GRANDMOTHER'S LOVE

CHAPTER 1

In Nigeria, family was everything, and the Alani's perfectly and proudly showed off that fact. Nothing said goodbye to a long loved relative like a hoard of satisfactorily grief-stricken relatives, all wearing their most colourful clothes in an occasion that was purely Nigerian. Yes, it was an occasion, Maraia thought as she stood by the sides of the great mahogany coffin. Grandma had lived a long and colourful life, Maraia thought again, reading the words that were inscribed on the lid of the coffin, it was open, so Maraia could see them clearly: Celebration of life, Mama Patience Alani (nee Amadi), 93 years, 1927-2020. "I want to live long like grandma " she muttered, wondering if any of the richly dressed women that danced passed heard her. They possibly couldn't, Maraia thought sourly, and, in the midst of loud music, dancing relatives and praying well wishers, Maraia let her mind wander off.

EARLY THAT WEEKEND

"Miss Alani," Maraia's teacher called out sharply, cane in hand, " care to share your dream with us? " " No ma'am, " she started indignantly, then let out a long yawn, " I don't usually dream in class. . ." The whole class laughed, and Maraia's teacher got angrier. Seeing the writing on the wall, Maraia obediently stretched out her hands, and took deep breaths, waiting for the pain of the cane. However, it didn't come, instead, Maraia looked up to see the smiling face of her teacher, and butterflies rose at the base of her stomach. " I won't flog you Maraia, " her teacher said calmly, "I am going to let you sleep. " Maraia looked with dread at the floor of her classrom, and her eyes filled up with tears, " please ma, " she said, the beginning of what was going to be a long round of begging, that is, of course, if the teacher didn't stop her halfway. " Miss Alani, " Maraia's teacher said in a final tone, "I will not tolerate rubbish this from you, on the floor, NOW! "Maraia lay on the floor, thinking of how dirty the class floor was, she cried.

When Maraia got home, her usually white clothes had turned gray, patterned with the many footprints of those who had used the floor before her. " Mummy is going to have a fit." She thought dismally. Her mother, Patricia Alani was generally very easy going woman, and one could be very close with her as long as that 'one' didn't have a tendency to get dirty, Maraia had lots of messy streaks, but as grandma was usually around, she had always been a shield from mummy's antics, had, grandma wasn't here anymore. "Mummy," Maraia was just about to apologize, but not before an especially strong smell hit her nose, and it seemed like a thousand different colognes had exploded in her mother's living room. Coughing, she managed to see enough to get out of the way, before an even stronger wave of cologne attacked her. Everyone, meet Maraia's grandmother, Mrs Flora Uzwo. It was especially typical for an average Nigerian to have two grandmothers, and especially important to take care of them even if you didn't have the means to. Once again, family was well treasured in Nigeria, and you were seen as wicked if you didn't treat them well. "Ekaaro, ma." Maraia greeted, trying to remember if this was the correct greeting for her grandmother. Her mother's expression told her "no", but it turned out, her grandmother didn't mind. "Your mother didnt teach you well, hmm?"she asked affectionately, "but never mind, what do you modern kids know about tradition, hmmm?" Modern, that was one word to describe her grandmother. Trendy, bold, flashy, over-the-top, notice me, they were all adjectives of her grandmother, show off, unlikeable. "Obviously i have overstayed my welcome," Maraia's grandmother said with a small laugh, "but i hope your mother has thought you well Maria, because you will be leading the young girls at your grandmother's burial, and you need to cook something to give your grandmother to take home to heaven." Maraia wanted to ask her grandmother what she meant, and also remind her that her name was Maraia, not Maria, but she was already out, cold.

CHAPTER 2

"She was meant to cook!" Now, Maraia did know that it was an age long tradition of burying things with the dead, mostly personal properties, which they assumed was taken by the spirit of the dead person into heaven when he went to meet Olodumare, however, with recent cases of stealing from the dead becoming increasingly rampant, it was no surprise that Maraia's family had chosen food, a decayable substance, to give to her grandmother's spirit. But, asking her to cook? Now that was a different matter entirely. Maraia couldn't cook, no she couldn't, she couldn't light the gas, most times she didn't even know the path to the kitchen! This was extremely embarrassing, as a girl, but it was true, after all, her grandma clearly asked, "what did she, a modern child know about tradiation, hmm?" Anyone who wasn't in Maraia's shoes wasn't likely to understand what she felt at that moment. Of course they might just say, "why don't you just let your mum do the cooking, and then pass it of as your own?" But Maraia understood the spiritual and sentimental implications of these traditions, and she didn't want to upset her grandmother's spirit, not when she was this close to eternal life. "Dear grandma," Maraia whispered in the silence of her library, "please tell me what you love so that I can cook it for you?" "Maraia?" Her mother called, coming into the library, "if this would help, I remember that mama used to bake her favourite cookies with you, when you were younger, I think she called it.... something, but i'm sorry, I can't remember the ingredients." "Great," she groaned, "you cant remember." "Cheer up doll," Patricia said soothingly, "maybe a day at the supermarket will joggle your memory." "Tomorrow?" Her eyes lit up, Patricia smiled. Maraia spent the whole night researching on different cookie recipes, but the next morning she was as fresh as she could be. The supermarket seemed to be filled with only things for baking, as far as she could see, but Maraia had no recollection of anything. Finally, after three hours, as Maraia was about to leave the supermarket, her legs slipped on something and she fell, landing on a template that read, LOVE'S MOULD. "Baking a cupcake is like building a family, you only need one ingredient, LOVE, to hold it together." Her grandmother's words. As if by magic, Maraia's eyes lit up, and her head began to fill with different memories that each illustrated the ingredient she needed to make the most perfect raspberry-chocolate chipped cookie in the whole world.

And now, as she carefully dropped a whole batch of them into her grandmother's coffin, she resisted the urge to kiss those cold hands. "Rest in peace grandmother, pray for me."