My child called me a stranger (fiction)... A short story
Mariam’s fingers fidgeted as quickly as she picked up her phone. She scrolled through her contacts and stared at her mother’s name for a while, contemplating if she was ready to unblock her number. Her heart seemed to race faster as she clicked to unblock her mother’s number. Mariam breathed a heavy sigh as her thoughts began to run wild and memories began to flood her mind.
After her father’s death from a cause nobody knew about, the rift in the polygamous family became sore as her stepsiblings, without remorse, readily showed their despise for her mom and other siblings. In some instances, the eldest stepsibling had accused Mariam’s mother of being responsible for their father’s death and sworn to prevent her children from progressing in life. Mariam was the first child of her mother and the seventh child of her father, with two younger siblings from her mom. Mariam had considered her mother to be weak and timid whenever her stepsiblings bullied her. Her mother had cautioned and restrained her from reciprocating the several physical and verbal aggressions targeted at her mother.
Although she was unhappy, her mother was always on the defense and apologetic, and she admired how strong her mother was in the face of the heated difficulties in their home. Her mother eventually moved out to a rented apartment, where some peace reigned even though life assailed them with all of its demands. Mariam, though in her teens, had found means to help her mother and younger siblings through the hardships that befell them.
"Who’s the father of that child you’re carrying, Mariam?" Mariam’s mom lashed out with pain and disappointment written all over her face. Mariam kept mute as tears readily welled up in her eyes. "You cannot stay here unless you produce the father of that baby in your womb!" she continued.
Mariam’s head was bowed in shame and fear as her mother, the only support she had, vented harsh words at her, and she felt like having the ground open to swallow her. "How was she going to tell her mother she was raped in the course of her sourcing for money to help out in the home?" "How would she tell her mom that she didn’t get to see the face of her child’s father?"
The following days in the house had been tough as mother and daughter lived like cat and mouse. Mariam endured the persistent cajoling and occasional altercations put up by her mother to make her divulge who was responsible for the child in her womb.
Barely three months after she delivered a baby boy, Mariam left the house with her son to an undisclosed and unreachable location, only for her to return two months later. She saw how dejected and sorry her mother had been and was glad to have her return home safely. The ecstasy and peace in the house were, however, short-lived, as her mother would not cease to bring up the topic of her baby’s father, which she likewise declined to reveal. Mariam’s mother had woken up to realize Mariam had left the house a second time, leaving behind her six-month-old baby.
When Mariam got tired of her mother’s repeated phone calls and messages, she opted to have her number blocked, and whenever she picked up a strange number only to hear her mother’s voice at the other end of the line, she was quick to cut the call. Over the years, the frequency of her mother’s attempts to reach her subsided, even though she had received a call some two years prior notifying her of her mother’s sickness. "I wish her a quick recovery." was her only response to the doctor who called to inform her of her mother’s ailment.
It had already been seven years since she left home with no clue as to where she was. She knew her mother was hurt beyond the body illness she heard of, yet she felt ashamed of herself for returning or making amends. Months had passed since her mother called last, and she wondered if she would be forgiven as she struggled to forgive herself. "Was her child alive?" or given to some orphanage? "Maybe she had some social workers help out with the baby." Mariam’s thoughts ran wild like many waters.
Mariam looked intently at the image that was reflected in it; she had become a shadow of herself. Her purple gown, laced with beautiful stones and stylishly fashioned by herself as one of those skills she had learned, revealed perfectly her shape with the incongruity of a mother of one. A weak smile managed to carve on her face as she admired how strong and courageous she had been at her age of twenty-five. Mariam adjusted her tinted spectacles, which further accentuated her elegance and beauty as she made a slight turn to reveal her dorsum.
The weather today felt cozy, and heaven seemed to assure her that the premier reunion of her family, several years after her father’s death, was not going to be as horrendous as she envisaged. She stood at the entrance of the venue, where the reunion picnic had already started with some mellifluous music playing in the background. She could hear the sound of her eldest stepbrother addressing the crowd of over forty as her eyes darted around the brightly colored event, scouting for familiar faces. She paused in shock to hear her stepbrother tender his apology for treating her mother rashly and beg for her forgiveness. This sounded too real to be true to her ears, and her heart pondered quite fast.
"Excuse me, do you know where Mrs. Bello is?" Mariam asked a little boy who passed by carrying orange juice.
"I am sorry, but Grandma asked me not to talk to strangers." The little boy replied and ran off.
Mariam’s heart ached as though a knife had pierced through it, and she felt a cord strike in her, noting the boy’s resemblance. "Was she actually a stranger to her family?" she thought as she composed herself while watching the little boy run off. She walked into the open space where everyone sat, some in little groups while others sat erratically. A few people smiled and waved at her as she struggled to recall some faces.
"Mariam?" A voice behind her spoke softly. She knew it was her mother’s voice and would recognize the sweetness in her voice if she had her eyes blindfolded. Now she felt her heart ponder quite fast and heavy, as though it would explode out of her chest. Mariam turned gradually, fear and remorse gripping her as though she would fall off a cliff.
"What are you doing standing there?" "Come here, my girl!" Mariam’s mother spread out her hands as her set of teeth carved an obvious smile on her face.
Mariam’s heavy steps gradually became lighter as she walked briskly to her mother. She noticed the little boy hiding behind her mother was the same boy that had run off earlier. "Could that be her son?" she pondered.
"I am sorry, Mom." Mariam ran into her mother’s arms with tears welling up in her eyes. She felt an unusual calm and love as she held onto her mother’s clothes. How much she missed her. "Forgive me, Mom." Mariam sobbed on her mother’s shoulder.
"Is she my mother?" The little boy’s sweet voice was interrupted as both mother and child disengaged and looked down at him.
"Yes, Ahmed, this is your mother." Mariam’s mom replied with a pat on his hair.
Mariam went on her knees and spread out her arms as Ahmed steadily walked into Mariam’s arms. Mariam hugged him so tight as though she would swallow him up. She relaxed her hug and looked at her son, admiring how handsome and good looking he was. She knew her mother did a great job taking care of him. "I’m very sorry; please forgive me, son." Mariam whispered audibly.
"Don’t cry, Mummy." Ahmed threw his arms around her.
Mariam noticed some steps close in on them as her siblings gathered around her, giving her a warm pat and some applause.
inspired by two true-life stories.