Raised by a grandmother
I personally
don’t know where the word was derived from but when I look at it closely, I
derive two words; grand and mother. I believe something grand is magnificent
and great. On the other hand, I don’t know the actual meaning of the word
mother but when I was born it was imprinted on my essence that anyone known as
mother deserves respect. What happens when we combine the two words to form a
GRANDMOTHER? What do you think about her, is there anything grand about this
mother?
In the good
old days, grandmothers were scraggy, wrinkled and had “Respect/Fear Me” written
all over their old souls. Today we have forty year old females applying make-up
and speaking to their children in the white man’s language. Yes, a forty
year-old grandma. I think it is the end result of children bearing children.
Anyway, that is none of son of soil’s business.
I am lucky
to have one. Everything she did when I was young was wonderful. She would even
blow her nose then hand me roasted cassava and it would still taste like it
came directly from God’s hand. Wait till you taste vegetables prepared from her
earthen pot with no cooking fat, just the disease-free ‘musherekha.’
The worst
mistake I ever did was stealing her bananas but, like a magician, she would
tell that someone touched her bananas while they were ripening. She could tell
this by looking at how even or uneven the bananas had ripened.
This sweet
woman knew the antidote for every ailment I ever had as a kid.
“Oh! Son of
my son, let me look at your bleeding finger”
She would
then look at it, chew some black jack and spit on my finger. Two days and the
wound is healed! The 21st century grandmother will cry more than the
wounded child, take him to the dispensary, pity the child as he gets stitches
before paying for tetanus shots!
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