Sunday, 18 June 2017

This Day, Eleven Years Ago.

I think it was June Eighteen. I think it was this day, eleven years ago, that I got to understand that love was all about giving, never demanding, pure, subtle, and beautiful in itself. I can still remember the voices. Most of them were a mixture of my mother's and a visitor who had come to see the new baby. The baby. Yes. My little brother had just been born. His skin was like a mirror through which the sun could reflect. Illumination had nothing on him. 

 I was the happiest. I had a baby brother, someone I could cuddle and show off at every provocation. It was one of the best days of my life. It was already decided by the man above that it would be my parent's last, so, it was special. He was special, this one, and he had to know it. He had to feel it.
"Bute mmiri oku ka-anyi saa taata aru" my mother would say. Then she would make us stand side by side, like soldiers listening to a string of commands from a superior. "Inaa-asa nwa aru, make e sure that iji okpa gi wee supportuo ya, imaana o taata ka-o kaa bu" (When bathing a child, make sure he is well supported with your legs, after all, he is still a child")...and my sister and I would nod, our heads going up and down like an agama lizard contesting in a marathon race. 

This baby bath ritual was not a new thing to the both of us and we always took turns to set up baby things when it called for it. It was Eighteenth June, a day after the birth of my youngest brother, that I knew I had fallen in love with babies.
My first baby turned Eleven yesterday, and in a few years he would turn twenty two, then forty two, the years would take turns in bringing forth new ages, but two things would never change, the word "MY" and the word "BABY".. they would still remain..for that is who he is, "MY BABY" 


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