It was like yesterday, getting prepared to leave Orire township to begin a new life in the university, when Mama who had try all she could for me to dry her ever flowing tears, sat me down on the bamboo slat underside the Àràbà tree near our hut.
“Know the child of whom you are,” this was the only advice she could pass across, while tears was running down her cheek.
Years on campus, I flaunted, got inducted… rusticated!
Back at home, Mama felt on top of the world as she saw me.
“What do I tell Mama?” I muttered.