A Children’s story by Emmanuel Ikechukwu
Edited by Chimee Adịọha
Grandma sits on top of a wooden stool outside, enjoying the breeze. It’s 3:00 in the evening. Twilight will soon set in when the sun retires to sleep for the day. Outside, she watches the children play. Five of them, gathering tins of tomato which will serve as their pot, plucking leaves from the plants that grow beside the fence, setting stones together to serve as their cooking tripod and a lot of other things. Grandma watches.
One of the girls brought her wrapper with her. So she ties it underneath her armpit so that she will resemble a matriarch or a big mother. The boy sits on a stone and crosses his legs, demonstrating like a big father. His face is strong, or maybe pretending to be so that his presence will command the respect that he has seen his father command. The girl— mother— is now screaming at the other children who now gather those things that will be used for the cooking.
Strands of sticks and brooms are set at the sides of the set stones. The tin of tomato is kept on top. Sand is scooped into it and the cooking starts.
“Pour water, you want my food to burn!” The fake mother screams.
“Sorry ma”, One of the children apologizes.
A smirk is on his face. How he’s enjoying it.
“Okay, shred the leaves!”
Another of the children collects the leaves and starts shredding them. This one’s face is serious. She wants to appear like a dedicated child. A real daughter. So she does not smile while she shreds.
“Ugomma!” Father screams from his sitting room.
“Nna anyị!” The mother answers.
“I need water”.
“Okay!” She turns to the boy. “Oya, go and give your father water!”
“No”, the boy argues. “This is not the part you should tell me to go. He should scream a second time.”
“Oooohm”, the mother drops her hands, “You’re spoiling it. I know what I’m doing.”
“No, I’m not doing again!” The boy folds his hands, with a show of no interest. The serious girl stops shredding the leaves.
“This boy”, she says. “We will not call you again for our play” She hisses.
Grandma is enjoying this. This is erupting so much emotions in her. So many memories. Nostalgia. She was once a child. She once played this drama. She once turned sand into a boiling pot of spices. She was once this human being, when all was clearly bright and joyous. So she does not remove her eyes.
The father who requested water minutes ago stands up and declares that he will not play again and has to go home. The sky is now home to the dramatic colors of sunset. The clouds are now moving swiftly. One of the girls looked up. She does not bring down her eyes for a long time. She is stunned. Watching the clouds move as if with legs or wings. Her mouth is open. She does not hear the other children pack up and tell her that they are leaving. She is lost in this wonder. And as if nature just reminded her to speak of what she is adoring, she points at the sky and screams:
“Look! Heaven is going home.”
She brings down her head and realizes that she is alone. Now she notices Grandma. And the old woman smiles at her and respond:
“Yes, my dear. Heaven is going home. And so should you.”