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“The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
John 1:5
‘Marsha?’
‘Yes, Mom?’
‘How about we crash together in my room this night?’
I was keen but not excited. I was growing up. I had turned thirteen in August fall, when I entered the last class of junior high. In West African countries like Nigeria, I would have been in junior secondary school three, while in Britain, I would have been in the third year of secondary school. At fourteen, I would start senior high. I was no longer a kid except to Mom, and I had to play up to the role. Years ago, I would have screamed in ecstatic joy, run to her and given her a hug.
I smiled, reflecting with disbelief on how I had matured in recent months. I had grown up sharing my mother’s bed and bedroom. When I had turned thirteen, five months ago, Mom said I could have my own bedroom and make it the colour and style I wanted. She said I had reached an age when I had to learn to take care of my own bedroom, have my own space and allow my individualism to grow. That way, my unique personality would develop. I had cried so much the first night I had slept in my own bed for the first time in my life. It had been exciting painting my room pink and arranging my own stuff in the closet, and it was fun seeing all my things daintily laid in their correct places.
From then, Mom said we would rotate night prayers at bedtime. When it was my turn to say the prayers, she would come to my room and when it was her turn, I would go to her room. On my thirteenth birthday, after all the celebration and fun was over for the day, Mom had come to my room and reminded me of the new praying rota. After the prayers, Mom bent down to give me my goodnight kiss. She smelt of talc, sweetness, kindness, and love.
During those times again and again she would tell me that my father, though dead, lived through me and so I had double her love. I remembered how that first time, my eyes had started to smart. She was only a door away, and I was behaving like a boarding student who would not see her family for a term of three months or more! I broke down and sobbed into my pillow. I was expecting her to come back, or ask me to pop into her bed, but she did not. I must have cried myself to sleep somehow.
That was five months ago, and it all amused me now. Mom was right. Over the months, my individualism had grown, and my unique personality had developed. Since then, the prayer pattern had changed too. We prayed together at set times, usually after supper or at 10pm. She occasionally led the prayers, but often she would ask me to pray and then she would also pray herself. I had come to love my own space. I enjoyed thinking of Rafael in our brother college. I had noticed him of late. Not only was he handsome, he had a swagger to his walk and bulgy eyes that were romantic. I was smiling...
I was beginning to understand that whatever decisions Mom wanted to make for me, they were all for my own good – even if I didn’t like them at first.
‘Well, my love?’ she prompted now, maybe surprised I didn’t show much enthusiasm over her idea.
‘Sure thing. Glad to, Mom. I have missed your bed.’
The last time I had slept with Mom was when another friend of mine in my class, Theresa, had been raped by her own stepfather. I was thirteen and three months, but I had been too scared to sleep on my own. Even now, the concept of death still scared me, brought on by the death of Ms Muffin, a pet dog I had loved very much.
Mom and I sometimes spoke like sisters. That night, chatting till the early hours in her bed, was a perfect example. First she wanted to know how my day at school went and then how my evening out with Aunt Ruth had gone. I told her everything – even the fact that it was Grandma Lilee who had been the subject of my essay. Then I told her I was upset about the conversation I’d overheard between them. I made sure she knew I wasn’t eavesdropping, though, and hoped she would believe me.
Mother kept no secrets from me. She often asked my advice, suggestions or opinions concerning her friends, her clothes, or major decisions going on at work where she was the secretary of a top government civil servant. Her job sometimes involved travelling, and sometimes, if it fell during the holidays, I would go with her.
I gazed at her fondly now, my beautiful mother, lying next to me. She was not as light skinned as I was. She was a typical Black American. She wore her hair afro high and was very colourful in her dressing.
After we’d said night prayers, she apologised about how the conversation between herself and Grandma Lilee had upset my focus at school. Then she hit the nail on the head. Speaking softly to me, she broached the topic of racism in a roundabout way. ‘Marsha, before you sleep, give me ten minutes of your time. Just ten minutes, okay?’
‘Fine, Mom. I’m not really sleepy.’
