Tales of A Single Mum

Episode Thirteen

...The days go by in a blur sometimes. I take the kids to school, then I’m off to my marketing job and then at the end of the day I hop on the train back to Itoki. I spend many nights awake, wondering what will become of my life. There are so many uncertainties, so many worries. Every new sunrise comes with the same routine. I want so much more; I know I can be so much more. I just wonder what I have to do to end this cycle. I owe it to myself to live my life to the fullest. To give my children the best of me. To open them to so many opportunities, the world has to offer. Yomi Shaolin wants me to come over to Slovenia on a tourist visa. “What of the kids?” I asked her when she made the suggestion. “Oh your mom will take care of them till you get on your feet then you can send for them.” Was her reply.

I thought about it hard and long. That would mean being a refugee in a country I knew nothing about. I would probably have to have an arranged marriage if I wanted to stay or get deported. Who would take me in on arrival? How many years before I can get my kids over? What if I ended up in jail?

The nights go by as I ponder and I’m no closer to an answer than I was a month ago. The “Don” had finally revealed his true intentions to me. He had said that he had a wife at home in Akwa Ibom but he would want someone to be with whenever he comes on his business trips. I had thanked him for his previous generosity and taken his number off my phone. I had suffered infidelity in my marriage, there was no way I was going to put another woman through that experience.

On my days off, I would sit with my mom I my tiny living room, talking about this and that and nothing in particular. It was wonderful to have her around. She lightened the load, she made me laugh and she prayed for me daily.

I bought an old Ipod and loaded with all sorts of music. When my bouts of loneliness hit, I would turn it on and listen to music. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling every night listening to song after song. Some songs made me cry for no reason. Some made me nostalgic, others just soothed me. I would think of my past, of everything I have been through, all I have conquered, the time I have lost, the difficult road I have had to travel. My emotions would get the better of me and I would alternate between sobbing and laughing. I made a very queer sight, lying there in the dark, wiping my tears and stifling my chuckles.

And then I would begin to imagine. I would imagine that I was somewhere else. In a beautiful house, surrounded by dogs and cats and maids in waiting. My children were grown and had gone to the best ivy league schools. They had become very successful and doted over me. They in turn had had their own children. I had found true love and had a wonderful life partner. My career had taken of and I was a very successful author. Now retired, I loved nothing more than to travel with my partner, seeing the wonders of the world.

I usually had no idea when sleep finally came. When it did it was usually a welcome reprieve from reality and a much-needed rest from my ever-active imagination. Today, I had my morning run. I saw the butcher get ready for a day of sales, I waved to the ladies who were coming back from the stream with buckets on their heads, I said hello to the lady that sold candles and “holy water” and to the akara seller who never gave “Jara”. I waved and smiled and lived in the moment, the sweat streaming down my face as I went uphill and then down again. I know the night would come again and with it my restlessness, my worries and the darkness. It would find me prepared, to go through the routine, smiling and sobbing and grateful when sleep finally takes me.

Namaste!