REMINISCENCES

      Childhood was awesome. Was it? Yes. The bitter-sweet memories, the pranks, the tears and laughter, our innocence, and most of all, the unending care of loved ones. Growing up in Ijegun (a part of Lagos) left a lasting impression in my life and has also affected the manner with which I perceive issues generally. I may not presently be able to say 'HOW' but I know someday I'll come to the knowledge of it. My childhood was filled with so many tales I'd love to tell - some I remember vividly, some I remember in fragments. I and my siblings who were present at the time often relive these memories.
      Many a time, my mother would say that our childhood was filled with lack. We often look at her in amazement wondering how and what we lacked, because we hardly even noticed. For all we cared, we ate whenever our tummies rumbled including biscuits at least once a day, we lived in a spacious and comfortable 3-bedroom flat with wonderful neighbours and playmates in the flat directly above ours, we attended a good private school, and what we had was at least enough to sustain us. What more could we possibly ask for. But, of course, we knew that certain luxuries couldn't be afforded and we made no mention of them, let alone crave them. We ate meat at intervals and on special occasions, foods like Indomie and Corn-flakes were meant only for rich kids. That was embedded in our psyche. Funny thing is, sometimes, I look back and wonder how we were able to find our way through and still yet be very happy. And I realised it was but the handiwork of LOVE.
      Love shielded us from a whole lot, love weathered the storm for us, love kept us. That love radiated in everything we did - from how our mother walked with us to and from school everyday (she taught in our school at that time), the meticulous way with which she guided us through our homeworks till we were fully able to cope on our own, forfeiting some of her meals to be sure we had enough, etc. The list is endless.
      Once, I vividly remember her giving me a 200# note on a fine Saturday morning. I was about 8years old. I was asked to buy tin-tomatoes and vegetable oil for cooking. As children, we didn't walk when we were sent on errands. We either ran, jumped, or even hopped. This errand was no different. Somehow, maybe while I was racing, I lost the money. I walked back home sad, teary-eyed and afraid. I tiptoed into the house like a wounded mouse and the look I had on my face gave me away. My mother asked me immediately and I nodded my head in a robotic manner, expecting her to yell at me, tell me how stupid I was or how other girls my age go to market for their mothers, or at worst land me a slap instantly. But she did none of those. She stood looking at me for a few seconds as tears welled up in her eyes and before I knew it, she flung herself up and threw her entire weight to the floor. I was stunned. Why the drama? Kids at school often told stories of either how they lost or stole monies - it wasn't much of a big deal, I thought. Then I looked down at her and saw her sobbing quietly. Even as little as I was, it tore my heart to shreds. I wanted to sit beside her, put my arms around her shoulders and ask her why she cried. But I couldn't. I only stood there and began crying too. I didn't cry because I lost her money, but I cried because for the very first time, I saw my mother cry. Until that time, it never occurred to me that adults cried- let alone my mother. But for some reason, I felt her pain -even though I didn't really know or understand what it was, I became immersed in her grief, and I longed to feel what she felt. It wasn't until much later that I came to discover how much the money I lost meant to her and how it was her only hope of feeding us that day. However, in all, we pulled through.
      Our neighbours, Chi-Chi and her brother Tobechukwu added spice to it all. Together we all had fun, we played, we shared tall dreams and pulled several silly pranks. Our favorite t.v shows were "Fuji House of Commotion" a popular comedy sit-com, "Super -Story", and a Mexican soap-opera which we liked but never really understood - "The Gardener 's Daughter". School was filled with so many interesting characters - yoruba children whose yoruba accent influenced their written and spoken English. But of course, our mother didn't let any of that get to us. Our parents shielded us from so many things. I still remember some of my old school mates and I smile. Especially a smallish and very skinny boy with a head rather too big for his body - Riliwan Lawal- whose grammar was (or maybe still is) capable of making any sane person go stark-raving mad. Blunders like "remoof there" (in place of "go away from there"), " dress for me" (in place of "shift for me") , interchanging "is" with "was" and vice versa were among the few one would find in Riliwan's vocabulary. There are so many things I'd wish to pen down here but whether or not I do so now, it doesn't take away the fact that my childhood and growing up was awesome in its entirety. The kids I interacted with at home, school, and church, the tongue lashing and random slaps I received from my mother (my father never really hit us with his hand, he did the flogging with "pankere"), and the numerous bitter-sweet experiences all put together gave my childhood a quintessential flavour. And I know, one day, I will write about my childhood....