My Everyday unsung hero-under the African sky

 

'Pssh! pssh! Hey, move over a little, you've taken up too much space and the blanket.' This was not an unusual call in the early morning hours when the heaven chilled winds would blow in through the unpaned windows -more like breathers for the the cabin. The dew would be the wind's faithful stead. It would caress our bodies till we were brought back to conscious state. As it were, breath of life was breathed into our nostrils, with an additional touch on our bare bodies. 

Like logs lined up for the roll, we lay each evening, not on the soft comfy porch but on the natural evened out floor, lined with a mat and with the passage of good tides, our own wooden bed replete with cushionings. We didn't complain, for we hadn't known anything better. Yet our bony prominences would oft grown, the occiput and hip-perhaps they deserved better. At times, much of the warmth came not from the covering but from the closeness with which we arrayed ourselves. However, the lads at the ends of the row would often act as shield in times of shear coldness.

We had no alarms to wake us up, nature and mom had concocted a way to rouse us from slumber even before the sun could rise in its glistening morning grandeur. The gripping morning coldness and mom's early morning chores. The searing noise of pots and pans while she cleaned the kitchen dishes, music to her ears it seemed. Dust filled the air, but it soon settled revealing  a glowing sheen. Not much to see really, save a few relics. Old couches and tables at times befitting the meseum yet found welcome place, and old pictures on the walls ,a telling of our roots.

She would oft put water to the boil, and line us up, a triad of boys, and one after another, she performed the ritual of body cleansing.  A dread of the morning. But we appreciated the result, nothing to attract the beauties (girls ), just the mere state of fine looking, modest young lads. Our breakfast was sure, but we didn't fret when we had to settle for kisses on our foreheads and mama's goodwill as she sent us off to school. We dared not feel destitute, for we had much more than a full stomach could warrant. We had a few tricks up our sleeves too. We had come to know, all too soon perhaps, that a empty pocket and stomach were potent in making one a scoundrel, a rogue and all that lies in the train of atrocity, yet the opposite too was true, it would awaken ingenuity, perhaps a breaking of wisdom's pot of gold. We would trade our hard earned knowledge for a note or more, (monetary term). We would pile up our fellow graders' assignment and answer it in their stead. This worked well for us, as this prompted much study. At a time or more we landed ourselves in betting, but more often than not, we had to pay heavy losses for it. Perhaps we were not the best guessers.

While our life strolled by with Interludes of ups and downs. Mom was out and about. She sold at the market place. She always motioned-'my little one's, if I  have to sweep the streets for you, I'ld sweep a hundred of them, and I'ld do it with a smile on my face for my delight is not in money or fare dine, or laudeable apparel, though that would be mighty fine, my joy is found in yours' . This often brought tears to my owled eyes-late night watcher  I was.  I didn't make it known to her that tears filled my eyes most of the nights, especially because her joy lay in ours- I must admit, many of the 'runny noses' I attributed to common cold and treated as such, where a mere breakdown in her presence and a perfect cover up. Did she know I was covering it up? Perchance. If she did, she sure had her own share of cover up. 

Mom's trade in perishables -tomatoes ,among others, was not always an easy one. She would awaken at dawn and after her preps, would hasten to get a good purchase at fair price from the good old farmers . Trucks tolled into the market docking area, and dozens of tomotoe boxes were unloaded.  She selected a few good ones

with the number depending on the weight of her 'pocket' as it were.  On good day, she would sell the entire purchase, but some days she would barely sell a single tomotoe. But she was rarely disconsolate . She always held her chin high. She refused to be reduced to mendicancy or dire paupery. 

After school, we would avail ourselves at the market place, so we could help her with the sales once in a while, though she didn't demand it of us. She said we needed to get married to books, everything else was to follow later on. 

There was a golden glow that marked her face even in the face of hardship.  The sweat streaked brow ,the calloused hands all testified to the effort placed in the work. I dared not compare her to the manicured hands I saw from others, their lot was different. She had little time for the beauty Palour, later on afford it, but she was our model, even though we were not spared a great deal of beatings for our unwonted misgivings.  

Before dusk, we each had to give account of our school work. We had to make sure all was done in good time. She required us to be studying extensively. The catch however, was, we barely had any books to read. The only books we had at our disposal were a few books we had to share at our basic school. She would make us read newspaper she would often come with home, and in a stroke of chance, she would acquire what  I might wittily term 5th-hand books (but of course the information Therein was still first hand-so worth it). She would get tbem from her 'well-faired ' friends, and a few she could gather from the street sellers.  We read just about anything that was contained in a book. 'If you are ever going to find success, it will be in the books' she would often snort if we dared lazy around on the little 21inch bellied screen television. Of course a little indulgence was permissible , especially if educational matters were aired.

The common ritual before retiring to bed was family round table prayer, with no table really. If anyone could pray, mom was one.   She would read out a few verses from scripture -which as may have been expected, she conjured us to read through, followed by an explanation. Then we would bow our heads low, and she would offer up a prayer. Often left her as the only one awake by the time the amen was uttered. 

We would be awoken to head to our little place of sleep. Sleep it seemed was our common escape from the toils of the day. But morning was always looming, ready to get us started in another's day round.