WELCOME TO SISI BUNMI'S BLOG

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He fondly calls me 'mummy' and I return the favour by calling
him 'son.' He is a young man I met when I took my own son for Saturday football
sessions. We became close and I would often ask him to run errands for me or he
would just visit and we would talk, eat and drink together. He tried to marry
my secretary at the time but she had no time for him. You see I have so many of
such ‘sons’ and ‘daughters’ whom I have lovingly cultivated and whom I cherish
a lot. They are young, hard - working, talented, focused, hopeful and happy.
Despite the hardship and lack of opportunities in our country they continue to
devise means to survive and even to soar. They refuse to bow down to poverty
and deprivation. These young people I admire a lot and I love to be with.</div>
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So it was that my son finally brought home his fiancée, a
beautiful and industrious young woman whose comportment, confidence and humility
soon mesmerized me. She is
a teacher, a very gifted one at that. I told my
son he had struck gold with this young lady and the sky is the limit for them.
He was very lucky indeed to be engaged to such a lovely lady who despite his
lack of material ownership has agreed to be his wife.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The courtship was short and the traditional wedding was very
modest. There was no fuss, just a Spartan ceremony with a handful of family and
friends to formalize the union of two young people as they set forth on their
path to the future. It was a truly romantic event. <o:p></o:p></div>
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They soon settled in their new home in a place called
Asokoro village, Abuja, two rooms in a compound of many rooms. My son was
happy, soon I began to see the beginnings of a pot belly and I quickly pointed
same to him, we laughed and he assured me that he would work on it. I watched
him as he transformed from a young hustling bachelor into a young hustling but content
newly married man.  He laughed even more as
he discussed their plans for the future with me over a meal of roast plantain
and ground nuts which he graciously brought for me on a lunch time visit to my
office, he knows how much I like my roast plantain!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Life continued at its usual pace and we saw less of each
other but kept in touch regularly on the phone. One day he came around to see
me to announce the expectation of their first baby. I was ecstatic! He would
love a girl as he thinks daughters are adorable and cute.  I prayed that they have a healthy child
regardless of the gender and that she has a safe pregnancy and a safe delivery when
the time comes. She had no preference either for the gender of the baby, a healthy
baby would do. <o:p></o:p></div>
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On one sunny day in March I got the phone call from my son
announcing the arrival of a healthy bouncing baby boy, mother and son doing
well. He was so happy. His son was born at a native birth attendant clinic, I
was taken aback by that but happy that it all turned out well. I did not visit
immediately because I believe in allowing a new mother and baby rest and adjust
to life before visitors start to throng their home. So I decided to visit the
baby when he is to be dedicated in church which would usually be around 40 days
after birth. By then he would have had his circumcision done as well as most of
his early inoculations.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And so it was that I was invited to my sons’ home on a
lovely Sunday afternoon to share in the celebration of the birth of his new son
as well as his dedication to God. It was a busy Sunday for me as usual but the
visit was the highlight of my Sunday replacing my usual Sunday lie in. I had
never been to their home and so he sent description to me via a text message. I
am hopeless when it comes to descriptions and finding my way round, so after
driving round Asokoro for about fifteen minutes I decided to ask a ‘keke Napep’
to escort me there. Good idea. I drove behind the keke as we snaked through the winding roads with the most opulent mansions you would ever see, gigantic
edifices nestled within this most affluent of neighborhoods in Abuja, the
Federal capital city. The sight was breath taking; the roads were smooth, beautiful
homes that would easily have been in Beverley Hills. <o:p></o:p></div>
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 I continued to drive
behind my keke escort until we entered the village just by the last mansion in
Asokoro via a most horrible, rocky un-tarred road, the roads were dirty, overcrowded
and basically hellish. The contrast was nauseating and upsetting. I got to the
spot where I was to place a call to my son. He promptly came out to fetch me.
The smile on his face quickly extinguished the feeling of nausea in me and I
smiled back. He led me to his modest home, his wife met us by the entrance and
they both led me into their room where the baby was asleep in his net crib. Her
mother was around to help with the baby. The room was small and hot. I spent a
few minutes in the room before l was led outside into the compound common area
where a few chairs were arranged and a handful of friends were seated eating
and drinking. Music blared from large speakers placed near the generator. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I sat down to a huge plate of jollof rice and a can of malt
drink. There were about fifteen children between the ages of around ten months
to about eleven years, dancing to the music. They were digging it seriously.
Their mothers, co-tenants in the compound, were mulling around at the back of
the compound talking, eating and also dancing. I watched as the children ran
back and forth between their mothers and the make shift dancing floor. The
joyous mood was in stark contrast to the environment. There were flies all over
and as much as I tried to ignore it, driving the flies with one hand while I ate
with the other, it soon became too much for me and I asked for some kerosene.
I had heard somewhere that flies hate the smell of kerosene. One of my son’s
friends who sat with us left to fetch a bottle of kerosene, he soon returned
and splashed the liquid all around us, he wet a piece of cloth with kerosene
and wiped the table with it. We got temporary relief and I soon focused my
attention back at my surrounding, watching the children as they ate, laughed
and danced without a single care in the world. I became infected with pure joy;
I began rocking on my chair to the music. My son’s wife brought the baby out so
I could hold him as he was now awake. I was able to get a good look at him,
long slender body and legs, handsome and cute. I held him close to me as I
watched the children dancing in celebration of his birth, welcoming him to a life
of not so much comfort but of contentment and joy. What a Sunday afternoon
latte!<o:p></o:p></div>
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SUNDAY AFTERNOON LATTE

He fondly calls me 'mummy' and I return the favour by calling him 'son.' He is a young man I met when I took my own son for Saturday football sessions. We became close and I would often ask him to run errands for me or he would just visit and we would talk, eat and drink together. He tried to marry…