True African Mother

As I walked along the untarred road, Spiraling through the abyss of the music I was listening to. It was Kanye West, "Hold My Liquor", a song which in a weird way always got to me, I could imagine myself sitting in front of a lot of people, especially Sandra, my crush,

speaking with a mixture of inept wisdom and trenchance of Kanye West music, I could see her smile. she had that beautiful smile that you can never get tired of,her lips part and you see a perfect set of white teeth,She chuckles twice and closes her mouth for people to see her wide smile, perfect pink lips. I practiced kissing those lips with my.....
"Bros, what is wrong with you!" I snap out of my daydream to discover I bumped into a Large man with his girlfriend, Everybody is dating now, everybody had a better half, even Harry who always dressed like a subsistence farmer is dating a lady as razz as he is. God created someone for everybody right? I always rationalized my short comings with something of equal gravitas, Religion for Lack of Confidence.

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I am almost at the akara joint, I actually think akara is the best thing you can ever buy with your money. As I approached the woman, she smiles, not at me of course(nobody smiles at me), she pleads in patois Yoruba at a male whom she didn't answer early enough. The guy sulked,I thought to myself he was throwing a tantrum and was childish(well, I was right) but I was more perturbed about the light-heartedness of the environment. Was she not the same woman who I patronized 2 years ago? She was heavy with pregnancy then, she packaged the akara while her well built macho Husband fried it, the man could compete with the best of wwe wrestlers. They were always gloomy, I used to wonder how such tasty akara could come from such sad and disgruntled hands. It just didn't fit the laws of nature, I mean I cant fry good plantain when I'm angry or depressed.

Even though the atmosphere there was morose, they were courteous and would always have the parting word. But at the time, I didn't pay more attention, nor did I care enough to know the pernicious evil which caused them sadness. We went on holidays and by the time we resumed I noticed her conspicuous absence, her husband's absence, his Motorcycle. But then again, people we don't know disappear all the time, I had been desensitized into ignoring the parts of a puzzle that didn't fit, especially when the puzzle was no relative of mine. She shows up a while later, alone, I still bought akara and bread from her, I still sneered if she didn't answer me early enough or if her bread was not fresh.

Things went all nice and good until I heard her say to a friend of hers(another woman who sold petty things) non-chalantly while pointing at her kids that "Things have not been the same since their father died", I was devastated, engulfed with sympathy and then empathy. My conscience pricked for all the sneers I made, for all the subtle gestures of disrespect. Then I hated myself more for my hypocrisy, somebody had to die before I could care, before I could step down from my high pedestal. I walked home feeling sick and bad that day.



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Since then, I've been more assertive, more clairvoyant of her strength, a model of a true African mother. I admired and envied her strength, her perseverance. She still found life hard, she still allows the tears of pain to drop when she thinks no one is looking and I admired it.

The apparent lack of the familiar heaviness in the environment was a strange feeling which was welcomed, time healed her wounds. We, the students, her customers who patronized her filled the hole left by her husband. Unknowingly, we made her happy, and also unknowingly, she welcomed us into her heart.

As I collected my #60 naira bread and #60 naira Akara, I smiled. She returned the smile. I felt good, I felt like a contributor to her happiness. "Iya Sikiru, say me well to the kids" I said. And I walked away, beaming.