Mother never buys me any toys. I cry until I sleep. When I wake and remember what I was crying about, I wail some more. I understand now that she had the option of getting me a toy or feeding us.
She chose what I could easily forget about. Constant hunger is unforgiving. In a way, she could depend on other children’s playthings. I would cling onto them but in the end, when they used their tears as weapons, I had to return their possessions.
I was especially obsessed with the Barbie doll. Her flashy clothes and fancy hair were everything I wanted in the world.
As soon as I started earning my own money and could move out of my mother’s watchful eye, I started furnishing my house. My major décor accessory is dolls.
Two of my walls are lined with shelves. There is an alternating order which I love. A doll, then a plant. During my playtime, I make the dolls water and tender for the plants. They are thriving and my mates ask what the secret is because their plarenting has been cases of their plants dying. I tell them happiness. They never believe me.
When mother visits, she says I am acting in a childish manner. I laugh off her concerns. She can never understand the journey I have undertaken and the goodness it has served me. One day, I might explain.
I did not know it when I started but I now realise that slowly, I am getting to heal the part of me that had nothing. I am learning I can reach out to the little me and grant her the little big things she was denied under the circumstances. She smiles up at me seeing displays of Barbie in all her different glories.
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Rehema Zuberi (ResH) is a Nairobi-based writer who, while tasked with responsibilities from here to Timbuktu, likes to think of herself as just a girl. She boasts of a wide range of books which she uses to alleviate boredom and the roles life makes her play. ResH loves being outside where she can enjoy the rises and sets of the sun, particularly over water bodies or a set of hills.
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