FAREWELL TO PARADISE, GRANDMA.

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“Grandma is here.” My mom announced.

As soon as I heard the news, my heart crumbled to powder, something I could almost blow away with a breath. Immediately, I couldn’t feel my mom’s presence anymore, I hissed as I reluctantly went to greet Grandma.

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Grandma rarely stayed with us; she usually resided at my mom's younger sister's house and only visited occasionally. The news of her extended stay fueled my anger and resentment. I'd never been comfortable with her around. She lacked an understanding of privacy, burdened us with her demands, and constantly criticized modern life. Her presence is almost like a constant irritation.

"Come and carry grandma's bag inside," my sister's voice interrupted my thoughts of discomfort.

I quietly groaned as I lifted the heavy bag, wondering what she had packed. The day was fast spent as we spent our time arranging Grandma’s room and making her comfortable.

"Are you not going to wear something decent?" Grandma's voice caught me off guard as I was about to step out on a fine evening to get something.

I felt deeply frustrated at her words, her words for the past few weeks have been nothing more than a sandpaper on skin grating my patience. It was almost like she was intentionally pushing my buttons.

“I am just going to get something opposite the house,” I answered trying to contain my anger.

I couldn’t wait for another thing to get me angry, so I didn’t think twice before proceeding to leave.

“Go and get me apples and cut them for me,” she said after shaking her head

I hissed at the tone that I could only hear, as I angrily walked to the kitchen to get what grandma requested of. ’ Is this how the rest of my life going to be? Living for my grandma's constant demands? Always disturbed there and here? I questioned myself. But my home was starting to feel like hell with her presence.

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A few weeks later, I found myself seated in Grandma’s room—a rare occurrence. She had requested my presence after I had served her dinner.

“Life is not as we wish it is.” My grandma started, as I impatiently waited for her to free me from this moment

“When I was young, my dad married a lot of wives and I was forced to live with them. We always quarrel, there was no peace…” my grandmother continued, as I unwittingly paid all my attention to her story.

She narrated how she lived in a polygamous home with, despite being a royal family, there was no peace as the wives resent each other which made the children also feel the same toward each other.

“..But there is one thing I have learned as long as you let go of that tension, that is there for no reason. Let go of every tension in that unsettled little heart of yours. That day, you’ll begin to see things differently.” She said with a smile.

I was unsure how to react; it seemed as if she had glimpsed into my heart to tell me this or maybe, just maybe I have been making it obvious that I don’t like her around. That day, we talked for a while in an unexpected heartfelt conversation.

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With time— I started getting used to Grandma, I was getting used to her errands, to her appearance. I was getting used to the sounds of her favorite musical instruments, (the instrument I never knew the name but I always call it ‘shekirin shekirin’ because of its sound) and even her complaints about our modern way of life.

She was absolutely right, and my perspective on her began to shift. I started to understand her in a different light – that she sent me on errands not out of annoyance, but because she was aging, and older folks have their needs. I came to understand that her constant act of playing the shekirin shekirin instrument and singing were her ways of killing boredom, I understood that she was not born in our century.

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"You can't play anything; you're just making noise," my mom would tease whenever I attempted to play the 'shekirin shekirin,' and it became a running family joke.

My grandma would sit us down and tell us tales, she was a loving storyteller, she would teach us our hometown songs while she forced us to speak our native language. I realized just how talented she was, and it pained me that she hadn't had the opportunities of our time to fully utilize her talents.

My grandma had a heart of gold. It saddened me that it had taken me a while to see this side of her. She loves peace. I can remember how my grandma strived to settle the disputes between my aunt and my mom. She loved us deeply and imparted valuable lessons. she treated my uncle as her own, and you'd never guess she wasn't his biological mother.

Many times, I have walked into her room, only to find her praying for every single of us. She’d call us together and pray for us, always taking our side when our parents scolded us. Sometimes she would knit us some traditional caps and gift us like she gifted me and my sister royal beads, I can’t mention all that she has done or taught me.

“My child, you will shine bright just like the sun. Not a single soul would cover your glory,” My grandma would tell me every time I served her dinner.

My love for Grandma grew, and I eagerly awaited the sound of her 'shekirin shekirin' from her room as a sign that she had awakened.

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On a fateful day, Grandma asked us to prepare her favorite meal, pound yam, and egusi, a hometown delicacy. After enjoying her meal, she offered us a heartfelt prayer and said that she was going to rest. Little did we know, she would never wake up again. "Grandma, you lied," I thought bitterly. She had never mentioned wanting to rest after an afternoon meal.

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As we gathered, there were no tears shed; Grandma had lived a long life, but I couldn't help but let a few drops fall. A woman as loving as she deserved these tears, and more. She hadn't taken her heart of gold to the grave; instead, she had shared it with everyone, to me, she had planted love in my heart.

“Why are you crying? “ I heard my sister’s voice from behind. I chose to ignore it.

"Farewell to paradise, Grandma," I whispered as I gently placed her cold hands down.

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