Project 9ja Mag The Revolution. 1st Edition | Page 8

Project9ja
Iyabo
The memory runs evergreen in my mind with her pres-
ence; the living fragment of my lost whole — my com-
pleteness. Her gait, so very much like her mother’s.
How exactly alike they man the kitchen and raise
no doubts about great culinary skills which speak
for itself. I watch her busy herself with the mortar
pounding dried herbs and roots for the family med-
icine. I watch the pestle sink into the cutout depth of
the mortar and hear familiar pounding accompa-
ny her whistling. Then I wonder if she does
really whistle. If the pestle pounds
rhythmically like her mother’s.
If it isn’t just figments of my
imaginations — hallucina-
tions of a healing heart.
But I know it’s more than
just imaginations. I see it
in her gentleness; in her
contagious
laughter;
in
the gap-toothed, dimpled
smile she gives; in the
way she rouses early and
steers up the household
to family devotions ig-
noring the grumblings
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