Cards: Sharing Moments with my Grandma
I started this scribble 6 years ago with the story of my grandma dying. She was the sparkle of my childhood visits to the village. Like every granny, she gave everything to see me and my siblings smile each time our parents reeled us in redundant threats. Grandma was everywoman yet she breathes her last like a man. She had shouldered taking care of my dad and his four siblings few years into their marriage. In my uncle’s voice, “granny worked extra hard to keep her children safe and well nurtured”. Grandpa, on the other hand, died tiny years into their marriage and grandma was left to chew her fate alone.
Whoever came visiting did that once in a blue moon. Grandma died peacefully. My cousin had narrated her death saying “granny combed her scanty grey hair, beat her shrunk face with some mentholated powder before finally resting her back on her bed. She requested for water which I playfully went to get. I knew she must have smiled continuously the moment I headed for the kitchen. Then, I noticed something jacked: not once but thrice. I quickly left the flask I was holding to check on her. But she was fine with her smiles brighter than before.
I went back into the kitchen and on filling her favourite mug with warm water something jacked again. This time Granny wasn’t smiling anymore. She had lost her smile and was holding on to something closest to her last. Tears ran down her face. I didn’t know what to do. Was I to scream or put a call through to someone? Oh, the most uncertain moments in our lives come with multiple directions demanding a decision. I ran to the neighbours with the hope that granny would hang on. She tried to but the jacking became violent. It was as though every part of her body was locking up speedily. I picked up my phone to call my dad, having tried a number of times before. It was too late: her teeth were already greeted with thick saliva foaming through the side of her mouth. Grandma died dropping off her hands like a warrior. Everywhere became silent.”
Grandma certainly found her peace in death. No more hovering doubts about tomorrow screwing the blissfulness of the present. She was fine on the other side looking back at her past. I was a part of her past the same way she locks herself inside my present in form of memories. She was my ever-green friend and we shared the best part of our friendship learning from each other. It was either I was being taught about the ruling system of the village or she had a farm somewhere she wanted me to visit. She was always happy to let me in on the history of my village, Ijebu-Iwaya. She told me how my ancestors had migrated from somewhere in the old Ife kingdom to the present location in Ogun state.
She said, the migration was led by two warriors but on getting to the Ade river, the warriors split the conquered territories between themselves. The older one chose the portion before the river and named it Iwoye while the other named the remaining land after the river Iwaya. It was okay enough to know that my people were one of the richest in terms of gods and voodoos. Grandma said the Iwaya people have seven Oguns which they celebrate annually. She added that the powers of our ancestors were foregrounded to the point that one of the kings was a close associate of the Awujale of Ijebu kingdom. She described the man as a wealthy man who dressed himself immaculately.
I too taught grandma some English greetings and di-syllabic words. Even though she was eager to learn these words she soon forgot them the moment she responded to a greeting or talk from some older women walking past her zinc kitchen area — that was where we fried the processed cassava.
Grandma didn’t grapple with life too hard. She believed life was too fragile to be tight-fisted. I remember one evening, while we were underneath the big family tree where she laid her snacks for the festive sales. It was two days to the coming year and she was bent on telling a story about how she used to hawk from one village to another before she started her food business at home.
She was happy to tell me that life wouldn’t give me what I want — it will only respond to how I perceive it. She held my hands at some point and placed a card on them saying — “opportunities are like open cards given to you. You either make use of these cards or you dump them. Mind you, those who summon the courage to use theirs consistently get to have a need for more but an unused card remains a waste”.
I didn’t really get her point so I asked — “grandma, what do you mean by this?”
She smiled and again held my hands tighter. She explained. “Life is a card — full of uncertainty — and no one has a full grasp of it. Even at that, you are self-obligated to make the best out of life. You must be willing to share yourself with God and the people around you –in good, bad, and in-between days. You must make the world see the value you possess, open them to what makes you the only one in your skin. Don’t try to perfectly figure out everything — the future will always be uncertain, not even one’s chi can accurately predict this. Just pull along with your dreams and motivations for life. And even if you fail at this, let it be that you failed on the way and not off the way.
Failure is as uncertain as success but both demand levels of consistency, passive or active. Make new friends, do new things, read about new ideas, touch new lives and live freer each day because a life unlived is dead. My child, not everyone will be willing to share their cards with you, even after giving them yours: life is that unkind. Move on when they don’t. Don’t let this stagnant you, keep on moving and share even more. What is given out creates space for others. You owe yourself this but you can also choose not to — it is a choice. I have just shared mine with you.”
It’s been a long time I visited the village. I really missed Grandma but our memories together keep her safe inside me. You too can go — go share your cards, keep sharing them.
