MY GRANDMOTHER, WHOM we called Nne Kamba (great-mother) did not survive the Biafran war and genocide but before the war, my holiday visits to her home in the village, are my fondest childhood memories. Nne Kamba did not like the hustle and bustle of life in the busy cities in Nigeria and preferred her simple lifestyle in the village.
The village was made up of fifteen or twenty thatched roofed mud huts. Nne Kamba had the largest and most modern, with white walls, a large veranda, four rooms to sleep in, a living area for entertaining guests, an outside kitchen and a pit toilet about ten metres into the forest at the back.
To get to the village we had to travel for hours, leaving the city at 6 a.m. and we would arrive before dark, having travelled through towns with hawkers literally attacking the cars as they tried to sell their goods. These could be anything from sweets or clothing to vegetables and we made these stops about nine or ten times before arriving at the river by the town. We would then board three canoes that looked like they would sink under the weight of all our cases and big bunches of plantain (my favourite vegetable) and other things we bought during the journey for grandmother. The edges of the canoes were dangerously only two inches above the water level, which made it feel as if you were sitting in the river. It was great fun to run our fingers over the water as the canoes slid along with the fishermen’s paddles skilfully causing gentle waves. Then the scary stories would start about crocodiles and snakes and other creatures that live in the river and the forest. After about thirty minutes we would arrive at a clearing in the forest where a group of people would be waiting to carry our belongings about a mile into the forest to Grandmother’s village.
It was easier as a child to use pit toilets; I tried it recently on a trip to Africa to open a clinic. I can’t imagine why I have fond memories of holidays in the village, perhaps it was the dances and stories by the campfires or maybe the singing on the way to fetch the water from the river at 5.30 a.m. or the smell of fried plantain and fresh fish barbecue on an open fire after the spectacularly colourful fishing festivals.
I am so glad Nne Kamba did not like living in the busy towns. I wonder what my grandchildren would remember about me.
As I was growing up, I always wanted a family of six children and that is exactly what I got, our daughter and son and four stepdaughters, resulting so far in eight grandchildren.
Being a stepgrandmother is fantastic, especially when the grandchildren come up with lines that make you laugh every time you remember them and you also realise that sometimes their young minds hear and see things differently from the rest of us. They are funny without meaning to be and they don’t only surprise you, they are always entertaining.
My eight stepgrandchildren have eight different characters. One of them, William, at the age of four came home one day from school where the teacher had been trying to find out from the children whether their parents were Catholics or Protestants for the purpose of first holy communion. William came home and shouted out, ‘Mum, are we Catholics or Vegetarians?’
One of my other grandchildren, Beans, aged ten, (who is a young actor and attends Westminster Abbey Choir School) was asked to say grace during the family Christmas dinner. We were delighted at his enthusiasm, but his grace was short. ‘Bless this bunch as they munch their lunch,’ he blurted out quickly and in all seriousness.
Patti Boulaye is a singer/songwriter, an actress and painter and is a fellow of the Royal Society of Art. She was a member of the Creative Team of HM the Queen’s Golden Jubilee Celebrations.