A conversation with my loved little mother

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When I first saw my little mother, I was also a little boy. Fifth or fourth grade I think. She was a lovely little girl from the city. She knew her other name which was erased when her birth certification was baked at the registry offices. ‘Ndinonzi Melisa Magumbo follow me’, said her when introducing herself. And being attracted to creativity, I loved her from that day onwards.

This is not the story of the story but allow me to give this background so that maybe my little non-sense will make sense to you. Fate separated us for a few years after this encounter of little son and little mother. I will not bother you with the details of the separation but with our lovely re-union.

We met again, in the year 2007 in the month of August. She was still bright. Now in grade five, I think. It was a brief reunion which was rekindled on the first day of the year 2009 when she was doing grade 7. She scooped the number of points as mine though not as balanced as mine kkkkkkkkk.

I was repeating my ‘O’ levels then. It was decided we attend the same school. This could not last because accommodation was a hurdle. I found a place closer to my school but girls had no place there. She had to transfer.

My mother was a star in the creative side. Her art of writing was compared to none amongst her peers. Unfortunately, destiny is driving her towards recording events with facts. I pray her old creative power can be resurrected!

So I am writing this hoping she will agree that I publish it as we try and fight the physical, verbal, psychological and emotional violence children are exposed at a certain age of their lives. Adolescence.

There are age-related experiences not so easy for us to by-pass. Some of our age mates succeeded because this critical stage has been managed so well by them firstly and those who tried to help them. I know my wise mother and I will not take credit from her cause, I remember one day after writing her A levels testifying how some village gossipers thought she will not finish he Ordinary level. I am writing about a small community that sees being married as an achievement.

So there is a time when some seemingly dangerous boys were friends of mhamha. It didn’t go well with our granny who went into a bullish mood. But my young mind didn’t like my granny’s treatment. And as per culture I was not able to be in direct confrontation with an elder of her stature.

So what did I do? It was a matter that concerned my lovely intelligent mother. I had no doubt of the calibre she was made of. But being a boy I also knew the world we lived in. A world if I am to quote Obinze’s mother to Ifemu in Americanah, is unfair to girls. Since I wish the book to be read by my future permanent girlfriend, I think I also want mhamha to read this. I will buy her a copy on her birthday. She won’t see this edition cause the site is unknown to her.

A plan was needed but I was young and unwise. I was also aware she was a mother, so I respected her. I still do, though the openness of my bookish world has opened me up, so the respect is now contaminated. If you manage to see her, ask her if I have changed.

Weighed with so much love and care, I chose not to ignore the issue. I was thinking if the accusations were true or false, what are they doing to her mentally and emotionally? Is it wrong, if I first loved and wrote a letter as a grade 5. I didn’t have an answer then, but now I have.

I chose to discuss with mhamha not about dating as a bad thing but about adolescence dating in relation to the broader picture of life and herself as a human being. The talk happened during a Big Sunday prayer meeting. Yes, at that time. We didn’t pray about it; we chose talking about it. I told her to be aware of the deception of love of young ones (I still do when we chat and meet about its deception to the old ones too but not as her advisor but as a cynicist). [Thank
God this edition is coming after a scathing reality from Benjamin Watch. I hope I will stop being cynical}

I told her not to take the hurting words of our loving granny but to look at her desire to see us progress. I am a happy son today cause my little mother is no longer little but a grown up lady who if the plague is going to leave us anytime soon will be a practicing journalist.

I might have taken your time winding and mumbling but my wish was to make us rethink when and how can we discuss important issues that affect children (both girls and boys). How can we be mindful to do it in an un-hurting and helpful manner?

I think, thinking about these questions might be helpful in sorting out guardian/parent-child relationship. It helps us to imagine children as individual entities that can if given the opportunity understand the world and manoeuvre through the hardy terrains of life. It helps us think of ways that can help us nurture children at different stages of their lives

This one as I alluded was posted after seeking consent from my lovely mother. The permission was granted and we had a chat on it. I loved the light and understanding she now carries. I liked the intergenerational connectivity in women when it comes to understanding women (and human) issues. So I was going through the consenting chat and realised it can be a wonderful Part Two to this.