Mama Shujaa

The much-anticipated match-up between our youngsters and the boys from Ohio was finally underway. After the first whistle, more than the static energy emitting from our blankets charged the air, as we watched from the sidelines on that freezing 27-degree morning. It was day two of the Adidas Invitational and our boys had shed the lackadaisical approach they displayed in the match on the previous day, which ended in a poor result. This morning, they exhibited energy and focus that reminded me of the cliché: “When the road gets tough, the tough get going,” as our boys rose to the occasion of playing the No.1 U12 boys’ team from Ohio. I tucked the blanket tightly around my body, silently praying that my husband would feed off the almost tranquil atmosphere that had settled onto the pitch within minutes of kick-off. Tranquil, because the self-assurance displayed by the Ohio boys was mesmerizing, their playing style was one of validating each other, as one player talked to the other in...

Last Thursday night I ran into somebody I know at my son's soccer practice session. His son, two years older than mine (fourteen) usually practices on Wednesday nights, but every so often the coaches organize scrimmages between the younger and older boys, which they did Thursday night in preparation for our final tournament of the season. He's a soft-spoken, studious type; happily married like me, by all indications. He and his wife work in the field of Sports Medicine. That night his rimless eyeglasses highlighted the platinum streaks in his hair, a few more than I remembered. And his face drew me in again because even at rest, his lips form into the shape of a smile. He's the kind of guy that is interesting to engage in conversation; he is well-informed and is an attentive listener. "Doing great," I said in response to his question about my son who had suffered a hairline fracture in his right foot in February. "After six months off, he is back strong, ...

When your son's team loses a soccer match, do not ask "What happened?" in the car on the way home. A follow up comment like "I mean, this was not the result we were looking for, but we can live with it" does not help. Your son already knows the truth. Soccer is all about scoring goals and winning matches. And you dear disappointed mom should know better than to behave like a devastated fan. Aren’t you the team player that schlepped your boy to all his practices, games and tournaments this past month because hubby was away on business:  attending the 2010 World Cup Draw in Cape Town, rubbing shoulders with FIFA’s crème de la crème and god knows who else, does not qualify as business in my book. Right now it is hay-in-the-making. And speaking of turning opportunity into success, your son and this knot of boys, all tied up in a cheer as they prepare to steer their team to victory, they know that it takes focus, determination and maximum effort in orde...

Photo credit Vipi marafiki? I've been inundated with our fifth grader's homework assignments these past few days. And truth be told, I am definitely not smarter than a fifth grader. Last night I spent two hours trying to help him finish his math homework - Problem Solving Strategies - six problems consisting of three sentence questions involving the division of decimals. The problems were so confusing, I was convinced they were trick questions. Thank God we have a recent college graduate now living and working in NYC. I told her I would just have him ask his teacher for help at school and she said, "No, mum don't give up so easily!!" Then his Dad came to assist and further progress was made - this was about 9:50 pm last night. After reading the questions a few times, he used a strategy of elimination and with our daughter on a conference call, the two were able to come up with the correct answer. Wow. All this time, I've been admiring his looks, you kno...

This old man and this old woman, they played knick knack on my drum this weekend. And with the knick knack, they paddy whacked me. So much so, I ended up without a bone ! I had to settle for a measly nanosecond of an opportunity to rise up; to beat my drums the way I was taught by Mama. African-style with rhythm and flair in remembrance of Bibi's [grandma's] teachings. This old man and this old woman, played knick knack on my drum this weekend, in Greenville, South Carolina, whose State motto incidentally, is the Latin proverb, Dum Spiro Spero , "While I breathe, I hope." It was our first visit to the city; our kitindamimba [last born] was playing in an elite youth soccer tournament. And play well he did; he turned it on, gave his team the striker mmpphh! they needed up front, for four convincing wins and a terrific Final Championship game. Kudos to the boys for winning, through the rain! The rain was like a dance, this weekend. It came and went, and except...

My baby taught me a lesson last Sunday but one. A lesson so sweet it should be a dream summoned for sleepless nights and mundane days. When I think about the arm twisting that went on, what I promised in order for him to accompany me to the Christening’s after party - because he wanted to stay and watch Ogochukwu battle it out with aliens on the Xbox360 - I realize that kweli hindsight is 20-20 and he probably would not have given me such a hard time, had he been able to see into the future. Since we had set out early we took the long route, driving down a windy road through lush neighborhoods with green lawns, some were large enough to graze horses and we saw a few lazily munching the balmy afternoon away. We arrived at the house promptly as was requested on the Evite - 3:00 pm, exactly fifteen minutes before the hostess and the food (thankfully some was already prepared, like the mind-blowing Jamaican Roti). Anyway, her groovy husband had graciously let us in, phoned to tell her ...

Barack Obama’s win is good for my Kenyan soul. This morning, my husband said he noticed that there was more ounce in my bounce. I too was surprised at how refreshed I felt, considering I'd clocked a mere three hours of sleep after a momentous 2008 election night. Just as fresh on my mind this morning, is that last night I was quite okay with our oldest daughter's emotional comment that she was finally proud to call herself an American. Aside from a momentary tinge of guilt that we had probably succeeded in robbing her and her siblings of an allegiance to the American flag (more on that later), I felt more strongly the overwhelmingly redeeming quality of Barack Obama’s victory. At last, the distortions that have made up the fabric of American socio-cultural relations would exist no more. Finally, the suffocating guilt that bleeds into relationships and chokes them into premature death would be eradicated as time went by. Indeed, our children can now brandish their U.S. passports...