The adventures with Gogo Dihwa under the tree of nostalgia

One day when it’s all gone to waste;

My courage,my free spirit,my strong will

I will fly home with eagerness to Gogo’s bosoms

So one day we can wake up just when the sun makes us good to sleep again

That’s when it still feels like it’s regenerating our skin and not looking to bestow a bout of cancer

Whilst eating mealie meal porridge

Under the tree with dried out leaves

I’ll be inquisitive like my six year old self

She always loved how I would patiently listen as she unpacked preciously tugged away memories of the adventures of raising Amai

She loved talking about all of her children

I don’t know about now though

They’re all dead and we are both weary beings

I no longer worship Amai and she doesn’t hear me so well anymore

It is increasingly more difficult to unpack

They aren’t just memories

It’s the only place my uncles and aunts are still alive

In the purest form

Her angel ghosts

Haunting but not in an overbearing way

But assurance that a reunion is a sure thing coming

I think when I finally get to embrace Gogo Dihwa

And sit under the dried out tree of nostalgia

I’ll ask more about her adventures to becoming my beloved grandmother

Who knows, maybe her adventures

Can unlock my misadventures, the missing element

My campus has no north

I find comfort in the idea that feeling like my six year old self

Might rid me of adulting

For a precious few hours.

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