Happy Birthday dear ‘ol mum!

I was going through the gazillion photos I took on my trip this week and came across this little gem. I shot it at twilight, just as the sun was setting under heavy clouds. The nightly showers were prepping for a downpour upon the village where my mom stay. When the moon is not out, the clouds have a way of suffocating any light there is in the dark night. Deep night here is deep night. The clouds suffocate any ambient light from the stars and walking on the road is an adventure all it’s own. Yet surprisingly you will find people pushing their unsold goods strapped to their bicycles.

I was walking with my mom one evening and darkness descended on us quite unnoticed. I should state that it’s impossible to walk anywhere with my mom – even in town – without being stopped by someone. It’s not inconceivable that crossing the street with my mother can take an hour. Just. Crossing. The. Street. Everyone knows her and in our culture it’s rude and taken as a slight if you don’t spend at LEAST 5 minutes greeting someone you know. Even if you don’t know them and they know you, you have extend the courtesy of your time in greeting. And it’s not just any normal greeting, there’s like total protocol to the whole process. You greet them, thank them, and find out where they are going and where they are coming from. Then you ask about the people they just left, and you send greetings to them after inquiring about their health. You greet the people they are going to see. You bless them. Although, I am not fully conversational yet in my native language. I am quite sure they also send greetings to the dog, each and every chicken, goat, maid, neighbor, the house itself, your garden, the hoe you use to dig the garden and even the harvest. You have to bless the harvest. God forbid you forget to bless their hard-earned harvest. The world would come to an end.

Now I may be sound like I am exaggerating but it’s quite an experience when you are used to a simple head bop greeting that’s so common here in the States. You see someone but don’t have time to say howdy, you wave or tip your head up, throw up the “call me” symbol and you are on your way. There would be a town council meeting on the level of my rudeness if I ever pulled a stunt like that here. And my mother would never hear the end of it.
All that to simply explain why it can easily go from light evening to complete darkness when you are walking along the road with my mother. She knows everybody passing through, if she doesn’t know them, they know her. And since I am a rare accompaniment – everyone stops to greet the long lost son. I always feel both special and as if I stick out like a sore thumb. It’s always amazing to experience. Even in the deepest darkness, the greetings go on, it’s as if their eyes are well suited for the darkness. This is saying something, since African skin invented the phrase “midnight black”. Take away the moonlight, the stars or even the blinking light bugs and we go incognito. So it always amazes me that one is able to recognize anyone on the road at night.

That’s why this little torch light amazes me. Mom and I shared many conversations over evening tea. An amazing story teller, her eyes would glisten when she tilted her head just right in raucous laughter, a glint of light bouncing off the tears of laughter streaming down her cheek. I could sit for hours in her company. Sometimes I would drift off, thinking, life couldn’t be simpler, life couldn’t possibly be sweeter than this moment. Who needs prime time TV to drown out the seven seconds of silence. It took at least seven seconds just to try and stop laughing before mom began another story. The funniest ones were about how stubborn I was and the enjoyment she took in caning me. I frustrated her to no end. We laughed when I told her that I still had a mind of reporting her to the police for child abuse. Even though deep down I knew that I deserved each and everyone one of those licks.

We would sit for hours until the tea was finished or we forgot about it and it got cold. After several attempts at saying goodnight, we would finally relent that tomorrow was yet another day for talking, and sharing. Everyone would huddle about the light and share a final word of thanks in prayer. Maybe a song or two and somber goodnight, goodnights. The light would dim and fade back into midnight black as I drifted off to bed with a tiny smile on the corner of my lips. Life couldn’t be simpler.

NOTE:
This is a repost of one of my earlier entries