echoes from your past

“Hello Sis, good evening”

“Good evening sis” I responded with furrowed brows trying to unscramble her face

We were about stepping into the African Shop at the City Centre when she approached me.  It was my son’s Carol evening and he wanted to buy malt.

She drew closer as if to hug me but uncertain

“Sorry, I can’t recall your name but I know your face”

“I know you may not remember me. I am Melody”

Still blank

“I was at your house last year” she kept smiling

“Oh” I responded. Befuddled.

“You advertised in the group about the jacket you wanted to give away. I came to your home to pick up. You ended up giving me lots of stuff including children clothes and even bedsheets”

“Aha, I recall now. You were newly arrived from Nigeria” I embraced her

My mind quickly retrieved her visit.

A Nigerian Mum’s Group.

A silver bomber jacket purchased in Spring was snug thanks to the weight gain from cancer treatment. I was giving it away.

The September Intake of international students were in town.

Whilst there may be common shocking denominators as per relocation, I think the United Kingdom packs a different punch. That hollow feeling which leaves you reeling in shock as you watch your money decimated by the world’s strongest currency. Outside of the Gulf currencies. It could mess with both your pockets and psyche.

I recalled her surprise as she came inside my house and saw my frail state. Her effusive thanks when her message came in afterwards.

“It is so good to see you again. And you look better. We thank God for life & healing”

“Amen” I concurred

At this point, I was tearing up. Because I saw that look, again, reflected in her eyes. A look I have come to identify from seeing it in so many people’s eyes. That incredulous look like seeing a dead person resurrect.

“It’s more than a year already. I hope you have settled in” I asked

“Yes, we have. Thank you so much sis. You have no idea what you did for us then”

“Haba! I exclaimed.

As my son emerged from the store, she exclaimed

“Look at how much your son has grown! Thank God you are alive to see him”

“We thank God” I croaked as I hugged her and left

That encounter with Melody, on a dreary winter’s evening, stirred a warm feeling in my insides. I felt how I felt that morning when the social worker said to me – “amara you inspire me so much”

A reminder that irrespective of your Station, you have something, tangible or intangible, to give.