Nana - RIP
On this first anniversary of Nana, I find the memories of him starting to unclog, as if they were stuck somewhere down there in the system, and refusing to come out as memories, tales waiting to be told and retold by him. But now he can’t verify them. Being his daughter, I was subjected to some fierce protectiveness and love (not that his sons were spared the same). A tale he loved to tell and which I distinctly remember, is how I once cried because a teacher hit me in class. I cried at home. The next day he was in the classroom and asking me which teacher hit me, while I pointed at her. I don’t know who was more mortified, the teacher or the six year old me. But nonetheless, I think I was relieved because I do remember she was a terror. I was shifted to another section. When I first went to school by cycle, he would reach there as the bell rang and ride by me on his scooter!!! The same continued when I came back home after hostel. He would be at the bus stop to fetch me ...