I used to have a strong aversion to French and somehow, I'd always managed to escape French classes. When it finally became an optional subject in my senior secondary, I got the relief I'd long wished for. No more evasive maneuvers, even though there was never a time I was caught.
Only five students had decided to continue, while the rest of us joyfully moved on. In one of the classes, I'd stayed back to copy my note, taking one of the back seats while the French students occupied the front seats as they keenly paid their ears.
As it continued, a little girl darted into the classroom, shouting her Dad's name.
"Daddy! Daddy! I can't find Obama." A cute preschooler announced.
My school consisted of nursery, primary, and secondary sections. So my French teacher's kids were in the nursery category. They always knew where to find their father after dismissal, and most of the time, French classes were held during lesson hours.
Leaving everything behind, my French teacher, Mr. Teou Teou dashed out of the class in search of his son. His students joined him, and I did too as I'd realized he was just two years.
After the exhaustive search, he was found sitting alone under a mango tree, perhaps waiting for his sister. Seeing his Dad, he rushed into his arms with excitement.
Walking back to the class, he positioned them close to me at the back as he resumed his teachings.
"Fine girl, what's your name?" I asked.
"My name is Nadesh," she answered.
I held Obama's hands and brought him closer to where I sat.
"Don't leave the class like that again until your sister comes to pick you up. Am I clear?
He nodded in agreement as I wondered if my words were simple enough for him to grasp.
"Mummy, I'm hungry," he complained.
I was blown away by that title, and my face lighted up with delight. Why was I feeling special? Why did I like that he called me mummy? I knew he was just a baby, but the thought of it overwhelmed me, and I was already basking in the euphoria of motherhood.
I was drawn to him. Yeah, it was an instant connection. I could tell from the way I felt.
"Don't worry baby boy, Daddy will soon take you and Nadesh home, and mummy will feed you both to your satisfaction. Okay?" I assured.
"My mummy has gone." Nadesh cut in.
"To where?" I inquired.
"I don't know, but she carried her bags." She responded.
Instantly, I grasped the situation. Without hesitation, I refrained from inclinations to probe deeper as I kept my gaze transfixed upon the two of them.
I became so worried, so much that I couldn't just accept that I could do nothing to help. I had something on me that could fetch them snacks, but I needed their dad's permission.
So I gently walked up to him, excused him, and made whisperings to his ear. He agreed by nodding his head as he couldn't distract the class. At that moment, I felt so much better. Obama and Nadesh were going to have some snacks.
Sitting them properly on the stool, I brought out their shares and placed them on the desk as they enjoyed themselves. I smiled as I watched them munch on their snacks, it was a feeling of joy.
"How old are you, Nadesh?"
"I'm five years old," she replied.
I glanced at the two of them again, but this time, retracing my mind to when I was just like Nadesh. It was difficult for me to accept that my father had disappeared, even though I was made to feel special. There was actually a time I sat back to think of him, and it did hurt.
"Thank you, mummy!"
That title again swiftly pulled me back to the moment, flooding me with overwhelming emotions.
"You're welcome, my boy," I replied, gently patting his back.
"Do you need some more? Take this one," Nadesh said as she handed her brother one biscuit from the two she had left.
It was a beautiful moment to witness. I sat enraptured by the show of affection and love, and it reminded me of my brother and me. We were inseparable even though we'd faced lots of challenges, and never stopped having each other's backs. It was just the two of us, and wherever I went, he followed holding hands with me.
"Nadesh! Hold onto your brother's right hand firmly with your right hand," I said as I watched her grasp his tender hands.
"Look at me, Nadesh. You're not to let go of this hand no matter the situation. When you're tired, he would support you with his left hand." I expressed, gently placing Obama's left hand on her right hand.
They both giggled at each other as their hands locked together firmly, creating a powerful connection.
I knew they couldn't fathom it, as it exceeded their understanding. Nonetheless, I found satisfaction and pleasure in crafting such evocative illustrations.
Just like my brother and me, we made sacrifices for each other. I hated to see him cry or punished. So every time he did something wrong, I shouldered the blame, subjecting myself to punishments and beatings intended for him. At some point in my life, I needed help too, I was really exhausted. Then my brother requested a transfer from his school to a public one, as it would provide a more convenient means to support my university tuition fees.
Waves of emotions washed over me, and there I realized what we shared was a connection of the utmost depth, one that transcended beyond a brother-sister relationship.
As my thought shifted toward the kids, my gaze settled upon my French teacher vividly recalling the anxiety and trepidation that clouded his mind as he rushed out in search of his son. Then I remembered my mom too, the late nights, dedication, love, commitments, and sacrifices. In one of her words, she said "You two are the reason I never gave up."
"And both of you will be the reason I'd keep pushing," I'd replied.
The class had ended, and my teacher made his way to pick up his kids.
"Excuse me, Sir. Please can I join the French class from now on?" I asked. I needed to see his kids more often.
"Of course, you can. Thank you for taking care of them."
"I'm glad I could. Your son called me mummy today." I said, letting out a big smile.
His laughter boomed like thunder, as he made me believe that he affectionately calls everyone "Mummy" and playfully teased me that my time wasn't ready.
In no time, I became the only French student, others had dropped the subject. I guess my connection with Obama and Nadesh connected me to French.
Thanks for reading.
Well, I kept blushing all through your recount. It's amazing how both kids connected, how you connected with your brother and mother.
This is just beautiful!!!
Thank you so much for your incredibly kind and thoughtful words🤗🤗
You're welcome dear MUMMY 😂
I'm flooded with emotions, my boy!🤗😂
😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣
What a beautiful connection that you tell us in your story. The greatest of times the brotherhood is the greatest bond that we can have with a person in this world.
Thanks for sharing.
Good day.
Thank you so much. I'm glad to have you here🤗
This is a story as sentimental as it is well written, @vivaebony. We are able to see in your narrative how the presence of the two little brothers evoke in you the deep connection with your brother and how that love is generalized encompassing the children and French as a language. Beautiful experience. Thank you for bringing this part of your story to us.
Thank you so much @theinkwell
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