MUM STORIES: I love my mother beyond words

I am allowed to speak on behalf of men from my community by virtue of my origins.

Although we don’t pride ourselves in the power of verbose that is associated with outward display of love and affection, we love our mothers passionately.

We are also not likely to be found hugging our mothers and showing them other forms of physical affection.

Telling your mother that you love her, especially in public is likely to elicit curious eyebrows from her and more than a generous share of gossip from the witnesses.

DIFFERENT

We therefore show our affection to our women differently, but effectively all the same.

There is a joke that once a man buys a woman meat served with ugali and salad and escorts the meal with a cold drink, that man loves you to bits even when he does not express it verbally.

When the dinner terminates in a benga dancehall where he dances very close to you, you are one among the lucky loved ones of the world.

In extreme but not uncommon cases, the man will build you a house, buy you a car (all under his name) and afford you an overseas holiday which will also coincide with his business visit.

SINGLE MOTHER

I also lack words to express gratitude to my mother.

The last time I tried to thank her verbally and failed miserably was during my graduation party.

I was aware that I would deliver a thanksgiving speech during the colourful and well attended ceremony.

I therefore did a full speech rehearsal the night before which comprised of thanksgiving to God and to my mother for seeing me through the turbulent university years. She is a single mother to all six of us and she has successfully seen us through college.

After a lot of food and fanfare, my time came and I grabbed the microphone with confidence.

I stood there in front of the invitees that was basically the whole village, and my gradation gown gave me a lot of prominence.

The room went quiet, they probably expected an Obama kind of discourse.

I started, keeping my eyes away from my mother, because I knew I was weak and I sensed the consequences of looking directly into her eyes.

I uttered a few incomprehensible things about how happy I was about all those who had come to witness the occasion. We had cooked a lot of food and that was incentive enough, but I did not say that.

Then I saved the best and last for my mother.

I turned slowly and looked at her, and saw how old and stressed I had made her as she looked for my college fees and prayed endless decades of the Rosary for my safety and wellbeing.

I WAS SELFISH

Then I realised that all I did in college was inconvenience innocent motorists along State House Road, date and learn how to make chapatis using an electric coil. I also learned all the things I did not need later in life.

When I look back I realise just how selfish I was that in the midst of all that emotional turmoil, I still found time to think about my favourite chapatis. But maybe I was justified, after all the is the one who had taught all of us in the family to make respectable chapatis. As a result, the chapatis from our home were always soft and self-peeling, and this is in sharp contrast to the type that you were likely to encounter in other homesteads that were as soft as roofing sheets.

WORDS FAILED ME

A big lump got stuck in my throat and words failed me. I cleared my throat and tried to proceed, desperately hoping that there was a glass of water within reach.

Then the tears came with all their children, burning hot torrents of tears flowing down my face and mixing with other ugly fluids coming from my nose and mouth.

I wanted to scream.

I looked around hopelessly.

A sharp uncle analysed the situation and saw that it was just about to deteriorate, this uncontrolled outpouring of emotion. He sprang forward and retrieved the microphone from my limp hand and led me outside.

He muttered something to the effect that a man crying in front of people is an abomination, but I was too much engrossed in a hurricane of emotions to take heed of his words.

So to my mother, Margaret Njoki, I did not finish my thanksgiving speech on that day, but I thank you a lot for all you have done for me.

***

Please follow the Twitter hashtag #MumstoriesKEfor more stories like this.