Stories of Home: #WinterABC2022
Hey lovelies, happy new month to you all. I know I have been away for a while and much to the annual #Afrobloggers festival, I’m hoping that this is my come back! And if i’m being honest with you, I’m not sure if I’m registered or not (chuckles*) but that doesn’t matter because I had missed being able to create something so much that i would rather just tag along with everyone else who have decided to give this June their whole and enjoy the moment. This week’s theme is centered around Stories of Home and I just can’t wait to share with you some of my childhood stories and experiences that have educated, and groomed me to be who I am today. Hope you enjoy💃.
‘Densara togeda inosaruwega atishu, atishu, we o for down…’
The sun was scorching hot and it was usually after the lunch hour when nearly everyone had come back from school that almost all the neighborhood kids would meet by Rutendo’s house. Her yard was spacious enough for ball games, and it was usually lovely that her mother cared less about the mess we made when we played pretend game.
Whenever my mother called me I could feel my salivary glands turning sour from wanting to cry. She was the worst of all mothers and everyone knew it. I was always the one to be called first for lunch and suddenly everyone else would quickly dash to their homes as though it would have just dawned on them that their tummies needed a refill. Sometimes they would continue playing without me, like this particular day and there’s no telling how much that hurt, I always felt it in my throat. But then there was Vanessa’s maid, haaaa, that lady was worse than an annoying fly.
I could hear them collectively sing the play song at the top of their voices as they speedily danced around in a circular motion, each and everyone’s hands firmly held together. When my mother flashed a pack of pinkies on my face, I forcefully dived into my boring afternoon meal, sadza and lacto. I hadn’t eaten since break time at school and mom had made it a habit to always motivate me (I really miss getting paid to eat🙈). I kept peeking through the window to see some of my friends who had preferred playing tsoro, and there was Nomalanga secretly hiding the tiny stones she had missed getting back into a sizeable hole we had dug earlier that afternoon. The game was fun when you won a lot, and never when you were a loser, and it was known that Noma was a sore loser with terrible cheating skills. She was soon busted by Tendai and it was game over.
When I went back, Noma suggested we play pada. This was before Vanessa came through with her pack of cigarettes and suggested we play pretend game instead. She was to be both a mother and a shopkeeper while the rest of our mates were to choose between being addicted smokers or just hungry rats. Vanessa would make sure each and every one of us actually paid for the cigarettes. If it wasn’t for her wish to always play mother, then she would buy her first spot at pada for at least three days. We soulfully smoked the sweet tiny cigarettes knowing very well that tomorrow and the day after were new days, and some days meant playing the 25 round hit and pass ball. When it was just getting interesting Vanessa was called, perhaps for an evening bath?
What now ladies and gentleman, my own mother stripping me of fun? Uuugh, 8 and still treated like an infant!?