HAMZ MUSINGS: FAMILY; THE TIE THAT BINDS.
FAMILY; THE TIE THAT BINDS.
By Hamz
I grew up in one of the rural parts of Nigeria. Where most of the houses were built with mud and the roofs were thatched; where malnourished children ran around the streets naked. We walked distances to fetch water from the stream and the roads were not tarred. And, when it rained, the roofs to our house leaked and destroyed some of our belongings. And when it shined, the giant trees that surrounded us did little to shade us from the scorching African Sun that was a perpetual angry, giant ball in the Sky.
I lived with my elder brother, younger sister and parents. I was the dutiful son: when it rained and the roofs leaked, I placed buckets in all the positions where it did; I focused hard in school and studied as much as I could. Mother and father had big dreams and expectations of me. I would go to the big city one day, and I would study to become a doctor. I would get rich and emancipate the family from the state of impoverishment.
Those days, when I got back from school, I joined my father on the farm and helped till the almost-unproductive soil. At weekends, I followed mother to the market and helped her sell the little we had managed to harvest from Father's farm. Whenever she was sick, I would go alone. Sometimes, when our neighbours weren't around, I stayed back to watch over my little sister, whose petulance and naivety irked me. Maybe I expected too much from her. She was, after all, only six and never really understood how tough things were. Taiye as we fondly called her, was scraggy-looking and loud mouthed. Something I found amusingly ironic, because she ate the most, and became a snivelling brat whenever she didn't have her way. Sometimes, I let her have some of my portion. Seeing her cry brought back memories of her twin sister who died of Cholera when they were four years old.
It was my brother, though, that had me fuming most times. He made me wish I could overpower him and beat some sense into him. His lack of vision and his nonchalance caused my blood to boil time and time again. Or, maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was the way he made our parents- especially my mother- worry. Maybe it was the way he crossed his arms and with a stern expression on his face said 'Don't tell me what to do, I can live my own life as I wish'. I wanted to hurt him physically on numerous occasions, but I couldn't. I cursed my lack of strength.
One day, he, without prior warning, left the house. I came home to our mother, a dispirited look on her face. 'Your brother is gone' she said drably. Immediately, a disturbing thought raced through my mind. And several questions popped into my head. Gone?. Gone where?. He couldn't possibly be dead?. How did it happen?. Where is everyone else?. I asked myself in succession.
Her voice jolted me out of my state of panic. 'He packed his things and left today. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen. He said he wants his freedom,' she continued amidst sobs. I felt both relief and anger. Relief because he wasn't dead as I feared, and anger because, to me, he was a fool wilfully headed for destruction. Also because of the distress I knew his absence would cause our parents.
The mood around the house was sour for days after he left. Mother remained melancholy, father tried to comfort her as much as he could, and Taiye ate all the food. There were constant rumours about his whereabouts. People would occasionally come to us to inform us about where they had last seen him, and mother would make us go there in search of him even though we never found him, even when it made no sense that he would be at that particular place, even when father told her to stop; that it was pointless, because we all knew deep down he wasn't there, because it was evidently a futile struggle. She wouldn't give up.
Once, there were rumours of his death circulating the neighbourhood, and mother wept the whole week and refused to speak or be spoken to. She barely touched her meals and lamented incessantly. 'Why did you do this to me, Adavize?.' she would randomly ask and break into a hysterical fit. I feared that she had lost her mind.
Time heals all wounds, so did it ours. As the years went by, we became accustomed to his absence. Mother was her usual self again. Taiye still ate all the food in the house. Then, he showed up!. One day, out of the blue, my long-lost brother appeared in our front yard. His arms and legs that were once so muscular and bulky, I envied them, were now bony and seemed like they would break if he walked too fast or moved them too hard. His hair was dishevelled and his face scarred. When he smiled, it looked strained and forced. He wasn't my brother as I knew him. I was nonplussed, so I remained glued to the spot where I stood, my gaze fixated on the stranger that stood in front of us.
It was mother who let out a shrill shout of joy then ran towards him singing 'My son is back, my enemies have been put to shame' even as she danced around him. She touched his face, danced around him, then touched his face again. As if touching him once wasn't enough proof for her, as if to further confirm what we all could clearly see- my brother had returned. Father simply shook his head, but could not hide the grin that had immediately formed on his face. The prodigal son had returned. His prodigal son
Later, as he narrated his story, as mother ordered me around to do this and that, as she prepared him his favourite meal, I wanted to be angry. I wanted to remind her of a lot of things: that it was me who remained and fulfilled his duties, that it was me who acted as the pillar of the family when father was unavailable, that it was me who walked miles to fetch water for the family, that it was me who watched over my little sister when they weren't there; who helped her with her assignments. I wanted to say a lot, to flare up, but I couldn't or I simply didn't. Because I was happy to see my brother once more, because I missed him too, because I was glad he was not dead as we all thought, because I knew instinctively that things would be different this time around; that he had turned a new leaf. We were a family again.
I could have resented him. I could have felt hard done by. I could have loathed both our parents for forgiving him so easily, for making it so easy for him, for celebrating his return like it was a milestone achievement. I didn't, however. I love my family. We are blood, we are family. Although we have our differences, although we do not always get along, although we sometimes cause ourselves pain, we remain family.
Family: It is what brings us together. It is what makes our love unconditional. It is the tie that binds us.
All Rights Reserved ©HamzWrites
Written by Esoteric Hamz.
