Happy Mother's Day

I am Sitshengisiwe's daughter. The fist child she carried in her womb at the delicate age of 22. The year was 1986 when she gave birth and welcomed her new position as a mother. Husband in tow, this young woman had to adjust to having a man and a baby to take care of.

I have a picture of her that will forever be ingrained in my mind. It is my mother, in her late teens. She is in a studio – with a white background and a brown floor. The girl has big, beautiful, brown and round eyes that stand out as if to question the world, a round nose to match the fullness of her lips, and striking high cheek bones that slim-line her face. She wears her hair in cornrows with a coy smile that gives me a glimpse of her perfect white teeth. On her neck is a chain with a tiny trinket hanging from it and her hands are crossed in front of her with a ring on one of her fingers. She has on an African dress, its orange and black prints create dancing circles all around her.

I have no recollection of my infant days – but from the stories she has told me; I was a piece of cake. The labor was a walk in the park. She admitted herself into hospitals, informed the nurses I was coming – and to her dismay they did not believe her. Finally I came into the world, without having entered the operating theatre or the designated – place to deliver babies.

Trying not to be conceited as this article is not about me, but, I must mention that according to her, I was a stunning baby. People came from everywhere to see me. Home from the hospital I refused to suckle and have never directly indulged in milk drinking ever since. Then the new mother neglected to cut her beautiful nails and to this day I have a beautiful scar on my face to show for it. My poor mother always feels guilty when I mention this.

Funny how time flies when now in your forties you look back and see that very same child you nursed as a baby strut her stuff and command her own as an adult.

Yvonne is a name she affectionately gave herself while in boarding school. She would write letters to her parents as children always did and always end with a “your loving daughter, Yvonne.” Grandfather would faithfully respond with an opening sentence “Dear Sitshengisiwe” as that was her birth name. This went on for years until her first letter in A’ level - there it was “[D]ear Yvonne” acknowledgment from her parents – which only came after she had passed a very crucial stage in life – her ‘O’levels.’

Yvonne married her childhood sweetheart – whom she met on a train destined for school. Theirs was a serendipitous kind of affair, having once met briefly as infants. Both my grandfathers were teachers and when my mum’s parents relocated to Hwange, with no place to live, my father’s parents took them in and helped them settle down and find a place of their own. I imagine my parents as toddlers playing in the mud and they had no idea that as adults their paths would one day cross again.



As a child I always begged my mother to tell me how she met my father and always she would say it was after she had finished her A’ levels. My Father on the other hand was honest enough to tell us that he started chasing after my mum when she was 13 years old, and recalls how traumatized my mother was at the thought of having a boy like her. My father says she hurled a thousand insults at him, swearing she would never date him and my dad concurs but insists he was patient enough to wait until she agreed to be his ‘friend’ as they called it back then. As to when they
officially started dating it remains a mystery to us, although my mother is adamant about the “started dating after her A’ levels” story.

In our family we don’t believe in star signs but generally refer to each person according to their star. My father and sister are Aries’ while I’m a Pisces, my brother a Virgo and my mother a Taurus. The symbol for a Taurus is the bull, and she does share quite a few qualities with her sign. Upon first meeting my mum, you would think she is an introvert or perhaps a snob, because she doesn’t easily engage in conversation with strangers. She is also level headed and very clear and concise in her speech. We always affectionately said she was stingy with money because all she did was save and save. As long she has money in her pocket her smile will never end.

Conversations with my mum are never ending and always fun – she can be very sarcastic. And her sarcasm goes deep. On holidays back from University we would stay up all night in her bedroom talking about boys and life, always giving me an honest opinion on what she thought about my new boyfriend. I would always be irritated because she always told it like it was and as a result I started covering up little things I knew she would not approve off. She always found out.

I have been blessed to have a woman I can call a friend. Our relationship has evolved over the years, and although I was never the perfect child, I know she loves me even more. We discuss a lot of things some mothers and daughters dare not discuss. I always keep her in the loop of things happening thanks to Gmail. I recall when my current boyfriend asked me out on a date I asked her if I should go – and I remember her telling me that as far as she was concerned, she had not received any cows for marriage from anyone so she doesn’t see why I can’t oblige a gentleman who wants to wine and dine me.



I love you mum and thank you for everything that you have done for me. I hope when I grow up I can be half the woman that you are today. Looking forward to our next meeting where will catch up on life and ponder on things to come.