I was born on a certain Thursday the 18th of January 1979 and I was later told that my father who had been hoping to have a Son this time around (since their first child was a girl), just resolved to treat me like one.
I was the kind you will call a ‘jolly’ kid (full of fun, love and life and sure I am still one), who left home in the mornings only to be brought back in the evenings from a hard day of play in the entire neighbourhood in all kinds of homes.
My alias or nickname “Ayo” is kind of an exclamation like ‘Oh my God’. The Douala people use it in their dialect to dramatize or exclaim and several songs had some Ayo word to my childish annoyance.
I had all sorts of friends then and still do; there were big ones and those my age, from richer homes and from poorer homes, school goers and school dropouts, boys and girls, sure just about every and anybody even a madman.
Back at home, I was everywhere and nowhere. Loved and cherished by my family. I often incurred the wrath of my mother, was always getting into some kind of accident and loved fighting in school mostly to protect my kid brother irrespective of whether he was at fault.
I however came to realize that my parents’ relationship was almost kind of “master-servant” and all at home including my siblings, dreaded my father. Whenever he was coming back home, at the sound of his car, the house was rearranged and everybody went behind the house or into his or her rooms.
I couldn’t share my worries with anybody, neither about this nor about any other issues a teenage girl of my nature could possibly be facing.
I carried my inner struggles and outer smiles and jolliness to secondary and high school and eventually to University.
I started sinking deeply, gradually living parallel lives; promising myself things were sure going to get better, and that maybe all I needed was my own home.
Disaster, what a wrong decision I made to marry for all the reasons but love. And so I paid the price, made that ultimate sacrifice and packed my belongings. There were however the most precious ones I could not take and those were my children. What a mock, pity and shame!
However, after wandering in the desert – maybe for 40 days too, I returned to my mother – as a prodigal daughter. She gave me the chance to start again and my gardening took me from Tanzania and now Belgium.
I have so far been able to pull a lot of the pieces of my life together but yes how I miss my boys whom I fondly call “mes 3 mousquetaires”. They however are my greatest motivation for starting all over and working harder each day.
I am not ashamed to be learning some basics like using a Google Calendar or Google Drive, eating properly on the dining table or simply operating either a dishwasher or a washing machine.
I have learnt a lot since starting out here, got into social networking and yes am faring, woah I am even getting to virtually meet so many inspiring people.
I just wish some younger girls get some inspiration herein and if this post could save even just one or motivate yet another to start again, or hang on, then I will have accomplished something.
So there you go for this weekend in my Garden, feel free and sure welcome to leave a comment or suggestion as you leave…