years.
“I have a bigger surprise for you after I rest,” he said.
“What, Pa? Tell me! Tell me!” I screeched.
“You have to wait for this one,
wanle
,” he replied with a big smile, rotating my head with his palm so that my head was wobbly and I was spinning. He had the palms of a basket ballplayer and my massive head seemed small in comparison.
Overjoyed, I cocked my head to the side to hear more about this surprise. When Pa was involved, I loved surprises. His gifts were always the most thoughtful.
I was still trying hopelessly to change Pa’s mind whenMa’s voice purred softly in the back ground causing our heads to turn in her direction.
“Where is my own surprise?” She lowered her eyes shyly, and Pa was love-struck. His eyes shone like how I imagine Moses’s did when he saw the burning bush. It was such a unique moment. Ma’s radiance shone so rarely since she seemed perpetually stressed out. Today, she looked young like a soft hibiscus flower waiting to be plucked. Her hair had been freshly braided into five neat outward
bakala
cornrows, a little baby hair caressing her face softly. If I didn’t know better, I would actually call her beautiful myself.
She tied a beautiful Ankara wrapper with rose petals around her waist and her upper body had never looked riper. She had definitely been planning for Pa’s return.
“Aye, mother of my children! My first wife! How I have missed you,” he said, as he approached her, arms widely spread to embrace her.
Ma shyly enjoyed his embrace as he towered over her completely. Pa was a very tall, imposing man, and Ma was more on the petite, fragile side.
I covered my face as they hugged, watching through my fingers, which were spread wider than necessary so I could watch. All children, and even adults, know this trick. It’s a timeless classic.
“Yefon, why don’t you go back to sleep so that your Pa and I can talk,” she asked softly.
“But he has to tell me the surprise!”
“Yefon!” Ma snapped.
She didn’t need to finish what she was saying and I began to walk away, arms crossed.
The sun was beginning to rise, glaring against the blade of Ma’s new hoe as we stood. I protected my eyes with my hand.
“That’s alright, Mami Fonlon,” Pa chipped in, paying respect to her by calling her the mother of his first son. ”It is your daughter’s birthday,” he added.
Ma looked ashamed, but the emotion was quickly replaced with a soft smile in my direction.
She started singing! Ma’s vocal prowess was smooth as silk. I melted inside.
“A yin o oo! Ver yen lim ye a limo Tatah!
A yin o oo! Ver yen limo Beriwo!
Pa hugged her from behind as he harmonized the song. I was fascinated by how deep his baritone went with his lips looking so relaxed. Whenever I tried to imitate Pa, as I did many a time, my mouth would be forced into a tense o shape, and I would have to bow my head to achieve even a caricature of Pa’s bass. It was futile each time, but it made Yenla smile, and I liked that.
My parents looked at each other lovingly, then at me. “Happy birthday, Yento,” they said.
Yento is an affectionate synonym for Yefon, which means mother of the king.
I grinned gently. “
Beri wo ba, Beri wo mami,”
I said. I couldn’t think of another moment when I was so happy. All the strain in me died a natural death whenever my mother smiled, which was once in a blue moon.
Looking at Pa again, perhaps for inspiration, Ma asked me, “What do you want me to prepare for you?”
Flashing a smile, I said what I had said since I was old enough to speak
tu’kuni
, and
nyan’guv
. My parents laughed as Ma ran her fingers loosely through my hair. She searched my eyes lovingly, probably wondering how many times I had asked for the mashed potato and beans mixture pudding.
The Germans had just introduced potatoes into our food system as recently as ten years ago, so they were relatively expensive, thus a delicacy, and I really loved the cloying taste of
“I have a bigger surprise for you after I rest,” he said.
“What, Pa? Tell me! Tell me!” I screeched.
“You have to wait for this one,
wanle
,” he replied with a big smile, rotating my head with his palm so that my head was wobbly and I was spinning. He had the palms of a basket ballplayer and my massive head seemed small in comparison.
Overjoyed, I cocked my head to the side to hear more about this surprise. When Pa was involved, I loved surprises. His gifts were always the most thoughtful.
I was still trying hopelessly to change Pa’s mind whenMa’s voice purred softly in the back ground causing our heads to turn in her direction.
“Where is my own surprise?” She lowered her eyes shyly, and Pa was love-struck. His eyes shone like how I imagine Moses’s did when he saw the burning bush. It was such a unique moment. Ma’s radiance shone so rarely since she seemed perpetually stressed out. Today, she looked young like a soft hibiscus flower waiting to be plucked. Her hair had been freshly braided into five neat outward
bakala
cornrows, a little baby hair caressing her face softly. If I didn’t know better, I would actually call her beautiful myself.
She tied a beautiful Ankara wrapper with rose petals around her waist and her upper body had never looked riper. She had definitely been planning for Pa’s return.
“Aye, mother of my children! My first wife! How I have missed you,” he said, as he approached her, arms widely spread to embrace her.
Ma shyly enjoyed his embrace as he towered over her completely. Pa was a very tall, imposing man, and Ma was more on the petite, fragile side.
I covered my face as they hugged, watching through my fingers, which were spread wider than necessary so I could watch. All children, and even adults, know this trick. It’s a timeless classic.
“Yefon, why don’t you go back to sleep so that your Pa and I can talk,” she asked softly.
“But he has to tell me the surprise!”
“Yefon!” Ma snapped.
She didn’t need to finish what she was saying and I began to walk away, arms crossed.
The sun was beginning to rise, glaring against the blade of Ma’s new hoe as we stood. I protected my eyes with my hand.
“That’s alright, Mami Fonlon,” Pa chipped in, paying respect to her by calling her the mother of his first son. ”It is your daughter’s birthday,” he added.
Ma looked ashamed, but the emotion was quickly replaced with a soft smile in my direction.
She started singing! Ma’s vocal prowess was smooth as silk. I melted inside.
“A yin o oo! Ver yen lim ye a limo Tatah!
A yin o oo! Ver yen limo Beriwo!
Pa hugged her from behind as he harmonized the song. I was fascinated by how deep his baritone went with his lips looking so relaxed. Whenever I tried to imitate Pa, as I did many a time, my mouth would be forced into a tense o shape, and I would have to bow my head to achieve even a caricature of Pa’s bass. It was futile each time, but it made Yenla smile, and I liked that.
My parents looked at each other lovingly, then at me. “Happy birthday, Yento,” they said.
Yento is an affectionate synonym for Yefon, which means mother of the king.
I grinned gently. “
Beri wo ba, Beri wo mami,”
I said. I couldn’t think of another moment when I was so happy. All the strain in me died a natural death whenever my mother smiled, which was once in a blue moon.
Looking at Pa again, perhaps for inspiration, Ma asked me, “What do you want me to prepare for you?”
Flashing a smile, I said what I had said since I was old enough to speak
tu’kuni
, and
nyan’guv
. My parents laughed as Ma ran her fingers loosely through my hair. She searched my eyes lovingly, probably wondering how many times I had asked for the mashed potato and beans mixture pudding.
The Germans had just introduced potatoes into our food system as recently as ten years ago, so they were relatively expensive, thus a delicacy, and I really loved the cloying taste of
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