By Maryam Saleh Mainah
I walked out of the school compound with soaked uniform gingerly to the podium he usually waited for me. There was a heavy rainfall and it rained on me, making me freeze with my bag tiredly clung to my back.
My Mom died some few years ago, when I was about to step my legs into a new world. When I was writing my junior examination. Even though it is almost three years since she left, but everyday her departure keeps growing in me. I always find myself unknowingly thinking about her, thinking of the earnest affection between us.
When I was a kid I used to utter, sing and dance to rhythms that I cannot live a life bereft my parent. I never knew of how life changes things, how things vary, how a life with parent can change to a life bereft of them, until now I realize everything is capable of changing.
The horn of a car brought me out of my thoughts; out of my daily work. I was just walking, didn’t know how far this sad reminisce took me to a narrow street. I didn’t really know how I reached here, standing close to a house’s fence wondering. I knew that I have reached my destination.
I crossed a street and walked to a house. I hurriedly knocked at the door leading to the main parts of the house for more ten minutes before it was opened. Marvelously the Queen of Drama was the one who opened me the door. Holding the door knob a flat smile flickered to my wearied face.
“Why are you so impatient Ameerah? Don’t you know that if a door is knocked and no one response, it’s either the people of the house are busy or not close to hear you?” She talked softly and now with a wicked smile.
I hastily went straight to the sitting room while she continued advising me off my ears. The TV was on and perhaps it was what made her struck silence to my knocks.
” Hey! Who told you to get in, huh? Can’t you see that you are wet? ” She yelled at me annoyingly. I still didn’t respond as I stood up to the stairs.
“You bitch!” She barked the bitterness in my scenario by calling me with many sorts of names, but I didn’t care to respond, sometimes silence, they say, is golden.
” Are you talking to me?” I turned to her and asked her with a bemused face.
Hearing that, stillness pieced her mouth, she’s short of words, she was speechless.
I turned my heard downward to watch her shyly with asunder sights of the sitting room, and continued walking.
” I’m talking to you…” she broke the silence with an angry face.
“Can’t you see that you are wetting the tiles?” She added. She didn’t yell but screamed at the top of her voice.
I apologized for doing so, even though without wanting to.
There were numerous things about her, how she lives and her interactions with people. She was very passionate about what her heart loved. I didn’t bother myself about what she said, I grew fond of finding home everywhere.
I stepped into a bathroom, bathe, scoured, performed ablution and prayed.
After some mitigation, I walked into the kitchen and found something to eat because it has been a while since I ate, around eight to five hours. But thanks God I’m able to have time to eat.
“Adda! Adda!! Adda!!!! ” My little sister called out running to me. She was just back from school and lucky to meet me.
I embraced her, sending to her body the affection of love, of our dead mother. Amidst trickling of tears I asked her what she would want to eat and she shouted “Indomie”.
I cooked for her and then joined her to enjoy the delicacy.
Mie Mie was one of the sisters I had, I cherished them, they were my happiness. They kept reminding me I wasn’t lonely.
Maryam Sale Mainah is a poet, story writer and an essayist writing from Gombe state.