Blood is thicker (sic) than water, is one saying I don't find as wise.
Understand this, I have no problem with anyone who thinks of it as such. It's not your fault if you fall in the embrace of your parents at the end of a tough day in school. Cuddling at granny's place, book in hand, family around and favorite snacks in supply might be your ideal Christmas gift. There would be a sizzling hot, crispy turkey maybe for dinner and that's my favorite too.
Having a brother to argue with over football, fight over some girl and later play baseball together are anyone's kinda dream memories. A mother to tuck you to bed, read a story to you or sing your favorite lullaby are all reasons to make you think of blood as thicker. Not that I have a problem just like I said, but am jealous.
Am jealous of the way you giggled, splashing water from the puddles at your sister and joined hands to build a "house" from chunks of mud in the rain. Am jealous of how you two converge for coffee and still giggle at how worried your mother had looked later, flogging you to the house, overdressing your lean bodies and forced you to drink something to keep you warm, promising to punish you later. It breaks me to imagine how standing on the balcony felt, waiting on your folks to drive home from work, gleaming in anticipation, eager to know what snacks they had for you today. Being jealous of you doesn't mean I wish anything lesser for you, I hope the cuddles are still as warm. Someone like me, envies these life gifts and favours you had enjoyed and probably you aren't grateful enough for.
My name is Halima, and this is my story:
The podium, steel reinstated concrete and an architectural masterpiece, feels like it might be collapsing under my feet any moment from now. My lean feet, wobble lightly under the weight of my body. Weighing sixty kilograms and having lived quite a healthy life, makes one wonder how that is possible. What the grinning, cheerful crowd donning t-shirts with my picture and colours of my party don't understand is my heart is tones heavier and I don't trust anything to bear it's weight.
Today is supposed to be a happy day. The ridiculous large trumpet almost crashing its bearer, the team of youths dancing with the knowledge of you only live once (YOLO) slogan are a worth sight, the old man seated on the ground unable to keep up with the energy but not wanting to miss out is inspiration at it's best, the kids shouting my name in unison is all breathtaking. These are the things giving me the strength not to give in to the heaviness in my heart. The multitude of Sadika residents who defied the heavenly outburst of showers, trekked and preserved the energy to enthusiastically cheer on their Governor elect, are part of what I refer to as blood to me. It has been a few hectic months that finally paid off, I won the gubernatorial seat with a landslide. Today is my swearing in ceremony and am thrilled, at least I was until she showed up.
Today was supposed to be my happiest day.
Standing in the crowd, five foot tall, blonde, pink shaded lips and too much powder on a fifties face, she grins. She stands out in the crowd, the knee length dark satin dress, huge cape and a pair of sunglasses in such dull weather. No outfit in my party colours to show support, not even my name in any of the outfits preferring to expose part of breasts in a low neck cut dress. It boils the bile in me to more bitterness but what did I expect anyway, typical of my "mother". I don't call her so, I never had anyone to call that growing up, since I just found out yesterday (sic) she is my biological mother.
Halima, is a twenty six year old, Governor to be and the first woman Governor in the country's history. I grew up in the local suburbs of Sadika under the care of my dad. Am not his blood but he never treated me any lesser. He missed my first blabber of words but never anything else after. My dad adopted me from the orphanage while I was just three and has loved me as he would his own since. He fumbled with the diaper's but finally managed alright. He sometimes overheated the bottle and my shriek from hot milk burn broke him to tears, I times did bear the excess hot milk for his sake. He did embrace me warmly in reassurance, whenever I came home from school in tears, after being trolled for not being good enough that my mother had to dump me at the gate of an orphanage while I was two months old. He did show up for my ball games and got me a gift every Christmas since. I did break down to tears when at thirteen I came across the history of his computer. Nights he had spent there exhausted from work, only to realize he needed to learn how to handle a teenage girl, how to go about monthly periods, things I would have used a mother's help.
The woman standing there is right, the DNA test was positive. She did approach me yesterday to reconcile. Probably having seen me somewhere in the newspapers or national broadcasts, she had talked of regretting the decisions of her teen life. She had fumbled on loving me to the moon and back. She had asked for the chance to make it right. She hadn't restrained me in a hug as tears streamed down my cheeks like dad does, she let me leave while sipping her coffee and blabbing of the fun she has had travelling the world.
Standing here as a judge summons me closer for swearing, she waves in the distance but I don't reciprocate. Standing next to me in the podium, is the gentleman who wasn't blood but has been a proud father and mother of a woman who struggled growing up as a girl. And to him, I always remain his little girl. He is all I need while I continue healing. He probably knows but doesn't understand the depth of love and respect I got for him.
And so long as my dad's love is guaranteed, blood ain't thicker to me. We are Healing.