I don’t like tags as a matter of fact because I am not a real writer like Mathew who can make us smile with every word he writes or like mindinside who can write a poem about anything under the sky as easily as you breathe.
I dislike them because they tagged me knowing that I don’t enjoy tags.
But then you see… I like them more than I dislike them, because I enjoy what they write.
So here, I am thanking them instead...not with a very happy face .LOL
Remembering the past is a joy for many. The glimpses of scenes of our childhood from the age of five, are some thing all cherish.
To some it brings in sad memories too
It goes a long way back when a baby boy was born at home, as was the custom and privilege of the rich and the powerful; with Doctors present all around him.
His mom refused all attempts to conduct a surgery when it was late, and he was out late for a day and a half.
Yes, that was a story of a hearsay.
What you need is about my childhood in my words.
Let me remember what I miss, what I missed and what I disliked those times.
Writing it by adding numbers or by priority doesn’t seem to work with me. So here it is :
What I miss
The long walks I used to do in the woods, with my mom’s strong hands clasping around my fingers, where as; she sings with her actions, to the river & plants around her.
The time I spend on her lap while she sits in the rocking chair in the verandah with flower shrubs smiling at me.
My grandma who taught me how to milk a cow with bare hands and I was delighted beyond words, when she told me to drink it direct, as it is hygienic with out a touch.
The lone mongoose that seemed to shun company but always promptly arrived at my window to eat the bread crumbs and boiled egg I kept there, and before leaving… shitting all over my window panes. Haha !
But I also killed it accidentally on a fine Sunday morning, while I sat on my chair in the portico…sitting right on top of my dear friend.
I got up in an instant, but it was too late. I couldn’t save him.
The tender mussels my mom used to make everyday when I was small.
My mom’s maid when she was small, and when she was my only companion (though she is alive, I don’t miss her now)
My dear friend Henry (he died in the bush war) who became husband to my mom’s maid.
He taught to me how to kill with bare hands in case I am cornered, taught me how to hunt and how to skin animals with bare hands and who made me an expert with African blow gun. He even taught me how to make one with wild reeds.
I miss, Igasususi mellow, an African fish curry, which is an all time Nigerian fish delicacy, taken along with Gary; the Nigerian national food made from Cassava (tapioca)
What I disliked
The loneliness I had in those times when I was protected against abduction… as I was allowed very very few friends
Though I liked to cry when I feel neglected, as a child, I disliked seeing someone else crying and I continue this as of today.
I hated the way black children were treated …even now.
I hated the colour of my skin when I realized that I am not dark skinned like my Mum.
I dislike the people who treat blacks like a piece of shit, after looting and enjoying their wealth and enslaving them with muscle power.
I felt that they even erased the history of the black people and I still feel this way.
I hated to go back to boarding school after the vacations, seeing my mom’s eyes full.
Is all I want to remember!
Is all I like to remember!