Ever Heard Of A Worse Dodade?

Day 3

Now send your character to his or her grumpy grandmother’s house for a visit. Write the scene of your character’s arrival.

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‘If the mother of my mother is my grandmother 

What would it take to silence this old woman?’

Dodade wrote this and struck it out in his poetry book.

If humans were chocolate, his grandmother would be a snicker bar –  not only because she spends half the day sitting on her balcony and snickering at everyone who passes while passing odd comments about them, but also because she’s so sneaky.

One time, she was able to dig up the identity of Dodade’s girlfriend (now his ex) by simply standing at his door during midnight calls and waiting for a time when he’d say her name and surname. She later found the poor girl’s mother’s second cousin in the village sharing boundaries with the Monday Farmers’ Market. She went ahead to set too many things in motion pertaining the marriage between Dodade and the poor girl until Dodade started getting invited to his own wedding and had to stomp all the way to the village to warn his grandmother to stop.

Now he just arrived at the village again. But this time, it was because the deadline for the Aritya Award for Exceptional Poetry was in two weeks and he still couldn’t find enough juice in him to write on the theme: Ages and Sages. 

Hearing her scream at the maid behind her house as he approached the house, made his heart jump. He was never prepared for his grandmother. He took a seat and brought out his poetry book.

If the mother of my mother is my grandmother 

What would it take to silence this old woman?’

 

Strike out.

 

Age genuflects at her grace 

Time stops at her gaze 

Mother dearest how does it feel? 

To have a mother as a sage 

To have Mama Sagay? 

 

Strike out.

 

Ocean and oceans of time beg to fill her 

Children and children of mine beg to feel her 

 

He cursed. Strike out.

 

Why am I even here????

Before he could even strike that out completely,  he heard a voice over his head say? ‘You have come again with this talking to your book rubbish. If you knew your mouth was smelling why didn’t you brush it. Or better still, why did you not stay in your Lagos house. Now you come here you cannot even open your mouth to greet. Straightaway, you’re talking to your book.’

Dodade said nothing. He simply watched as his grandmother shuffled on her feet to open the door to her house. ‘Stand up and enter. Mosquitoes will enter.’

As he stood up and packed his things to go in, he heard her mutter, ‘ Although mosquitoes are better guests. At least they sing in my ears. Counting me worthy enough to talk to me’

 

He smiled and walked towards his grandmother. Stopping just at the doorway, he pecked her on the forehead, looked her in the eye and said,

‘You make age tremble at your youthful soul grandma,

You make me rage at your sharp tongue, 

You make tongues recoil at your sound mind, 

You make minds shudder at your brazen words 

You know… 

We don’t even know if you’re a sage

Because you are constantly on a barrage. 

(and sages are supposed to be intense and quiet) 

But what does that matter? 

I don’t know if I’m a poet

But my groupies have expectations so high, I can no longer blow it. 

Although at this point I think I must have missed it. 

See, I just tried to rhyme barrage with sage, grandma

 

She hugged him and they stayed like that for a while. Then she said, ‘Your mouth is actually smelling’