dailywaka.blogspot.com

  My Mother called me 10 times that morning. It was Thursday, 10:00 a.m. My younger brother, Michael, had sent me a message at 7:39 that morning. He told me I was the main subject of Mum's devotions and prayers that day. Everyone in the house knew what that meant. Whenever you featured prominently in Mum's prayers, you were likely to be jam-called, jam-texted or jam-prayed for, especially if you were physically around her. So, I made up my mind not to answer her calls or read her WhatsApp messages and voice notes. If it was an emergency, Michael would call me. At least, that was what I thought. Just as I settled into my decision, a thought came into my heart: "What if the emergency wasn't your mum? What if it was your brother, Michael?" Cold shivers ran down my spine. I immediately dialled Mum's number. "Hello, Aanu. Why haven't you been picking up my calls?"  Whenever Mum called me by my indigenous name, something was either wrong or about to go...