‘It’s important, and I won’t keep you awake longer than I should. There is school tomorrow. It’s like this, Marsha. You know you said you would like to make a difference in people’s lives and bring about change for Black folks. Right?’
I nodded. Mom was generally very soft spoken and now her voice was beginning to sound like a lullaby.
‘You will not only be helping yourself, but the future of every Black person. Think of your friends like Raphael and Clint. Many will not live long to reach their potential. Many will grow up feeling that they are only good for the drama and music industry. Many will spend most of their lives rotting innocently in prison. Many will be brainwashed into thinking that the Black man is inferior to the white man.’ All the time she spoke, there was something reflected in her eyes. Something that came from her heart, something that now bubbled to the surface to express her great depths of pain. It was contagious. ‘You admire what the likes of Marcus Gavey and Grandma Lilee are doing for Black folks, right?’
I nodded again. I couldn’t trust my voice to conceal my true emotions.
‘A school like the one you attend right now will not enable you to be of any help to Black folks in future.’
I suddenly became alert and sat up. ‘What’s wrong with my school, Mom?’
‘Good question. Do you remember the poem Alien by Unoma Azuah?’ She saw me nod and continued, ‘You asked me what was wrong with your current school. The answer is in that poem. Like it states, you will remain a captive, trapped because of your skin colour. If you moved to the school I wish for you to move to, you would break away like the crust of a caterpillar and fly like a butterfly – just as that poem says. Still quoting from that poem, I want you to see yourself as a seed breaking away from its skin and growing in a new world. Only in your new school can you—’
‘Become president material.’
‘Exactly. Nothing excellent comes easy. Victory and conquest in life come by hard sweat and sacrifice. Hillary College for girls is like a nursery bed. Yes, you have made friends, some like Pam and Bella are like your sisters. But students in Hillary College follow a pathway suitable for students who will be enrolled for the special education programme. It just has a big name, but it boils down to this – special education programmes are for students who are not high achievers. They will be nurses like Aunt Ruth or secretaries like me. Or house servants. I just want the best for you. When I am on leave, we will drive down to that school. I had hoped to move you there to start senior high. Grandma Lilee wants you to move NOW!’ Mom grinned, stabbing her finger twice towards the ground. ‘I spoke to my parents and to your Grandpa Samuel, asked them to tell Grandma Lilee to calm down. The most important thing is that you will definitely change schools – but under my own terms, not Grandma Lilee’s terms.’
‘What are your terms, Mom?’
‘You finish junior high and not move mid-way. So, I don’t want you to be anxious. Focus on your lessons. You will finish this year in Hillary. Promise me you will concentrate better at school?’
‘Sure, Mom. One question though. What is the name of this new school?’
‘Let’s keep it a secret for now.’
I looked at her as if she was being weird. ‘Are there any other secrets you have hidden from me because you think I am still too young?’
She looked amused, then suddenly became thoughtful.
‘You can trust me, Mom. You’ve already trusted me with all you have said about this school whose name is a secret.’ I pinched my fingers together like a crab’s pincers. ‘Any more secrets, Mom?’ It was her turn to squirm like a worm as I pierced her with my gaze, searching out her heart, wondering if she would dare lie to me.
‘There is something else about your dad, Marsha. He made me promise him that you would go to this college as he lay on his death bed.’
I stared at her wide eyed, completely speechless.
‘This weekend, if nothing else crops up, Aunty Ruth, you and I will take a drive to the school, and you will take the first breaths of its air to fulfil an answered prayer!’
***
When I woke up hours later, it was already dawn. I tried to mentally pick up the thread of the conversation we’d had before I fell asleep. I felt bad knowing that I had dozed off on Mom while she spoke to me! She must have given me a good night kiss, and I had not awoken. Was I that mentally fatigued?
I must have dozed off again. It was the alarm clock in my bedroom next door that woke me up, calling me to get ready for another school day. When I got out of Mom’s bed, she was in her bathroom, so I went to my room.
I would have to ask her later how they knew my current school was one for low achieving pupils....