December 25th, Lord knows how much I despise family gatherings and the thought of being asked bountiful questions by dozens of relatives.
What job have you taken up?
What figures are you getting?
When will you get married?
When will you get us grandkids?
Usually, my mother is top notch at bringing up questions involving marriage, bride price, wedding ceremonies and more questions on bride price.
"Your elder sister has set a very good example that even you should follow," my mother would say on many occasions than none.
She loves weddings and would drag my father to all of them, even against his will. The thrill of singing traditional songs after the ceremony at the chapel and the culture of 'jumping the broom' had my mother's excitement reach the ancestors and back.
I beg to differ. The tension that would fill any room my mother and I were in whenever marriage was mentioned would end up in turmoil- trust me.
The drive back to my home is the only thing liberating about traveling to meet my family. Good thing I even have a damn car, it has saved me from many family gatherings that I had been dying to leave.
"Travelling South I see," the immigration officer smirks as he gave my passport a stamp.
"Yes, going back home," I grin.
Or away from it.
"The festive season hasn't even ended and you're leaving already," he gives a playful scowl slipping my passport on the counter top to me.
"Still, I enjoyed my time there," I lie. Lied to an officer, interesting.
Approaching my street is even more exciting,as I pull into the parking lot of my house in Town Hill Estate.
It is awfully quiet today, too quiet for New Year's Eve in my opinion.
I walk into my artisan themed home and take my shoes off by the door, something that my mother has taught me to do outside the conversation of marriage. The buzzing from my back pocket startles me as I reach for the device.
Ah, speak of the devil.
"Mama," I sing, atleast so her sour mood changes from the state I left it in.
"You've arrived?" she asks in a monotone voice.
"Um, yeah. Just a few minutes ago, why?"
"Ah no, I was just calling to check on you, If you were serious about leaving and possibly could have been at a mini mart cooling off,"
"You know I have grown past that," I scoff, filling a tall glass with juice from the fridge.
"If you have grown then you shouldn't have left the way you did, that is rude and unacceptable," she says sternly over the phone.
"I apologise," like I always do.
"As usual," she confirms my thoughts,"You're not like your sister. Instead, you're this disrespectful child who behaves like a wild animal walking out of the house into a car which, for your own information, you wouldn't have been able to afford if it wasn't for the fees I had been paying, Imani,"
And there you have it, the infamous typical African parent statement that reels any child back to the motherland.
I wouldn't be where I am if it weren't for my parents, that I fully understand. But, when you have a mother nagging you to take up programs that would suit the family as a whole and not what you're passionate about, who are you to object? After all, they popped the cash for it, they knew what they were investing in.
My parents used this line to remind me that in the event that I even think about leaving them to live my best life, I should never forget that it was because of them that I could actually 'afford' that type of lifestyle.
Typical.
"Mama,first of all I left because... of all things imaginable you decided to invite the Kagan family for Christmas. The Kagans, Mama," I nearly loose my cool as I thought of it.
"That family has been nothing but kind and supportive to us, Imani. Even when we lost your grandmother, bless her soul, the Kagan family were there to offer their support to us in the most remarkable way,"
Sure, and you like that because they are rich, have a son older than me by two and a half years and you want us to get married mother, admit it. My subconscious mind has a better mouth than mine.
"Look, the only reason you wanted them over is because-" wait, I can't repeat what I said even though it's the truth! My mother has a tendency to spill beans to anything that has breath and locomotion so much that even half my laundry has become a public display for the whole neighborhood, but enough about that.
"Because?" she drawls.
"Because you want them to know about your cooking,mama," I give a sigh of defeat.
"My cooking is exquisite, even you can't resist it," I can already tell by the tone of her voice that she has her chin high in the air.
"Your father needs to be taken care of now, we will talk soon," she finally says. Finally.
"That's alright," I nod.
"Our discussion isn't done," she states, the obvious.
"I know it hasn't," it never will," I love you ma,"
"Hm, bye."
The call ends and I sit on the tall chair in the kitchen, facing the window.
Our discussion will never end, I know it won't.
______________________
Hey Lovely Readers!🌻
This is my(the) first book that I've decided to publish, and the themes expressed here are somewhat typical in terms of values, morals, way of life of a certain group of people etc., but enjoyable altogether.
I decided to make it Bwwm because it's a category that I've always found interest in, and hopefully you will enjoy reading it as well.
This story is based in an African setting, I didn't want magnify too much on the country and norms so that it doesn't get all one sided. Hopefully you'll understand.🌻
Your comments and views are always welcome, I am excited to know what critique you may have and I hope it's constructive and not demoralizing. And please read past chapter 1😂🙏🏾 I would appreciate it alot!
Don't forget to comment and vote!🌞
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Honeyblonde Curls
Romance"Well, I can understand why they'd be like that," he begins, "Parents are like that; the whole idea of having their child's life planned out so they aren't embarrassed . But if they want to see you then sure, hear them out. I know you would want to...
