"It's summer!" I quipped rather rousingly. "What do you mean summer is here?" "It's March" don't you remember what grandma said happens in the United States during summer? It snows! Oh no. Sarah took off hastily towards the door, leaving me awe and surreptitiously vilified but not surprised at all. Tom was grinding his maize harvest the season in most African countries by December, and that's his name, my Father. "She spoiled this brat" "Who disturbs Uncle Jameson that remotely?" Kate asked provokingly of the bosom friendship he shared with her last born, Sarah. Kate was justly right in one thing, though, "nobody disturbs my dads' peace when held up. Dad came to love her most when my mom passed away through an accident seven years ago. She was barely three.
His memory is clear of her profound escape from death on that greasily night in September. I kept my memory away from the pain because in the words of my favorite writer, C.S. Lewis, "If we think that home is elsewhere and that this life is a 'wandering to find a home,' why should we not look forward to the arrival? "And that became my hope, struggled with the acceptance again and again and again.
Though in his 40's, he had his struggles. Once, he told me of how getting Sarah to leave for the states gives him riddance. It was an opportunity to travel upcountry in Africa to watch animals in the zoo and sometimes setting our family goals. Being the firstborn was a caricature backbone of the family and a future illuminating act. I was the best student in Literature and the following month was a rather hallmark audition of the plays and renditions of set books culminating the rush. So it was sadly my first time I would miss the travel by flight to the US.
Deep down, I knew my fathers' suffering and anguish of his wife's loss. He had loved my mother that of shilling to shilling and backbone to Eve and Adam.
Once I popped unnoticed and crept stealthily only to find him crying. He might have missed my mom so much. We all did. He had shown strength in sorrow. Every time I would drive Sarah away to avoid more pain.
The African family setup is so lovely. We could talk loudly in a fire camp in the homestead and listen to legendary heroes of yore until everyone was asleep or brasses of fire wane off at dusk. My dad was not only an amazing father but a believer in matters of science and environmental conservation that she wished both of us followed in his footsteps. "No wonder she allows her to travel every time." Kate sluggishly commenced.
Sending Sarah was always a happy moment to do away with the cruelty of shambles she posed both domestically and at school. For her praise, she was astounded when narrating her ordeals that she could interject her colleagues with clear sizzling sound to prove a point on her vast knowledge about snow, traveling, and everything. Her troubles in school and at playfield were mostly snow and relating to traveling to granny.
She was casual as Sister Teresa’. She was 70 years old and lived through difficult times from civil war, 9/11 to the worst recessions in her country but got out stronger. We were clandestinely her hope too. She loved me more, got me thinking of helping her with every effort and grit I withheld. Last summer, we had a long time sharing stories of old and reminiscing historical warriors going against wind fringe and coming back solitary in agreement-it was the best moment to argue with an elder without thinking of being disciplined or getting cursed.
I got to know when she received Sarah at JFK Airport because it was an introductory note of valiance that her wish had come true. We hoped she would call anytime torrents of verbal say and exhilaration and excitement bequeathed her, and it was likely close. We arrived at a peek of throngs. People clad in their beautiful traditional regalia amid applause from the auditorium and guests who sat.
"This is your time, don't panic, give your best narration and live to the creed of your heroism. Talk about William Shakespeare, Dennis Elliot, Chinua Achebe, and your grandmother too". Such were beautiful tips on a flexible occasion I knew my dad counted on me. When my time to give my ordeal and narration came, I commenced with courage and used witty riddles and proverbs. On stage, my predecessors had almost exhausted notable literary greats. I wasn't aware which script to take first. On my hand was a small note which my dad had written characters to mention in my maiden speech. So when I winked my eye to the last word, I knew this was a grand timely moment to live to my heroine and tell her story. Luckily before the gong went, I bumped on Kate leading to the auditorium, making noise uncontrollably.
"You can't believe what Sarah told me just right now", "Receive the call please and hear her out." That moment there, I was afraid as a chameleon on a frail twig and remained still, numb and fray. “What might have happened to my sister, "I thought to myself? Tears rolled down my cheeks, tears of joy as I blinked them in a bid to send them back. I guessed that it was a joyful and a laughing issue when Sarah narrated how she has rolled down the snowy surface and learned skating too on her second day there.
My grandmother cheekily told me of how she fell on a rough frozen surface, tripling down. As laughter caught the better of me towards the stage, I knew I was headed for a landslide victory to tell the story of my grandmother and sister. What happened next was amazingly surprising, you know what happened next?
Snow happened for the first time. Guess where? Africa!