Of mother and son I picked the phone to talk to her. I missed her. We talked for a while but then, she wouldn’t go without a word. She diverted the conversation to her path that I have grown used to. Like then, she threw in a Biblical story. This time though, it was about the children of Israel, whatever happened to them, it seems I forgot to listen. She always has the element of telling us the story like used to be the case in Sunday school then. A short bit about the story, a longer explanation, and then she could use imagery here and there. “ God took the children of Israel through the storm like that at the amusement park, remember?” back then we’d be focused but along the way, I think I’ve outgrown it. This time though, she told of the tales endeavoring to end the sentence with the rhetorics, “uuhm! Anha!” etc etc. There is something about parents and more so about mothers and their sons. There is always that warmth that runs through the air making the connection bound. They never see the grown up man, the rest of the world is seeing. Whatever the reason, I can’t tell. After a long while talking, the conversation had to come to an end. The evil that denied time an opportunity to be in one person kept on pricking on us and minutes died out one by one. I had to negotiate a means of biding her farewell till we talk .again. Love you mum.

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