One morning, a little boy appeared at my gate crying.
He stood there and said that his Big mother had left the house, that he didn’t know where she was or what to do. I had no idea who the child was, or which family he belonged to. I didn’t know what to do either…
The boy, who was about four years old, was sent to stay with his Mama Kubwa= Big Mother*, because his mother had been in the hospital for several weeks after giving birth. In this part of East Africa, children have many mothers and fathers because a whole village raises them, for real. The mother’s sisters are considered mothers, and the father’s brothers are considered fathers.
What???
For example, my mother’s older sister is my Big mother, and her younger sister is my Little mother. It doesn’t end here. Neighbors also consider themselves mothers and fathers, and so “It takes a village to raise a child” is an everyday beautiful reality.
I had recently returned from a long trip to the city and didn’t recognize this boy. By then I was used to meeting children I didn’t know, that came to stay with relatives for different reasons.
We were still standing at the gate, when my two neighbors, mother and daughter, passed by and told me where he stays. His Big mother is my neighbor! They took his hand and said he will stay with them, as he did many times before, until his Big mother will return. As they were walking away, I saw him looking back at me and crying. Eventually they yelled from afar: “He wants to wait for his Big mother with you”… Or in other words, he knew exactly where he wanted to be lost at!
We went inside, and you know what? It is fun to choose the Mzungu=foreigner for getting lost.
I gave him juice and biscuits, and he sat on the rug with a smile of satisfaction and happiness. It was a busy morning for me, so I let him play beside me while I was on my laptop.
About half an hour later, his Little mother, also a neighbor, arrived. She explained what happened that morning. The boy, that spent the night at her house, told her he’s going back to his Big mother, but when he found her house locked, he decided to go and “get lost” at the Mzungu’s house instead of simply returning back to her…
What a wonderful morning we had!
The following day, the boy came back with his older brothers (daughter and sons of his Big mother). They all got biscuits and hung out for a while. We were old friends now, and he felt comfortable with me, telling me elaborate stories that I could partially understand with my Swahili…
A few days later, his mother was released from the hospital, and he visited again, and happily shared the news that he was going back home with her, and that he has a new brother!
A week later I passed by his Big mother’s house, and she told me he asked her to say hi for him. Greet my “Bibi Mzungu” = Grandmother Mzungu, a name that other children in the village began to use as well, to my delight. I like it!
This is a story about community.
It touches my heart to witness this four-year-old child feeling so protected and held, that he feels he can choose where to go and “get lost”. He is held by a whole village, even though he is far away from his home.
I wish we find ways to create this kind of communal environments in our Modern settings.
Let me know in the comments if you have ideas on how to do that, after reading our story!
*Big mother and Little mother are not the best or the most correct English translation to the Swahili words, but I feel they capture best the essence of them.
