Hello Yarners, how did your week go? trust it went well. It’s the very first day of change in Nigeria and we sincerely pray that this country fulfills it’s great potentials.
And for this weeks’ feature presentation -Enjoy our ‘baby-writer’.
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I’m getting used to this environment, the bright lights, the many smiling faces, different hands swinging me up in the air, the noise, and lately the hot weather.
I’m just six months out here and things are really different from where I used to be. Enclosed in a thin sac with no form of movement, there was a tube that even if I’m not sure what the use was for, made sure I didn’t move a lot.
I remember the day I came out of that sac – the journey is not something I want to write about right now, maybe much further in the diary because I don’t think I have the writing skills to precisely articulate the experience.
I have two sisters who can’t seem to stop running round the house. I don’t blame them though because I’m anxiously waiting for when my legs are strong enough to carry me up on its own, so I can join them in the race to nowhere.
Last month I just discovered I could kick harder than usual, so when my sisters are running around, I do my running in one spot, kicking out into the air. When I do this, it usually gets everyone excited as they stop and start staring -gosh can these people stare?!
As much as I can’t wait to join my sisters in running around, I have also noticed that adults who have much more stronger legs don’t seem to like to run around. All they do is walk.
Why would I have such strong legs and the only way I want to use them is by walking? That’s boring.
The only time I’ve seen my dad (don’t ask me how I know he’s my dad) run is when I was like a month and some days old and as usual I was up at night crying for food. As my mum tucked her nipples into my mouth to appease me, I heard my dad grumbling something about a meeting in the morning, picking a pillow and hurrying out of the room.
He has not slept in the room since that night he ran away, I know there are several other rooms he could be sleeping in so I’m not so bothered, plus ever since he left, my sisters have been imported from their room to come sleep with mummy and I -maybe he took their room, these adults are capable of many things.
Did I tell you that I love to eat?
Aah! I love to eat o, eat and sleep, they say that’s what babies do and I do my job really well. After my meals, they usually have the air-conditioner working and so it doesn’t matter if it’s afternoon or night, I’m usually cool enough to sleep. Lately though, the air-conditioner has not been coming on as there have been no power. They say there’s fuel scarcity -I don’t know what that means, but I know it’s a bad thing as they changed my food because of that.
I first noticed that the food can was different as instead of the picture of a cow that I was used to, all I could see were grains plastered on the new can.
The picture was not so much the problem but that the taste felt bland on my tongue. I shut my mouth as tightly as I could but grandma found a way of driving the teat of the bottle into my mouth.
I was clearly being forced to take this new tasteless meal.
The teat became my play tool as I used it to scratch my itching gum, refusing to suck. The battle lasted for another thirty minutes before my grandma and my mum got the message – I wasn’t going to take this new meal.
I had a big frown on my face as I watched them debate on the next step to take and then I saw my grandma empty the bottle, bring out my usual meal from a bag where they had it nestled in and prepared me a proper meal.
As the teat slid into my mouth, my cheeks relaxed into a smile and I gave her my mischievous grin as the familiar sweet taste of my meal hit my tongue.
‘This shii is what I’m talking about’ – I got that from my sisters cartoons.
She looked at me with a smirk on her face and smacked my bum-bum lightly. I couldn’t care less as I was basking in the euphoria of my victory as I sucked on the bottle.
I’m feeling sleepy as I write this so maybe I’ll just close up the diary for today. Tomorrow is another day.
I don’t play with my sleep and I think I’m not the only one in this family who doesn’t play with sleep. My five year old sister doesn’t play with sleep at all. I overheard her complaining to our mum that I should be tossed out of the room so she could have a better sleep as my cries at night were making her lose sleep, causing her to sleep during school hours.
Using the exact words she used, she actually said all I do was go ‘yhaaan…yhaaan…yhaaan, is she the only children?’ she had asked in frustration.
‘Child,’ my mum had corrected her, but my sister was not ready for any english lecture. She usually is very impatient with anything that threatens her sleep. She is very passionate about sleep.
I remember one night when I had woken up with my ringtone of ‘yhaaan…yhaaan… yhaaan…’ and like it was already programmed, my mum had closed my mouth with her nipples (she’s so skilled at finding my mouth with her nipples these days, that we don’t need the light). After having my fill, I relaxed on the bed, refusing to close my eyes and go to sleep as my custom was. In-fact I had a smile playing around my lips as my eyes searched the darkness for nothing in particular.
My mum veiled the light from her phone as she cast the reflections on my face. She was peeking at me, hoping to herself that I had fallen asleep so she too could go back to sleep but unfortunately for her, she found a big smile on my face.
I heard her let out a big sigh as she realized it was going to be a very long night. It’s not my plan to keep anybody awake at night, it’s just that if the room is too hot because NEPA has refused to give us power and my parents in their wisdom have put off the generator, then I would need partners with me on my vigil, after-all mama wey say im baby no go sleep, him sef no go sleep. The original version of that idiom is slightly different.
As these thoughts ran through my head, (this is to let the adults know that yes -babies also think), I started hearing some noises from my mum, she was snoring!
I’m still a baby writer so I don’t know what words to use to describe the sound of her snoring but trust me, it’s not musical at all. It sounds like notes being played out from a broken guitar. Grandma’s snoring is more dramatic, it’s like a scene from an action movie.
Thinking of grandma’s snoring has put a smile on my face again, that woman can snore for Africa! Her snoring is really action packed but I love her very much.
Sorry for the digression, I’m still working on keeping my focus as a writer but these adults won’t let a baby focus, they keep coming at you with different pieces of drama. So I was telling you about that night my mum’s snoring wouldn’t let me sleep, right?
Well, as I tried to accommodate the snoring in my head seeing that I didn’t want to wake the house up with my ringtone, I prayed that the snoring would stop and like an answer to my prayer, I heard a ‘slapping’ sound in the dark.
‘Huh,’ my mum’s voice groaned in the dark, she had been roused awake with a slap.
‘Please let somebody sleep now, baby won’t let somebody sleep, you too won’t let somebody sleep,’ my five year old sister said, chastising her.
‘Sorry ma,’ my mum replied. The slap halting her snores.
I couldn’t believe the scenes before me, my five year old sister slapping my mum and my mum apologizing to her after being slapped? That can only happen because of sleep.
As I enjoyed the quiet in the room courtesy the wonderful slap from my hero to my mum, I realized that there are many things I want to be when I grow up.
I want to be like my five year old sister but first I want to be a writer.
P.S – They say all great writers end their diary sessions with a signature, I picked U. as my signature. It’s the first letter of my name. Tell me what you think about my first diary session, do you like it?
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