! Sites to behold, really. Our tales, they had greater days, like when she extended a few hundred for my lovers gifts, like when she stumbled upon a letter I was writing to Dear June of The nation back in the day; asking what to do with a girl I liked. Yes, I wrote a letter… teenage. She guided me on what to say, and do… of course she asked who the nice girl was. It never became, she was very categorical telling me ‘that girl is your cousin!’ Funny, nowadays you meet someone, drink, dance and you’re ready to get married.
This precious lady; she has resurfaced with her ever extensive love, she is lovingly friendly. She rebukes when I fail, kindly. She celebrates when I make small triumphs, like when I uttered my first word after my last surgical review, I am sure it reminded her of my first word when I was born, which strangely was ‘radio!’ She sings songs of praise when I tell her I managed an entire morning at work without popping a pain killer. Precious isn’t she? Friendship is what our life has been I realize. We had alliances when I was young. When I did something terrible, like break something or something stupid at school, I told her first… we then came up with an official statement for Dad…of course after she had guided me to corrective measure. This was not always; I once got busted with a set of porno magazines [don’t look at me funny, a boy had to know stuff 🙂 ] in my Form 2 locker, it was a scandal. This time round I was roasted. I dreaded meeting her, I instead ran to my other friend, Dad to save me from her. Needless to say more, my rear end got some serious beating…at my school, in front of teachers, to bemusement of other kids.
I love my Mum. She is the one woman who’s never done anything wrong. You know where that saying ‘man is to error?’ They had to say man because this Woman doesn’t make errors, in my eyes. I have many tales with her; I will stop here today, and continue smiling at the echoes of her laughter still ringing in my ears. Isn’t She Lovely? Isn’t she wonderful?
Till then, Cheers!