Mother's not feeling very fine. Little sister calls to inform me. “But, it’s not serious,” she assures. “I just wanted to tell you so, you can tell me the drugs to buy for her."

I have very little change in my mobile account but, I tell little sister to send her 'easy to withdraw account number' so I'll send that little to her, no matter how small, so she'll buy apples and oranges for mother, at least until I can send something more. I also, in the same breath, ask her to give mother the phone so I'll listen to her complaints.

Little sister informs mum and gives her the phone.

But, mother sounds healthy and laughing. To  my surprise.

"I mee aga, how are you?" she asks, instead. "I hope you're feeding well?"

Those words, I’ve heard them everyday since I left home for the first time, for school. And, I’ve learned to swoosh them away by instantly replying “Don’t wooorrrry mama!”

Sometimes, it makes her laugh. Sometimes, it makes her complain. “You’re always saying ‘don’t worry!’ ‘Don’t worry!’" she complains.

"I am OK, mama," I answer offhand. "How's your health?"

I want to shift the discussion towards her health immediately, before she'll make me forget about her and worry about me, as she usually does. Mother knows how to give up her own desires just to fulfill mine.

So, I try to find out about her symptoms. But, she's being aversive until little sister rebukes her.

"Won't you tell him about your symptoms?" she rebukes.

But, mother snaps back. "Please, don't let him starts worrying about me. The boy has a lot of problems in his head already. Let my son be. I’ll be fine."

So, she tries to allay my fears. "Nnam, don't worry about me. I've gotten some medication. Lonart and paracetamol. It’s  just malaria. And the fever is gradually going away."

Then she goes off, asking:
"Hope you have paid your school fees?
Hope you're studying your books? Hope you're taking care of yourself?"
“Hope you’ve  seen the girl?”
“Hope you’re not  having any problems?”

And on and on and on.

Until I stop her. Until I begin to wet my book with tears. Until I begin to feel guilty because I've never done anything for her,  to deserve that kind of love, the same love she’s  shown me since I was born. Until little sister takes the phone away to tell me that she’s gotten the credit alert.

***

Now, I can’t see the letters in my book anymore because of the tears which has clouded my view, like the rain cloud has done to the sky above.

Now, even  after clerking her and prescribing drugs on the phone- just some antihistamines to add to the antimalarial she’s started taking, I feel so much guilt and despair and shame because I’ve never really cared for mother half the way she’s cared for me.

Even the cool breeze of nightfall is not changing my mood. Even  the fact the I’ve just understood the topic I’ve been reading, is not making me happy. There’s only shame and guilt and tears.

“Mother, I am sorry, I’ve never made you proud. I am sorry.” My soul bleeds.

"You're my blessing, son," I hear hers say in reply.

And I’m mortified.

I’ll try to work harder so, I’ll be able to give her the best, the things she deserves.


©Nnaemeka Ugwu