Madhe

Hi mom 👋

My mother. Source — Author

Like bygones, gotta let icons be icons, hi moms (Hi moms)

— Lil Wayne

Most Kenyans notice the clear contrast between the title and the subtitle.

Let me clear things up: I have called my mother “madhe” ever since I could utter the word. Sometimes, I still do.

Bear in mind that my real name is Innocent. And this is my one alternative view to a name that means so much to me but not to the rest of the world.

Young as I was, whenever she came back from work, I would jump at her with glee.

“Madhe!”

As I grew older, I’d learn how vile the word can be sometimes.

Words we grew up using become assimilated into our vocabulary. Replacing them becomes difficult. It became apparent when I got my phone. I wondered, “Would I save my mother as ‘Madhe’?” It was my first adult encounter with the word I have been using affectionately to describe my mother.

In our extended family, no other person had such a name. My aunts were ascribed names based on their children. Mama Emmy, Mama Wendy, Mama Win. Neither of them was “Madhe”.

A national identity number is unique to one person. Our brains, however, are not wired to remember numbers easily. To the unique phone numbers, we still have to add names. Madhe was a unique name we had given our mother, and we knew no one else could get such an honour.

Eventually, I had to save her differently. I wouldn’t want my phone to ring and someone hand it over to me saying, “Ni Madhe”. Coming from someone else who wasn’t close family, it would sound so wrong. I’d go to great lengths to train them to pronounce it right. It’s like sibling rivalry. My brother is the only one allowed to make jokes about me. Not anyone else. Nobody could use the word “Madhe” and make it sound affectionate as we did in our family.

More surprisingly, my mother never minded. She embodies values I see in Japanese women. Brave, wading through life proudly knowing her worth despite the world’s attempts to bring her down multiple times. Generous, even when most of the people she helped turned their backs on her. Courageous, pursuing her desires contrary to traditionally prescribed careers. Nobody can bring Madhe down. Not even the very word we have been using to refer to her.

When I think about it, the word evokes warmth because it reminds me of a single face. That face graces this article today. But when someone uses it to define, say, the lady who comes over to their place to do house cleaning or wash clothes, it lacks the pristine lustre it has in my mind.

I imagine a matatu conductor trying to pacify an irate mother, thinking the word would supposedly “put her in her place”. In the history of using that word, different from how I have always known it, it only stirs anger. How then did the word turn from a deprecating one to one that brings a smile to my face?

The other day, I took her to the movies to watch Michael. Everyone in our family knew Michael Jackson because of her. Every time she saw Chris Brown move or Usher, she would smirk, “Hm! They all learned from Michael Jackson.” I don’t know of any bigger fan of Michael in my country than my mom.

On billboards, the movie ads speak of many icons, and then there is only one. Michael. In my life, I can speak of one icon: Madhe. In reality, were it not for her, I would not have known about the other icon that is MJ. I would have been remiss if she didn’t see the film on the big screen. In essence, through her works, she was uttering the same words as Nas:

I’m an icon in real time

Speaking of MJs, she’s also the one who introduced us to Michael Jordan. Back when we used to stay at that “ploti ya mkisii,” as we used to call it, next to Mutare Supermarket and NOVA (which later changed to Naivas), close to PCEA church, a short distance from DIWOPA (Divine Word Parish), she bought me the number 23 Bulls Jersey. I could wear it on both sides, and it would still make sense. She has always let other icons take the limelight.

As close as she has always been, she has been giving us autographs every weekday. Some of us mastered her signature and even feared approaching her sometimes, because we forged it. Yes, she signed our homework diaries and assignments as proof that we were compliant with the teacher’s instructions. If only I could get that diary. I’d preserve it with the kind of passion that Sam showed to his friend, Frodo.

Here are two diametrically opposing views. In one, we have an autograph from a famous artist, which people would encase in a plaque and hang in their rooms. On the other hand, we have an autograph, which we would rather call a signature, because it was done out of obligation rather than pleasure. One icon will never physically meet everyone in the world, but to the other one, she means the world to us. My mother is an icon. I now have to ask her if she can sign a photo I will print of her, then hang it in my house.

The other is the alchemy that came with taking a deprecating name and converting it into one that triggers fountains of joy and, sometimes, in recollection, fear. If my mother had come back and discovered that I had not bathed, my sisters would witness hell manifest in that house, at a corner somewhere kwa ploti ya mkisii. When we remember these days, we can’t help but laugh.

She raised us with a conspicuous word, converted into an affectionate one, without our knowledge. To date, her grandchildren address her by that name, Madhe, and the contours that form on her face reflect that her magic continues. To the world, “Madhe” is different from how we see it.

Alchemy. That is what she has always been preaching ever since I can remember. She took her circumstances and made the most of them. She took everyone to school, all the way to campus, by herself. By herself. Let that register. She even took others in her family, her brothers and sisters, to campus. By herself. An icon in real time.

As Lil Wayne said, “Icons, stepping on pythons.” Indeed, she has been wary of snakes; they have endlessly discovered that they can never put her down.

Always raising the standards for herself and us, she did not settle for mediocre results; she foresaw the relevance of outdoor activities before the enslavement of rectangular screens; she encouraged dinner talks, insisting that we shut the TV and commune every evening during dinner; she taught me to cook so well that my colleagues at work think I have a wife at home who prepares my meals.

Isaac Newton was obsessed with alchemy. My mother lived it. She continues to do so. I’ll seize every chance I get to celebrate her. I don’t need a reminder from a calendar to know I have been walking with a giant.

Lil Wayne said it best. Let icons be icons. He then extends his greetings by shouting out to moms. So here’s a shoutout to my icon, Madhe, my mom!

---

This song inspired some of the lines used in this article. Source — YouTube