A Mother’s laughter

The sound of my mother’s ringtone had always filled me with apprehension.

The slow mournful sound of a violin followed by the sad voice of a Christian man willing to answer heaven’s call was too much to ignore.

Calls to her line had been harbingers of bad news. News had the tendency to cause her to throw herself to the ground in fits of hysteria.

It was a yearly occurrence and I watched out for the signs. There was not much I would be able to do if bad news actually came. But at least I would be able to prepare myself.

This however was obviously an exercise in futility. My mother was a born actress and one could never tell if she was reacting to good news or bad news.

Several times during the year I had run out of my room expecting some horrible story of a dead neighbor only to discover what I had perceived to be crying to be my mother laughing at a funny story her friend was recounting over the phone.

It seemed that my mother laughed the same way she cried.

That was why on the day that Ekele died, I was not sure if it was good or bad news that made her roll on the ground and tear her scarf while she screamed my brother’s name.

My head told me that she was laughing at some joke. That the young man that I had seen take the car keys and drive out minutes ago could not be crushed under a trailer somewhere on a dusty road in Tudun Wada.

I joined her in laughter. The sound of twin voices laughing at some horrible joke. Calling on the gods to make it untrue.

Weeping and laughing at the same time, we both mourned Ekele. I took the path of insanity and told myself over and over again that Mother was laughing and it was okay if I laugh too.