POEMS BY ONE MICAIAH
Mother Hustle
I looked at her
dreaded face with a face full of pity. My head wouldn’t stop shaking while my
brain was being paraded by casual strings of thoughts. What happened to her?
Why does she look so dreadful? I deeply want to know more, so I’m definitely
telling you more about her.
She is a mother. A
hustling mother. She runs through the streets of Lagos all day to make rough
ends meet. She’s with her baby backed with perfection. Nothing can ever take it
off her back; not even the rigorous race for survival in the Lagos market. She
carries a load of common soft drinks and pure water on her head, a bucket full
of biscuits and sweets in her left hand, and packs of dissimilar everyday use
accessories with the right. I still wonder how she does these all by herself.
I guess that didn’t
explain why she looked so saddened, right? She’s a passionate woman; however, the job
doesn’t look like the kind that cares about one’s passion. She seemed a
lot happy with herself pursuing sitting passengers in any commercial bus just
to deliver a bottle of coke, a pack of sweets, or maybe just one pure water.
I’ve always seen only the joyful part of her until this very moment. She’s sad.
“Where’s
your husband?” I asked innocently.
She shook her head
with a deep sigh. “Is it that man?”
she said rhetorically. “Don’t mind that
man jare.” She looked disappointed.
“One
coke!” A passenger called out from a steady moving bus.
She quickly grabbed a
bottle and ran after the woman. I couldn’t believe she still managed a fine
smile out of her joyless face. She rushed back to where I was, and we
rearranged her commodity accordingly. They had fallen over the streets.
Some set of mad thugs
had recently bought some goods from her without paying. They had cheated on her
greatly, and there was nothing she could do about it. They even had to throw
bucket full of drinks and water away, because she tried arguing with them. A
large flow of tears dropped down her face after I asked her how long she’s been
suffering the same fate. I understood. She need not say a word anymore. She’s
already deeply pained.
It made me think
about my mother too. How much she’s had to suffer just to see us grow. To see
me become who I’m supposed to be. How she’d had to endure all of the pains and
suffering in order to lead us towards the right path. She made the impact, I
feel her pains too and I miss her more than anyone else in my life. Every
single living day.
Yours forever.
One Micaiah
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