Memories, the Mind, the Heart, Two Women, Bashfulness and the Impacting of Lives.
I remember when I was Young, I would dream and think to myself, “when I grow up, I will be rich and famous. Fame and fortune will be mine. It is written in the stars!”
I would touch, impact, mesmerize and astound the masses of the world, with my sublime talent and skill.
You see, my father (b.27 September 1937 — d.10 October 2001) was an accomplished, distinguished, decorated, and legendary Zambian football icon affectionately dubbed “Sir Zoom.”
You can fathom, or deduce, where the hunger or drive for fame originated from.
So, you see, I grew up in an aura of fame, even if not fortune.
My father was a down-to-earth individual, salt-of-the-earth, a humble man. He played competitive sport (he was an all-rounder) for the love of it. Not for fame, not for money, nor for recognition and accolades.
He was shocked, surprised and down-right embarrassed by the favour and deferment he received from people he came into contact with.
He was bashful of his fame, which he considered undeserved or at the very least, exaggerated.
I got tired of being introduced as “do you know who this is?” “No?” “Look at him closely”. “Is it Zoom’s son?” “Yep”. The next question invariably would be, “do you play football?”
Well, time, as time does, disabused me of that dream quickly enough.
In any case, I was a great player, talented, intuitive, a terror to defenders (people who watched me told me, alright!).
Anyway, as the late famous Zambian journalist, Matteo Phiri would say, “don’t argue, you were not there”.
Before I totally lose the attention of those of you angrily asking “what the hell IS this? A biography about his late so-called famous dad? What a fraud, what a waste of my time. Who cares? Am outta here!”
Hold your horses, cowboy/cowgirl (why are they called that if they ride horses?).
Anyway, I digress.
My father’s biography is a story for another day.
This story is about memories, the mind, the heart, two women, bashfulness and the impacting of lives (got your attention now, haven’t I. don’t you dare jump ahead, I am warning you….).
Okay.
So, the “first” woman.
My mother.
Born no more than 20 years, but more than 10 years before her 100th birthday (heck! I think I have confused myself. Ok. She’s 82).
Retired, hardworking deputy Headmistress, dedicated mother and wife. Well, generally a beautiful person all-round.
But in her day, she was the scourge of the delinquent pupil and child, insolent enough to cross paths with her.
Had one husband. Lost one husband. Had 5 children. Lost three. She was one of 7 siblings. Lost 6.
Not to mention her parents died decades ago, way before all that.
So, this part of the story is about how a woman, as I have described her above, vibrant, committed, intelligent, hardworking, God-fearing, slowly but surely who has started losing herself, her sense of self, the same way she had lost those who were near and dearest to her.
You see, my dear beloved mother has early symptoms of Alzheimer’s.
She forgets things. Things you would say to her 10 minutes ago, or things she did 5 minutes ago.
She “remembers”, for example, recently getting a call from her husband telling her to come back home (she’s living with us, has been for the last 14 or so months).
She doesn’t remember many of her close relatives.
Recently, she thought, my wife and I, were visitors there to visit her.
It would be funny, if it wasn’t so tragic.
But what IS funny is:
There are things she remembers, crystal clear. Her wedding, for example, is clear and vivid, down to the things said and done. That was over 60+ years ago.
Her mind, her brain, is playing tricks with her. Robbing her of the coherent story of her life. Robbing her of some of her cherished memories, while at the same time cruelly retaining some of her most memorable ones, but which she cannot piece together as one and the same life.
Hers.
The physical brain is an amazing organ, I know. Because of it, humanity has achieved what it has and will achieve. It has made us who we are.
Yet, we understand so very little of it.
And because of that ignorance, we get maladies and diseases such as this that confound the most qualified and most brilliant among us.
Before my story becomes too long allow me to turn to the “second” woman.
My wife.
People say “love at first sight” is a myth.
Brothers and sisters, friends and colleagues, people of the world, humans. IT IS REAL!
I have lived it. I live it.
I met my wife 36 years ago (I am no spring rooster, though I look it. Yeah, keep your snide comments to yourselves!).
From the moment I saw her, I was undone. I have been undone since then.
We dated for 10 years. Have been married, so far, for 26 years. We have a miracle child, a gift really, Jaden, 17 years old. Miracle, because it took us almost 8 years for him to be born (ok, it was after 9 months, but you know what I mean), after a number of “false alarms”.
Jaden is a Hebrew name, meaning “the Lord has heard” (and yes, there was a time that I read the Holy Book).
We argue about who named him. My wife thinks and believes and remembers it was her (memories, right). Just because she is the religious fanatic and prayer warrior (Don’t tell her I called her that first part. I still want to live a bit longer. See my son get married and hold my grand-kids).
