I looked at her dreaded face with a face full of pity. My head wouldn’t stop shaking while my brain was being paraded by casual strings of thoughts. What happened to her? Why does she look so dreadful? I deeply want to know more, so I’m definitely telling you more about her.
She is a mother. A hustling mother. She runs through the streets of Lagos all day to make rough ends meet. She’s with her baby backed with perfection. Nothing can ever take it off her back; not even the rigorous race for survival in the Lagos market. She carries a load of common soft drinks and pure water on her head, a bucket full of biscuits and sweets in her left hand, and packs of dissimilar everyday use accessories with the right. I still wonder how she does these all by herself.
I guess that didn’t explain why she looked so saddened, right? She’s a passionate woman; however, the job doesn’t look like the kind that cares about one’s passion. She seemed a lot happy with herself pursuing sitting passengers in any commercial bus just to deliver a bottle of coke, a pack of sweets, or maybe just one pure water.
I’ve always seen only the joyful part of her until this very moment. She’s sad.
“Where’s your husband?” I asked innocently.
She shook her head with a deep sigh. “Is it that man?” she said rhetorically. “Don’t mind that man jare.” She looked disappointed.
“One coke!” A passenger called out from a steady moving bus.
She quickly grabbed a bottle and ran after the woman. I couldn’t believe she still managed a fine smile out of her joyless face. She rushed back to where I was, and we rearranged her commodity accordingly. They had fallen over the streets.
Some set of mad thugs had recently bought some goods from her without paying. They had cheated on her greatly, and there was nothing she could do about it. They even had to throw bucket full of drinks and water away, because she tried arguing with them. A large flow of tears dropped down her face after I asked her how long she’s been suffering the same fate. I understood. She need not say a word anymore. She’s already deeply pained.
It made me think about my mother too. How much she’s had to suffer just to see us grow. To see me become who I’m supposed to be. How she’d had to endure all of the pains and suffering in order to lead us towards the right path. She made the impact, I feel her pains too and I miss her more than anyone else in my life. Every single living day.
Yours forever.
One Micaiah.
Mikaiah Sunday Oyepintemi
Mikaiah Sunday Oyepintemi also known as One Micaiah is a Medical Laboratory Science graduate of the College of Medicine of the University of Lagos, a writer of poems and short stories and a lover of life. He is a believer of love and true friendship. Writing, to him, is the only way he can speak without talking. He hopes to write and publish as many books as he can, while alive. He looks forward to meeting new friends too. Please follow him on Twitter