I Slept a Child....

---Tears of my youth. Days rushed by, reminiscent of pasts that have left hollowness in spaces where love once lived. Aching bodies and tired hearts. Tears of our youth leave salty tastes in the buds of our minds. These are tears of our youth, as we cry for one more yesterday and shift heavy cargo loads onto the shoulders of those we see fit. Strong enough. Tears of my youth. The days rushed by. She slept a child, dreams of becoming a woman. Nightmares became the only reality---


Last morning I woke up feeling undermined. Disrespected even. I woke up feeling unmasked, stripped of my role in life, not of my dignity but of my right. My right to being, my right to being a child, my right to being mommas child.

You see this feeling actually started on Thursday evening. I only dragged it long enough for it to inspire my creative senses on a Friday morning. This feeling sprung on Thursday evening when momma called to tell me..No, I'm not phrasing this right, when momma called to scream in my ears;

"YOUR CAR WON'T START"
Pardon me for I laughed as I asked
"But momma what car now, I haven't bought one yet?"

She then went off on a rampage as is her nature to take to screaming when things don't go her way and you wind up messing the dialogue she had created in her head. "Hela ausi, ho ja oa bona na u letsetsa bo mang to come and fix this car hoba 'na ke khathets'e ke hoba 'M'e le Ntate. I am not forking out a cent for this"

My instinct was to hang up and tell her we'll talk later but I have claimed ownership for last words so even in this scenario, they had to be mine, "Fela Mpo le uena u ea sukulisa, on Tuesday when I borrowed it and you refused, it was not mine then but yours instead- I was the misfit that left chocolate wrappers and books lying in it but now that you need my help, it has become mine overnight?" I hung up.

 I was not having it. Or wasn't I?

Lets fast forward to Friday morning and I'm waking up to chaos. Feet shuffling in the passageway, water drops and sounds of panic bring me to my feet. Before I'm out of bed, momma has flung my door wide open "Meme, there is a leak coming from the ceiling, tlo thusane" I swear if it was not for the saliva I held in so tightly, the first words out of my mouth would have been "Aaaache. Empa 'na ke monyane, how am I supposed to help joale"

Another can opening of worms that still roam too freshly in my mind. Why is this woman so keen to tell me all the problems of this house as though I come with ready packed solutions? From frozen engines to geyser leaks? Mos who is she thinking I am? The man of the house?

I did not bother to think of the days when I was too young for my opinion to matter and hurriedly anticipated years in which she would consult me on even the purchasing of a new cutlery set. No. I was too consumed in my frustrations to realize that I am all this woman has and for that I should be eternally grateful that she gives me the front ropes on her trust cycle. Last morning I was too hung up on self and worries that belong to me to even realize the burdens that this woman has carried, for both me and her. Last morning I cried in fits of rage as I took to twitter streets to rant about my 'misfortune'.

 Broken Children. Brought up in These Broken Homes. 

Raised up with intact Hopes. 

That They Will Grow Up To Fill These Hollow Holes

 We Products of Broken Homes. 

Grew Up Broken Anyway. 

For Soaring Expectations That We Grow Up To Occupy Lonely Spaces That Won't Fill.

 Childhood is Excused. 

The Journey Of Young Adulthood Is Only a Spook.

 The Unspoken Promise Was That You Come Up To Fit This Mans Shoes

 So in Essence You Raise Me Up into the Monster You Yourself Created.

 You Raise Me To Fit Into The Shoes of The One You Chose To Hate?

 This Oxymoron. 

You Have Portrayed It In Simplistic Manners.

 The Complexity of This Situation You Engage With Eased Rhetoric

I wrote that out to momma. To make her understand my position, where I fit in in her line of expectations. I tried to make momma understand, that I could never be the man of the house, only her rock should she ever need one. I wrote that as an attempt to apologize to momma, that in her time of need I came short. All I've been to you was a child, so I resort, to my child-like ways.

But just like you

I am a strong woman now Momma

Until next post,

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution....