'Being a woman is synonymous to being a warrior. I watched in pure innocence as my mom carried out the chores and ran her home. At fifty, she still carried the fire woods, she still chased us around with her whip, she still walked with cracked bare foots to the village parish. I learnt a lot from her. Illiteracy wasn't a barrier to her thriving.' All these thoughts about my mother, did I remember as I took the bowels of oranges Aunty Mba ordered me to sell at the express way. "Aunty good afternoon." I greeted my aunty who never had a smile on her wrinkled face. Her head undefined, her lips plum and dark with a large nose that scares off people. The only admirable thing in her face was the length and healthiness of her crystal long hair that flew past her shoulders, even at thirty th
Last Updated : 2020-06-20 Read more