Mama Blessing

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I miss my yesterday and all that it held, I miss the laughter and togetherness that we shared as a large family of eleven. I miss the sound of lorries on the dusty Enugu road and the loud calls of ‘ebatos’ from the local merchants who bought used bottles from households. I still do not know exactly what that first word was but ‘batos’ meant bottles I miss Kenyatta and Ogbete markets where I tagged along with mother as she priced the freshest fruits and vegetables of the season. I miss lying on mama Blessing’s lap at Kenyatta market as she made my hair as gently as she could while she gossipped with other hair vendors in the hair stylists’ stall. 

Growing up in Enugu was bliss, a small community where everyone knew everyone, Mama Blessing was the beautiful lady who made our hair especially mine because I was a day student at that time. She was a typical example of a village beauty and I loved to go to the stall in Kenyatta market which she shared with other women who also made hair. I loved to go there for so many reasons, but particularly because every street food hawker stopped there, and mama Blessing always wanted to make sure that I was comfortable, so she offered to buy anything I wanted. My favorite street food back then was “agidi jollof” made from corn and filled with carefully selected biscuit bones, it was a pure pleasure to save the bone for last and suck on it for the bone marrow like there was nothing more delicious.

I miss the way young boys whistled at me and other young girls, I loved the attention. Getting a period was not an introduction to womanhood for me, it was something I was used to because I had five older sisters and I knew it was going to happen to me someday. When it happened, it was not a big deal to me, I simply took one of the sanitary towels from my sisters’ supplies and fixed myself up. I was thirteen years and had had my menstrual cycle for close to a year before anyone found out. I remember how grossed out I was when my sister Kerus made such a fuss, she told mother and both of them said, “welcome into womanhood”. I felt that was an encroachment on my privacy. I also was irritated when other girls in my age group acted like it was such a big deal or when they got stained, gosh, that infuriated me and I could only show empathy.

The only time I truly felt like a grown woman was after my first term in boarding school, I came back home and wore a pair of jeans, and my huge thighs and tiny hips hugged tight to the jeans showing very feminine features I never knew I had. I miss that youthful body devoid of folds and an enlarged stomach. Sometimes after making my hair in those days, mama Blessing would make me wait for her so she would walk me back home, home wasn't too far away. Sometimes, mother came back to pick me up or sent a driver but my best times were the few times I got to walk back home alone, for an obvious reason; I was a head turner and I enjoyed every bit of it, who wouldn’? Mama Blessing was mother’s friend and it did not matter to mother that she was a local hairstylist. She was welcome to visit anytime and hardly left without a gift. It was from mother we learned to relate with people regardless of their social standing. 

Mother was a true friend to mama Blessing and we saw how proud mama Blessing was to have a friend like Ezenwanyi as mother was called back then. She often told stories of how she bragged about her friend who drove a car and how her neighbours all came out to watch her the day Ezenwanyi picked her up to give her a ride to the market. That friendship meant a lot to her and we also saw how happy Ezenwanyi was that she made mama Blessing that happy. Sometimes, I wonder what happened to mama Blessing, I heard vaguely that she passed but I am not sure. I remember how mother often said that her friend was an extremely beautiful woman who found herself on the left side of life. That realization made Ezenwanyi be the best friend she could be to mama Blessing. What are you waiting for? Find your own mama Blessing today and be a blessing indeed!