Parents in my childhood didn’t concern themselves with entertaining their children. Boredom was not their concern. You were left to your own devices, and we soon found ways to entertain ourselves.
During the day, we wandered aimlessly, threw sticks, played tente or suwe and invented games with rules so convoluted and ever-changing it inevitably ended in an argument. But at night, when darkness settled and there was no electricity, boredom was a very familiar visitor.
Enter my aunty.
She would gather us all round the dull glow of a kerosene lantern and tell us African folk stories, complete with call and response songs. She regaled us with tales of singing animals, wily foxes and wise tortoises, all embellished with cultural references that made it feel as though the stories had happened right in our own backyard. With a wink and a knowing nod, she told them as if she had witnessed the events with her own eyes. We would beg for one more story, as children always do, and she gladly obliged. Until mum finally insisted it was time for bed.
Her children were the only ones allowed over for holidays and sleepovers. Both she and my mum were thrust into single motherhood by necessity, both faced the challenge with bravery and gusto. I watched them hustle to make sure that their children never went hungry. My aunty held multiple jobs, catering, party planner and MCing events. Blessed with the gift of the gab and an infectious laugh, she radiated warmth and joy as she ushered new brides into their married lives through the elaborate rituals of a traditional wedding. Life seemed harder for her than it was for us, but I never once heard her complain or saw her weary.
Recently as I was making up a bedtime story for my son, I remembered her stories and the joy she added to my childhood, One of my regrets has always been not sitting with my mum to hear her own story. So I made a note in my to-do list to reach out to my aunty, to ask if she could record some of those stories for my children.
Today I got the news that she has passed after a short illness.
Another library lost.
Rest well, Aunt Elizabeth.
