Yesterday, my phone kept buzzing with calls, and every time I answered, it was my younger sister asking about my whereabouts. If I was home, and why our mom's phone wasn't going through. At the time, I was at the salon getting my hair done. It got to a point where I stopped responding because I was upset and didn't want to transfer my aggression.
I got done with my hair, and I ought to be excited, only to discover that during the process of trimming the sprouted fibers (extension) from my braids, the stylist cut into some strands of my hair. When I told her about it, she casually said sorry. As upset as I was, there was no tangible solution to my cut strands. At first, I had thought there was no way I was going to pay the full cost of the braids; I would split it and keep half as compensation. But my actions would only mean that the compensation comes out of the stylist's wage.
As much as I wanted to punish and hurt her emotionally for what she did to my hair, the thought that it was a mistake made me relent in my decision. I just swallowed everything and left the salon for the market. At that instance, all I wanted to do was go home and cry to my mom. But that would just delay my market time, and I just might not go again. So I weighed my options: do I want to go cry to my mommy, put up with the hunger pangs later, or go to the market and come back home to cry? Well, I chose the latter and went to the market because we were all out of food. I mean, I could always get back from the market and cry to my mommy; I had thought.
Arriving at the market, I tried so hard to suppress my anger while I shopped. I got done, and the moment I arrived home, I rushed to take a mirror to look at my cut strands at the veranda. As I looked at them, I saw my mom coming in; I didn't even wait for her to get to me before I started pouring out my heart. I complained bitterly about how I felt, and as I complained, my mom got close and was checking each braids. She looked at them and started questioning why the woman would braid my hair so loosely. According to my mom, the hair wasn't tightened enough in the braids, and that's why the scissors got to it upon trimming. She ended up consoling me, telling me the same sorry I was told at the salon, and promising me my hair would grow back. As pained as I was, my mom's words were calm and reassuring, which took my mind off the situation.
Later that night, I was getting ready for bed when my sister called again; this time, I picked up because I felt better. Like she was being chased, my sister sounded like someone in danger who needed help. She didn't even wait for me to say hello before she started bombarding me with questions. "What happened to Mom's phone? I have been trying to call her, but no response. Even your own line was not reachable. What's going on?" my sister questioned, almost sounding upset.
At that moment, I remembered our mom's line was barred for wrong registration, so I informed her and inquired if I should give our mom my phone so they could speak. She agreed, and I handed the phone over to our mom. As they spoke, I could hear our mom telling her not to mind her landlady, that probably her time in her apartment was far spent, and it's time to move to greater prospects. Hearing our mom talk about my sister moving, I became concerned and was interested in their conversation. From what I heard, I put one and two together and was able to decipher that my sister and her family got a quit notice. Indeed, for a while now, she was always complaining about her landlady's attitude towards her and her husband.
The last time we spoke, they had wanted to renew their rent, but the landlady was bitter about it and kept failing to show up in their meetings. She also refused to collect the rent via transfer. According to her, they renew too quickly, and it sometimes gets in the way of the yearly increments. She also stated that she will be handing the apartment over to her brother, who is currently homeless. As our mom continued to speak to my sister, I was also chipping in with advice, telling her not to panic, as the landlady cannot evict them without them getting another apartment to stay. At that point, our mom gave me the phone to speak with my sister.
"So what happened between you and your Landlady?" I inquired and my sister narrated. As she spoke I could tell from her voice that she's been overwhelmed. I also noticed that the more I spoke to her about a solution, consoling her and assuring her stating the laws of eviction in the country, her voice sounded lighter and more confident.
We concluded and bid each other good night. I laid on my bed and as I count sheep to fall asleep, a lot went through my mind. I thought about my sister's situation and then I thought about mine. I saw how we both lean heavily on our mom's words and how it never failed to lighten the mood. It also dawned on me that I'm gradually following in the footsteps of our mom and I also need to start keeping my emotions in check so that like our mom, I can be available and also be in a better position to be just what the doctor ordered.
