Mothers' Day 2000 by CAMERON DUODU I never sent her A Mother's Day card Because she couldn't have read it- Or so I told myself. But was it a lie? Don't countless thousands Write letters to their Illiterate folk To be read for them By others? Oh, but "my feelings Towards my mother Are private; No-one should be privy To them." Oh? Was her love for you kept hidden? Did she not walk behind you Her stomach bulging with Bill; Eight months pregnant, Wasn't she? Well, so it seemed To your teenage Embarrassed eye! She walked with you In the hot afternoon sun; The road tarmac So searing hot It pulled the sole Of both foot and Footwear in an awkward squelch; But did she feel shy? Did her steps falter? She walked into your school And secured your reinstatement. You had run off to Accra In search of 'adventure': To be 'the youngest taxi driver'; But she saw for you A future greater than that. So although labour could Force itself upon her In the lorry On its eight-mile journey On a bumpy road, Or as she walked the half-mile Along that road In the hot sun, She walked you to the school. And Headmaster Mr Dadzie, So beloved of his pupils That they named him 'Kwame Achacha' (The hunchbacked One) Even though his back was straight; Did not wicked 'Kwame Achacha' Gazing at her sweaty face And her pregnant delicateness Jettison his monster's Persona and take pity On you and re-inscribe Your name in the register Without so much As administering one stroke Of his sadist's cane On your shaking buttocks? Was her action The product of hidden love? She didn't care Who witnessed her love for you But you thought Someone else reading Your words to her Would rob her of them! So you robbed both By not sending any words at all! And now Two years on, When she's vanished From the face Of the earth You wish she were here This Mother's Day To hear these words from you: Mother I love you I love you I love you I love you! You did try to say it with cloth, yes; You often said it with cash; And it was always in your eyes When you embraced her; But was it enough? Yes-I think she knew And oh yes - I think she knows Even today That I cry tears When a face reminds me of hers; Or -- when she just flits Across my mind's eye To take over Whatever it is That I am thinking. I think this explains it all: Mother, you were me And I am you! Ours is a bond Beyond any words And pictures That a mere card can carry; And will remain Ever thus. Oh Mother. My dear dear Mother. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- To unsubscribe/subscribe or view archives of postings, go to the Gambia-L Web interface at: http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/gambia-l.html ----------------------------------------------------------------------------