Why am I speaking about my wife? You may ask.
Other than the fact that she is the love of my life?
Well.
My wife has a heart of gold. Literally.
She is the most un-selfish person I know. Literally.
Other than the fact that she has tolerated me for 36 years, no mean feat (I am THE introvert of introverts, while she is welcoming to anyone. She even smiles at people, imagine that!).
She was the one who proposed and insisted that my mother come live with us when we noticed her memory lapses.
On top of that, mother lived over 60 km away in another town.
So, we brought her over, and like I said, she has been with us for over a year now.
The first few weeks, she would insist on going “to my home. I am not homeless you know!” once we let her go back home, with someone as an escort.
She “survived” a week, insisting “why have you abandoned me here? There is no one here!”
(surprise, surprise).
We brought her back. For some time she continued to insist “I want to go home. My husband and children are waiting for me (husband? Children?).
“I have been gone too long”, she added.
There is just me and my elder brother. Both of us are old enough and ugly enough to look after ourselves.
We ignored her.
Haven’t heard another word about “going back to my home”, yet.
Not once have I heard my wife complain, or noted any hint of irritation, even in instances when my mother doesn’t remember her, or throws one of her tantrums and refuses to eat, or refuses tea without milk or is not accompanied by a fried egg (yeah, her husband kept her in the good life, I guess).
Heck, there are times she looks at me like “who the hell is this persistent visitor?”
The other day, I asked her, “Mum, do you know me?” She looked at me with that puzzled look people have on their faces when they are searching for an answer, or rather, the correct answer.
I told her, “Goodnight Mum”.
Chileshe has gone a mile and more out of her way, to ensure her mother-in-law feels as welcome as is possible, giving a piece of herself, a piece of her heart, for others.
That is what it is to live, looking out for, and putting the needs of those less fortunate than you, front and centre, regardless.
That IS power. That IS strength. That IS humanity. That IS impact.
I can go on and on, speaking about and singing my wife’s praises, but I guess I better wrap it up.
That’s a story for another day, except suffice it to say, “she’s good people”.
I tell her:
I love you now,
as I loved you then,
as I will always love you.
And so, to conclude:
Impacting people, other people’s lives.
Here is the thing:
We believe and dream about how we are impacting or going to impact other people’s lives.
But in truth, we are the ones being impacted by other people and their lives, we just don’t know it in the moment until something happens, like my mother’s illness and my wife’s reaction.
I thought, what am I going to write about that will show my impact on others and the world, and so I came up with this narrative.
The thesis of this narrative is, “We are all impacting each other’s lives, knowingly or unknowingly”, like my father’s impact on others even though he refused to acknowledge it.
The best we can do is interrogate our relationships, see what is really going on, and make our own contributions to not only bettering our own close relationships, but those of the people we come into contact with, even if for the briefest of moments.
I mean, a simple but cheerful, “Hi” to someone on the street.
Or
a call to someone you have not spoken to in a while, and saying “hey was thinking of you, how are you doing?
Or
“Hey, you look amazing today”, to someone who needs a “pick me up tonic”.
You never know, you just probably may be impacting, positively, someone who is thinking of throwing in the towel, someone who has lost their faith in the goodness of humanity, about the purpose of living.
Life is a mystery, but it is a mystery we have been called upon to experience, to live it and when our time comes, to leave it.
But we MUST live and exit it, leaving an impact.
The world demands it. Life ITSELF demands and expects it.
Speaking of impact, the last time my father kicked a ball in a competitive football match, was 40+ years ago. But I never saw him play, I was too young.
He’s been dead some 23+ odd years this year.
Yet, to this day, there are people who remember and speak his name with awe, nostalgia and amazement at his mesmerizing talent and the legend that has surrounded the name “Zoom”. Some of whom never even saw him play, and simply rely on word of mouth.
That is passive impact, but impact, nonetheless.
My greatest aim here, with this narrative, is a hope to have an impact on someone, even one someone.
That would mean:
EVERYTHING!
By the way, my new dream is now to be a bestselling long-form writer (still fame and fortune. Just a different kind, but still written in the stars).
I believe also that this experience with my mother, is life’s way of teaching me patience and tolerance. It has impact value.
These are two attributes I have in short supply and low in abundance.
A word to the observant and the perceptive:
The image of the glass jar is used to signify the shrinking of mother’s memories. They can now probably fit in a jam-jar.
While the hourglass is used to signify, we are running out of time, with HER, and HER OWN SELF.
Any feedback is truly welcome.
