‘Maami!’ I call out to her.
Her snores are my reply.
‘Iya ibeji!’ I say a little louder.
If my mother were awake, I would be holding my enflamed cheeks for daring to call her that.
But from the land of her dreams, my mother sighs and shakes me off.
I smile at my own audacity and come closer to the bed upon which she rested yesterday’s troubles
That is when I see:
The wrinkles evened out on her ebony face.
The half-smile on her lips.
The bosom that when awake heaves with passion for her children
The same bosom that now rises and falls so softly
I cannot help it.
I am enraptured by my mother at rest.
But it is almost dawn.
The meat needs smoking for the market.
The little ones need coaxing from sleep.
Papa needs his snuff box refilled before he awakens.
I need to show my mother my blood stained wrapper and ask her its meaning.
But I would give anything for her to always have this peace.
So I lie gently beside her and listen to her breathe.
Morning and its travails can wait.
Song of the day: Asa- Bamidele