A short story
The Christmas/New year holiday that so many Nigerians went to Cape Verde, I too went.
It is beautiful island country off the coast of west Africa, with pastel coloured buildings and beautiful scenery. I went alone as is my usual way of doing things, swam in a salt lake, ate fresh smoked fish by the water, toured the city at the back of a truck and just sat and stared because it was so peaceful.
That year, my mother said the slave traders were letting go of the lands they’d captured from us before the colonial times, a man from each family was to be present, so I went to the village. “you know I wouldn’t have stressed you” my mother said, “but they said it must be a man, women have no business in matters concerning land ownership.” I nodded absently. Old news. My work was remote anyways, no qualms.
That year when I had a lymphatic filariasis aka elephantiasis scare, my mother said I had matched juju, “This is a good year, they will not get you, my God is bigger than my enemies.” I went back to town to see my doctor, he wasn’t sure. “It looks like Elephantiasis but we did not detect any parasite in your blood from the tests we’ve carried out”
My mother went to visit a woman she knew at Aba, she applied the concoctions given to her diligently on my legs. She swelling disappeared totally. I had to believe it was really juju because even the lab tests kept coming back positive.
'I thought you were a devout Christian mama, how come you went to see that woman at Aba'
'she is a medicine woman not a witch doctor'
'but the swelling was caused by jazz, can the physical fight the spiritual?'
'she mixes both but it’s 85% herbal medicine. Stop asking questions, be thankful'
That year, my mother said it was going to be a good year. The first case of corona virus was recorded in Nigeria. “the rains will favor us this year, our harvest will be bountiful, not like last year when the first rain came and we all ran to plant our seeds in the ground only for it to not rain for another two weeks. It will be different this time, it will be a good year.”
The harvest was indeed bountiful, I had never seen my mother that happy, maybe because I was staying in the village with her, maybe because her year was turning out to be a good year as she had proclaimed. She was just happy.
The corona virus was still spreading, so I remained in the village working, and attending zoom meetings like every other person and helping my mother with farm work.
“maybe next year when things get better you’ll go for pilgrimage in Israel” I said to my mother one afternoon after it had rained and the birds were chirping loudly and it was just generally, such a fine day.
“Me? For pilgrimage? In Israel? Walk the same lands Jesus walked? You will pay for my pilgrimage to Jerusalem?” she got up quite dramatically from the bench we were sitting on and commenced singing and dancing.
"if not for the child" she sang,
"who will care for me in my old age,
who will call me mother,
who will hold my hands,
who will listen to my story,
who will send me to pilgrimage,
who will send me to Israel,
who? If not the child!"
This year my mother sang this song and clapped and hummed a tune every moment and wore a bright, wide smile. It was a good year.
