Agogo

A woman marries.
She has four children that survive until adulthood. Her husband is married to another wife and lives in the other household. The woman leaves the man and raises her four children, paying their school fees and caring for them while working a full time government job.

Her children have children.
Her oldest son has six children, but his wife dies and he does also. The children move in with their grandmother and aunts. Her other children, all girls, have five more children between them all. The girls are educated and get good jobs around the country. Then a daughter dies suddenly. A woman, now a grandmother to eleven children, is left with two daughters.

Her friends consul her.
“I am sorry for your loss”, “she was a bright girl”, “I am so sorry” they say. She grieves saying that she wishes her children would not die before she. The women tell her that it is the will of God and that she must carry on. To her remaining daughters the women say “you must look after your mother”, “this loss is most hard on her”.

A woman looks me in the eye.
In the midst of her loss, I am welcomed into her home. She introduces me to her family and friends. She teaches me new sayings in Chichewa and counsels me on gardening. She does so with a smile on her face and an interested tone in her voice. I see strength in her and wisdom. She is not a rock solely enduring life. She is far to supple for that. Instead she has allowed herself to be molded by the passing of time and events. She has grown like a tree from rocky soil and bent by strong winds, yet she is the root support for her family. She shelters them and holds them close.

She still flowers and her warmth is felt by those around her.