'Shey Shey!!!' Nope I spoke toosoon! 'Shekinah!' mama calls again.
'Abey!<a>[1]</a>'I answer despondently hating the ritual that is about to embark. There is goingto be hell to pay for the dishes that are still lie defiantly in the sinkthreatening to expose my already labelled lazy streak. I just don’t get why Ishould do the darn chores when we have so many people at the house we should becalled an orphanage. Mama collects children like it’s a hobby. Whether or notit is to make her feel happier is beyond me but my ten year old mind cannotquite wrap its mind around the complexity of such devotion. Our house is a prettybungalow and in the heart of Ndola. My new father earns enough to bestow uponmama, a decent kitchen and sitting room that would be the envy of her equallymiddle class friends. But our bedrooms….well that is a different storyaltogether. Let's just say I don’t have sleep overs for a reason plus I do notmuch like to sleep on the floor just in an attempt to have a friend over. Mybig sister Clara occupies half the bed so that my skinny self can only manage tosqueeze into the space left in the corner.
The kitchen on the other handis mama's pride and joy. Here is where all the magic happens (if one can callit that). The cooking of the beans which mama claims to soskilla (season well)and the never ending vegetation that is normally boiled would be enough for aforest. Every now and then we are blessed with meat if papa manages to bringsome home.
'Iwe! Look at your Chitenge!Umwana uyu sure!<a>[2]</a> What am I going to do withyou huh? Pa beni<a>[3]</a> you still have not broughtanything for them to drink?' mama says while frantically fussing about myappearance.
'Why? So that they can justcontinue to tease me and tell me I don’t have the figure of an African woman' Iretort
'Ala! Who told you they saythat and what makes you think they tease you? Were you eaves dropping againpelyashi lyaba kulu<a>[4]</a>? I have told you a hundredtimes before not to do that. Next you will go deaf because you heard somethingtoo big for your ears!' mama scalds me. God I hate it when she takes theirside. I know she is trying to protect me from myself but I sure do wish shecould tell those women where to go!
'Now replace that long facewith a smile and place the munkoyo<a>[5]</a>on the tray. Remember to kneel down when you get there waumfwa?’<a>[6]</a>mamasays seriously while placing the tray in my little hands. She is divine and thewhole town knows it. Mama is a tall dark chocolate woman with a figure to diefor. Everyone in the neighbourhood comments about her sense of fashion, whereshe gets her attires from and that she should start a business of her own as atailor. From all her friends, it is clear who everyone thinks is beautiful.Mama commands a crowd by her presence alone. Age or having children has notleft a crease on her face or lessened her love for children. On any given dayyou will find a lot of children surrounding our house or simply playing on ouryard. Some would be engrossed in the game of chiyenga while others would beplaying isolo with my brother. Other little kids will be playing a game ofwider and chanting ‘day mama day…upside down’ as they play tricks with the ropewhile one person was installed at opposite ends of the rope and the other in themiddle doing the chanting. It was a circus to say the least and the noise wasincredible!
During the rainy season whenthe mango tree was pregnant with fruit, the children would be found on everybranch of the tree robbing it of the fruit that has barely ripened. Each ofthem would have a stash of salt in a little paper rested on their lap whiletheir teeth nibbled on the mango. My brother Chisanga would employ himself asguardian of the tree so if he caught anyone in the tree, there was usually hellto pay but that never stopped the little deviants.
It was no wonder the othermothers loved mama so much. While she took on their noisy little burdens whorobbed me of my mother, they got a chance to sit and relax or even catch anafternoon nap. It is I whom they frownupon.
Unlike my mother, I am skinny with a pretty face but no backside. The epitome of every African girl seems tobe that one must have said backside in order to be a woman. Except I am not. Ido not fit in in any way shape or form. I have caramel skin and long curlyhair. My mother a fully Zambian woman, was not married to my father. No shemarried Mr Bwembya first and had my older brother Chisanga and my older sisterClara. My brother Chisanga is as gorgeous as a summer’s day while my sisterClara has the shape of an hour glass and takes her looks completely from mama,you know with the thick dark hair and big round eyes. Rumour has it that herfirst husband was completely besotted to her but everything changed when I wasborn.
The circumstances surroundingmy birth were mysterious. I was born in a month which no one until theinvention of the star sign Libra found to be comforting. The month of witches. Whenbabies cry inconsolably and beautiful female heads are smacked down by themerciless sun beating down on their newly done hair dos. When the moon would beshining at its best and the witches do their sacrifices. I was a bad omen formama they said. That is why her husband left her. October heat had no mercy onanyone not even the people who were born in that month. There was no comfort tobe found under the mango tree either. No fruit to quench the dry mouths as yougossip and no breeze could be obtained from the shade it provided.
So yes I know what they are laughing at under that magnificent mango tree. They are telling each other forthe hundredth time that I Shekinah (dwelling place of God) should not even becalled by such a name. It was blasphemous to say the least for God cannot dwellwith darkness. I who was born in the month of the witches and I was not bornunder the right circumstances. When mama had found out she was pregnant withme, she wanted to have an abortion, you know- delete me like I was never partof the equation that did not work out very well because when she had me…..I wasthe sweetest taboo any one had ever seen.
Half black. Half Indian. A kamukaladi.
<a>[1]</a> Away of responding respectfully to elders.
<a>[2]</a>You! This child sure!
<a>[3]</a> Infront of guests
<a>[4]</a> Grownupsconversation
<a>[5]</a> A drinkbrewed from fermented maize meal
<a>[6]</a> Haveyou heard/understood
Copyright © 2013Chisanshi K Malama.
No comments:
Post a Comment