Connect with me on>>
Facebook: Esoteric Hamz
Instagram: @Hamson_Skills1
Twitter: @Hamson_Skillz
By Hamz
I grew up in one of the rural parts of Nigeria. Where most of the houses were built with mud and the roofs were thatched; where malnourished children ran around the streets naked. We walked distances to fetch water from the stream and the roads were not tarred. And, when it rained, the roofs to our house leaked and destroyed some of our belongings. And when it shined, the giant trees that surrounded us did little to shade us from the scorching African Sun that was a perpetual angry, giant ball in the Sky.
I lived with my elder brother, younger sister and parents. I was the dutiful son: when it rained and the roofs leaked, I placed buckets in all the positions where it did; I focused hard in school and studied as much as I could. Mother and father had big dreams and expectations of me. I would go to the big city one day, and I would study to become a doctor. I would get rich and emancipate the family from the state of impoverishment.
Those days, when I got back from school, I joined my father on the farm and helped till the almost-unproductive soil. At weekends, I followed mother to the market and helped her sell the little we had managed to harvest from Father's farm. Whenever she was sick, I would go alone. Sometimes, when our neighbours weren't around, I stayed back to watch over my little sister, whose petulance and naivety irked me. Maybe I expected too much from her. She was, after all, only six and never really understood how tough things were. Taiye as we fondly called her, was scraggy-looking and loud mouthed. Something I found amusingly ironic, because she ate the most, and became a snivelling brat whenever she didn't have her way. Sometimes, I let her have some of my portion. Seeing her cry brought back memories of her twin sister who died of Cholera when they were four years old.
It was my brother, though, that had me fuming most times. He made me wish I could overpower him and beat some sense into him. His lack of vision and his nonchalance caused my blood to boil time and time again. Or, maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was the way he made our parents- especially my mother- worry. Maybe it was the way he crossed his arms and with a stern expression on his face said 'Don't tell me what to do, I can live my own life as I wish'. I wanted to hurt him physically on numerous occasions, but I couldn't. I cursed my lack of strength.
One day, he, without prior warning, left the house. I came home to our mother, a dispirited look on her face. 'Your brother is gone' she said drably. Immediately, a disturbing thought raced through my mind. And several questions popped into my head. Gone?. Gone where?. He couldn't possibly be dead?. How did it happen?. Where is everyone else?. I asked myself in succession.
Her voice jolted me out of my state of panic. 'He packed his things and left today. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen. He said he wants his freedom,' she continued amidst sobs. I felt both relief and anger. Relief because he wasn't dead as I feared, and anger because, to me, he was a fool wilfully headed for destruction. Also because of the distress I knew his absence would cause our parents.
The mood around the house was sour for days after he left. Mother remained melancholy, father tried to comfort her as much as he could, and Taiye ate all the food. There were constant rumours about his whereabouts. People would occasionally come to us to inform us about where they had last seen him, and mother would make us go there in search of him even though we never found him, even when it made no sense that he would be at that particular place, even when father told her to stop; that it was pointless, because we all knew deep down he wasn't there, because it was evidently a futile struggle. She wouldn't give up.
Once, there were rumours of his death circulating the neighbourhood, and mother wept the whole week and refused to speak or be spoken to. She barely touched her meals and lamented incessantly. 'Why did you do this to me, Adavize?.' she would randomly ask and break into a hysterical fit. I feared that she had lost her mind.
Time heals all wounds, so did it ours. As the years went by, we became accustomed to his absence. Mother was her usual self again. Taiye still ate all the food in the house. Then, he showed up!. One day, out of the blue, my long-lost brother appeared in our front yard. His arms and legs that were once so muscular and bulky, I envied them, were now bony and seemed like they would break if he walked too fast or moved them too hard. His hair was dishevelled and his face scarred. When he smiled, it looked strained and forced. He wasn't my brother as I knew him. I was nonplussed, so I remained glued to the spot where I stood, my gaze fixated on the stranger that stood in front of us.
It was mother who let out a shrill shout of joy then ran towards him singing 'My son is back, my enemies have been put to shame' even as she danced around him. She touched his face, danced around him, then touched his face again. As if touching him once wasn't enough proof for her, as if to further confirm what we all could clearly see- my brother had returned. Father simply shook his head, but could not hide the grin that had immediately formed on his face. The prodigal son had returned. His prodigal son
Later, as he narrated his story, as mother ordered me around to do this and that, as she prepared him his favourite meal, I wanted to be angry. I wanted to remind her of a lot of things: that it was me who remained and fulfilled his duties, that it was me who acted as the pillar of the family when father was unavailable, that it was me who walked miles to fetch water for the family, that it was me who watched over my little sister when they weren't there; who helped her with her assignments. I wanted to say a lot, to flare up, but I couldn't or I simply didn't. Because I was happy to see my brother once more, because I missed him too, because I was glad he was not dead as we all thought, because I knew instinctively that things would be different this time around; that he had turned a new leaf. We were a family again.
I could have resented him. I could have felt hard done by. I could have loathed both our parents for forgiving him so easily, for making it so easy for him, for celebrating his return like it was a milestone achievement. I didn't, however. I love my family. We are blood, we are family. Although we have our differences, although we do not always get along, although we sometimes cause ourselves pain, we remain family.
Family: It is what brings us together. It is what makes our love unconditional. It is the tie that binds us.
All Rights Reserved ©HamzWrites
Written by Esoteric Hamz.
Connect with me on>>
Facebook: Esoteric Hamz
Instagram: @Hamson_Skills1
Twitter: @Hamson_Skillz
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