That high squeak coming from the old greaseless axle always annoyed me. I had tried to use the left over chicken fat to lubricate it but to no avail. After a couple of hours of running back and forth to the water well and to the stores on grandpa’s mule cart, the quick fix would wear out and the squeak seemed to be a little louder. That day was different, it had a piercing effect; a sound that harrowed my very core. It made me cringe, almost similar to my school days, when Miss Nyawiri would scratch her fingers on the chalk-board to get the students’ attention when we were making noise. Maybe it was because mom decided to come along to fetch water with me that day, and the extra weight was causing the unusual and unwelcome pitch. In any case, home seemed so far away, more so because I couldn’t stop at the soccer field to watch the boys play, and of course to see my special friend Solomon.

Despite all the unpleasant little peeves I was enjoy the ride with mom. We spent every day together and always had something interesting to discuss. Since dad passed away and my siblings moved out, I’m all she has left, so she holds on to me like a promise. I’ve practically had to put my life on hold to take care of her. I even asked Solomon to be patient as far as marriage goes. He’s been waiting for just over a year now. Taking care of ma is really no challenge at all; being that she is self sufficient for the most part. I just feel bad leaving her alone and moving on with my life, especially knowing how much she sacrificed for us when she was younger. I work a part time job, so that I can spend as much time with her as possible. Maybe it’s because we almost lost her to breast-cancer last year, hence the uncertainty of how much time she has left on this earth makes me cherish her more. Every minute I spend with her is precious, but that didn’t change the annoying squealing of that wheel. It seemed like I was the only one that found it bothersome because as I looked up at mom, I saw her smiling as the sun bounced off her face. I can’t help but wonder if she has an off switch for her hearing. It’s quite surreal how nothing seems to bother her now. It’s almost as though she takes on anything that comes with an attitude that says, “I’ve been through worse, I’m sure I can handle you.” I admire that about her.

After a seemingly long ride the homestead was in our sights and the sun that had been so relentlessly beating on mom and I, began to now sheepishly retreat behind a mass of neoteric dark clouds. That’s when I noticed her slumping over her bag at the door of our old hut. Vera. It had been years since she wrote home, even longer since she came to see mom. My excitement at seeing her was quickly overshadowed by a protective air. I took advantage of mom’s short-sightedness; knowing she hadn’t spotted her, I steered the mule wide so that Vera’s figure was concealed from mom by the hut. The distant rolling of thunder and the smell of rain in the air brought a nostalgic feeling of the day Vera left. I remembered vividly her harsh word, I remembered thinking if I ever saw her again it would be too soon. The feeling was different now. Six years is a lot of time for emotional wounds to heal. I had a new bone to pick with her. She hadn't come home when dad passed away & didn't even call when mom was sick with breast cancer. None the less, I had missed her and I couldn’t wait to talk to her.

Examining the quickly darkening sky, mom said, “finally, the crop will see some moisture, I’ll get the clothes off the line, they should be dry by now,” and with a wide smile on her face she slid off the cart and made her way to the clothesline, while I proceeded to unload the water at the kitchen before loosing the mule into the kraal. After all had been put away I made my way to the hut where my estranged sibling was slumped over; my heart was racing and I had no idea what the initial reunion would be like. So much had happened since she stormed off, so much time had passed; an overwhelming rush of mixed emotions came over me, and though I was angry at my younger sister, I struggled to hold back the tears of joy I had. As I drew closer to the hut, my quick pace turned into a slight trot; I couldn’t contain my anxiety any longer, much more, I couldn’t restrain myself from calling out to her. “Vera, Vera, come out from behind there,” I yelled with excitement in my voice. I just wanted to embrace her and forget about all our differences. As I reached the hut, I heard the crack of lightning, and felt a big raindrop fall on my left cheek right below my eye. There she was, my sister, still hunched over her bag – at that moment I knew that this was not going to be the sweet reunion I had just recently anticipated. As if on cue, the rain started pouring heavily, providing the perfect disguise for the tears streaming down my face as well as Vera’s

abstract by Tedd V. to be continued on Dec 20