Who’s Your Mummy!!!

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My mother and I are not the world’s closest lovey-dovey mother-daughter team. If I actually told her explicitly that I loved her, she would probably roll her eyes and change the topic…or suspect that I was dying. We will never be winners in the ‘shining-example-of-mother-daughter-hood’ category. We are more like the world’s best mother-daughter acquaintances/sometime-friends. Some people love their mothers out of duty, others because they have that kind of relationship with their mother. Saying I love her beyond what is considered filial duty would be stretching it- I don’t have such strong emotions about her…if you knew her, you would know that she is of the school of thought that views the act of kicking young offspring out of nests as a necessary evil. She is an interesting human being…as the woman who bore me, and the woman who continues to bear me, she fascinates me. This mothers’ day I would say that I am glad for all the things about me that come from having 50% of my DNA inherited from my mother…and sometimes, I’ll confess, perturbed by what I may have inherited from her in that 50%.

She is one of two girls in a family of (wait, I have to count them…we don’t see them that often) seven. My mother was a civil servant, a lecturer at a medical training college for a large part of my life, but for most of it she has been a farmer/retailer/community volunteer. She is not particularly emotive…I cannot recall her ever breaking down and showing emotion. I have seen her cry, but not passionately; I have never seen her weep; more like I have seen a tear roll down her cheek. As her one and only sister will attest she is definitely not sentimental. You would think that they would be close, being the only girls, growing up with all these boys, but they are not. It is not uncommon for them to go a year or two without speaking (even though both of them live within 20km of each other)…they don’t hate each other or anything, it’s more like they are just so independent of each other. She does not form the strong, deep relationships that many women form (some of which seem a bit too close for comfort if you ask me). I see this reflected in my friendships with women…I am solid/dependable/there-for-them and I really love my girlfriends dearly (you better know that!!!) I just don’t have that ‘all girls stick together and be cute’ nature, I’m not overly effusive about it, but I would give a kidney, fight to the death for, and support my friends. I think I’m too rational or that I am very emotionally self-reliant. So is my mother apparently. She can have a laugh with her sister, they just don’t seek each other out. It’s like they are reassured by the knowledge that each is just a phone call away, still standing somewhere out in the city, but they don’t need to test out the theory of close sisterhood. I still haven’t figured it out. I call and email my sisters enough to know that I didn’t get it from my mum.
My mother has a wicked sense of humour and could be considered to have strong feminist leanings (while many mothers nag their daughters to marry/have kids etc, my mother has never uttered these words, though her thanks-be-to-god upon news of my nuptials revealed a well hidden desire on her part). She is braver than anyone I know (battling gangsters, fighting the injustices of chauvinistic church ministers come to mind, checking to figure out what went bump in the night). She is a very good cook (her version of a parfait for a sick child- weetabix sprinkled over pawpaw topped with fresh cream…delicious; Her version of biryani…you catch faint wisps of garlic, cumin and turmeric over the steaming rice; the rich beef stew she taught me to make- the secret being browning the beef before anything; adding coconut flakes to kachumbari…all these things overwhelm me) when she chooses it (her hastily put together cakes can be eyebrow-raising though yummy; the haphazardly diced veggies…disconcerting- maybe that’s why I am obsessive about small, even dicing!).

She is also the legendary sketcher-of-giraffes-for-W’s-homework (my art homework always made me want to create, create, create worlds out of my rich fantasy. Unfortunately I couldn’t always draw, draw, draw the fantasies!), the one who proved that there was no monster under my bed (granted it was in a very very irritated tone of voice that this was confirmed). The designer of many an outfit (personal favourite: the egg-yellow and white dressing gown she made me…my sister’s version was a blue and white replica).

There are things that remind me of my mother when I am not even trying to think about her:

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I enjoy painting my nails. The origin of this passion is actually my mother. A woman whose nails have never been sullied by a man-made lacquer or otherwise. As a child, at the beginning of the school holidays, she would paint our nails (my sisters and I) a brilliant red or some other lurid colour of our choice (remember Cutex was a brand, rather than the word for nailpolish?). To this day, she is the most accurate painter-of-nails that I know. My sisters and I are still nail polish addicts. I think she would like my favourite colour du jour: ‘Rendezvous’ by L’Oreal. I swear by it! This is my all-time favourite colour!!! Love it love it love it! So mummy, here’s to you…my nails 2008!!!

She loves flowers. I don’t know where she learned to arrange flowers but she doesn’t do a half bad job. She has a sense of colour and what works well together. When she broke her arm, we bought her tons of roses to brighten up her day. I think she liked that (more than our efforts to get her to slow down). These days I find myself seeking out flowers, not out of a girly desire for their frivolity, but for the sense of grown-up-ness they impart to my house. Gerbera daisies are my current favourites.

Tea; when her car was stolen right out of a parking space on Moi Avenue (near Moi Avenue Primary), her biggest gripe was that the thieves had also gotten hold of her thermos of tea! She is addicted. For a long time I did not care for tea. I drank milk only. Then one day I realized that resistance was futile. I was hooked. Today, each morning has to start with a cup of richly brewed tea. Not too much sugar, just a dash. Milk? Not always. Sometimes, lemon will do the trick. Imagine having each cup of tea you drink unto your death act as a reminder of your mother!

I always joke that many young women declare their stance on motherhood assuming that they will one day be mothers. My hope would be to be a mother whose kids like me as a person (not as their mother, which would be their duty!!!)…it remains to be seen. I don’t know what it would have been like to have a mother unlike mine, but she’s what I got…and I’m what she got…we’ve made do. All in all, I have no real regrets- I’m happy with the mummy-card that life dealt me.

To my own mother, and all the other moms out there- happy mothers’ day!

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