My Mother

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My mother thinks I’m this big boss at work. Like I spend my day discussing national matters with Uhuru Kenyatta, Paul Kagame, M7 and Magufuli. She thinks I sit on a big leather seat in a big office with a big window. She believes I have my own secretary and a thermos flask, making crucial decisions on what will appear in the national budget. She calls me “Baushi Masuwa.”

She has always believed in me, but this exaggerated faith in me started 2 years ago when she was ‘fighting’ with my daughter about whose dad was more ‘cool’. My daughter flashed an old picture of me shaking hands with President Kenyatta at a function, and went on to cruelly challenge her grand mother to produce the picture of her own father (read, my grandfather) standing with a President. Of course mum lost that challenge because my grand father died before the camera was even invented. LOL. From that day – ati my son advises presidents. hehehehehe

Obviously this comes at a cost. For instance, there will be a problem with a borehole at the school near her house in Choma, she asks the headteacher – ‘why don’t you call Baushi Masuwa?’ So it’s not strange for me to get a random call from +260977… at 5.27am on a Monday, and just when I try to pick, the line cuts. Of course, it wasn’t a call. It was a beep. So I call back, because what if it’s a boy at the farm wanting to say robbers have stolen the goats? So I call and then an unfamiliar voice from the other side says “mwabuka buti?” and before I can decide whether i’m sad or angry to receve a call at such an ungodly hour, he continues ,“Okuno bboho (borehole) yakafwa.” LoL. My mum for you.

You have no idea the pressure that comes with your mother holding you to such a high (but false) standard. For instance earlier today I called her to check how she is doing and I could hear her sulking. So I probed. It turns out that she thinks it’s my fault that HH has not been released until now. She asks “why don’t you talk to President Lungu to release Hakainde? Why do you allow such things to happen?” So I try to explain that I have no clue what’s going on in the corridors of power. That I’m nothing but a lowly foot soldier with dirt under my nails. She won’t buy any of that. I’m a well connected man, according to her. I just don’t want to help HH.

I hope one day she finds out the truth. That I have no big office with a leather chair and a big window. That I don’t even have a secretary or a thermos in my office. Someone tell mum the truth, please… hehehe

But I suspect that even when she finds out she will think it’s malice, just jealous people who aren’t happy for me. She will say that this world is just rotten with the devil’s agents. “balaa munyono bantu. Saatani wabanjila.” Then she will pray for me.

Mum, I love you to the moon and back!

Happy Mother’s Day (tomorrow) to all women who have unshakable faith in their children.

Patrick Sikana

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3 Responses to My Mother

  1. well done bwana patiliki! av missed your writing.where have you been?

    empire
    May 14, 2017 at 7:06 am
    Reply

  2. This is a nice piece Mr Sikana. Keep it up sir.

    Voter
    May 15, 2017 at 8:14 am
    Reply

  3. This was so nice to read!

    Newbie
    May 15, 2017 at 3:27 pm
    Reply

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