The doctor removes her stethoscope, the look in her eyes tell me all I need to know. I hear Kade's shout, hoarse and bitter with his dashed hopes, unanswered prayers and crushed dreams swirling in the layers.The doctor's mouth is moving, she's saying something, probably offering sympathy, probably telling us she'd done all she could. I hear laughter, mirthless and empty seemingly coming from a distance but I'm startled to find its coming from me. Hot tears sting my eyes and roll down my cheeks, could this be me? Crying? The sudden fog that descended on my head refuses to lift, its safe weight is welcome and shielding: I've just lost my only child.
Monday, 21 July 2014
She's five years old and can't wait to be six, she'll finally be allowed to dress herself. She has a pesky little brother and her mum has her little sister (turned out to be a boy) in her belly. She likes fried plantain, cornflakes and jam doughnuts, hates eba, egusi soup and boiled fish, would rather die than eat avocados and pawpaw. She loves reading and daydreaming, bossing her brother and watching her father wash his car, drinking Ribena with digestive biscuits
Sunday, 20 July 2014
I'd always hated hats or head coverings of any kind and longed to attend a "come as you are church" where I could worship God with my bare head. I could stand headscarves but hats? No!
Alas, my great grandfathers were among the first CMS (Anglican) converts in the old lower Niger mission. the cathedral church of the diocese of Mbaise is in my village, in my ancestral land to be factual. In other words, leaving the fold was unthinkable.