Dad, lets Celebrate Mum……….

Within a few hours of anyone hanging out with me in one of those meetings that always start with an unspoken “let me know you more” rule, it’s obvious for anyone to pick that I was raised by a single mother. I mention my mum probably from the third sentence.

“My mum took me to boarding school in class six.” I will start. “She took me to go to an all girls nun’s school. If am nervous around men, blame my upbringing.” My date will give a half smile and think I can’t be the shy type. My face will convince him, but my sweaty palms will be just grateful that there is not going to by a handshake anytime soon.

In the next hour, if the date is that interesting, he will be sure to know that my grandfather is my father figure. “Yes I have a nick name,” IL say when asked to give a fancier name than my first, which I must mention is fancy by all means, but to conform, IL drop Mihas. “Sounds Latin” IL probably be told. Am yet to come to terms with how much flattery can be associated with a name. IL chuckle, you can be excused to think IL be impressed. It’s a Kikuyu name but that IL not mention. What is important is that my grandfather gave it to me and I like it a lot. If he can listen to all that, he can ask me on a second one without fear of me saying IL be going home to do my laundry because I like my clothes to have a personal touch.

Today however it’s not about my date, or my grandpa. I want to write to my father. 

Dear Dad, 

The last time I wrote you a letter was in 2001. I was in class eight. I had asked you for 2000 shillings to go on a trip to the Coast. You know those trips, they give the K.C.P.E candidates just before the exam so that if they fail and get nothing out of school they can at least say they went on a trip? Yes.

You did not reply, I did not expect you to. 

For two reasons; One, you had never written me a letter, ever!! Grandpa wrote me several. Though I could hardly read his medic influenced handwriting, I treasured them and made sure I replied. He never used to read my replies till I close school and I visited him, then he’d remember the letter and wed read it together. I also don’t know why he did that. The second reason why I did not expect a reply was because it was mum’s idea to write the letter. 

Mum always had these crazy ideas that never seemed to work. Do you know she made us move into our then “new” house when the roof was half done and the doors were in place but not functional? We used the window as our entry and exit point for several weeks as we waited for the doors to dry up and strongly fit in place. I wrote about it in a composition when I went back to school and won an award for most creative piece. I was not creative, it was true. Based on the above and other crazy things she made me do, I only gave you a benefit of doubt when I wrote that letter. 

Had you replied, what would the letter have said? “Here is the money use it wisely?” Or something like, “I have worked very hard to earn this money, work as hard in your exams so that you can have a better life.” I want to convince myself that they would be kind words but you would capitalize on the money because something in me tells me you are a little bit mean. 

Thou shall not feel judged by the above statement at all. You know one can’t really know a persons’ character by meeting them an average of five times in twenty something years, three of which you were barely a teenager and the other two hardly lasted for an hour. I bet you also don’t know me. I can imagine you think am a spoilt brat. Or that I hate you. The thing is, I really can’t find the love that daughters have for their dads. Its not there in my heart. I either traded all of it, or it died due to lack of nurturing. So there is no hate, just that love is really, non existent.

  I however saved your number after you called me a few months ago. Although I must admit that I struggled with how to save you. Dad? Well the image I have of you does not fit this word. Father? Too remote. Buda? Id laugh every time I received a text from this one. Sounds very much like a sugar daddy. 

I call grandpa “Guks”, everybody does, and he’s cools with it. He actually loves it, you should hear him call me and say “Mr. Guks hapa!!” Don’t know why he introduces himself. Like I can confuse his number or even worse, his voice for anyone else? Nigga please.

So where were we? I thought of cramming your number so that I don’t have to save it but when you call I know it is you. Well, the flip side is that I sometimes have these crazy days, where I sit with my friends and we celebrate something from Durban and as the Jameson sinks in, your call may come through. Have you ever been invited to a drink up by a person who later asks “And who is this by the way?” Well, you don’t want me to be that person either. 

 I finally did settle on something, but I must make a confession. I had to ask a close pal who has a good relationship with the dad for a few suggestions. This may not be a big deal to you, but it goes to show you how much of stranger the years we have been apart have turned us into. I am not sure if we lived together it would have be any different. I still think love would be non existence, so I applaud mum for not pretending to be nurturing love where it never was in the first place. 

You see dad, it’s hard to write a letter to anyone with whom you do not have a certain level of connection. It is even harder to write to you with out mentioning mum. When people mention dads, the image that flashes though my mind is that of mum followed by grandpa.

You are getting older, Id want to be close to you, and allow you to atone for your sins. But I can’t, at least not fully. Instead I look at my mother in awe everyday. The way she never compromised on the quality of my education. By the way, so you know, I know you left because mum insisted on taking me to an expensive school which was by then a little bit beyond her means and you did not want to help financially. Well we made it through. I can proudly say that my mum paid all my school fees by herself and I was never out of school for more than two days in a term. You can dance on those two days, but that will mean nothing because to me, they were just another break from school monotony.

People make wrong choices in life. Many of which hunt them to the graves. I bet you did not imagine id turn out so bright. You also did not think chubby cheeks were beautiful. May be girls did not bring you much pride. Well, you were wrong. I am sure mum has rubbed it on your face enough times that I am a bright girl. Are you on Instagram? You can look at my pictures and if you do not see beauty, then it’s because your eyes are contaminated with hatred, it’s an ugly thing. I influence a few people in life and even though you will always tell me how you wish me well in life, I am sure you also do not believe I am that little girl you left fatherless. Well am not. I am a better person. When you left her, mum became all I had. A resilient woman and taught me to be just like her.  

This is letter is to you but not about you. Nothing much in my life will ever be about you. It’s too late for that. Its mother’s month, I hope you take this chance to celebrate my mother with me. To appreciate the woman who did not throw away the child you rejected. To thank her for her tireless effort to make your daughter a successful woman in society. She had every right to walk out on me like you did, give me poor quality education or even trade me into child labor but she chose the noble thing.Do not buy her a dress, I doubt you know her size. Don’t buy her a shoe, she will never wear it. Do not ask her out for lunch, she will probably be having a special date. Just call her and tell her thank you for raising the child you rejected. 

Happy mothers day mum. I love you.