slowly surely + xyz : a journey of (re)discovery

I AM. Magic

By InspiredJourney


In addition to the yelling at morning news shows, the drama around Carmen and Wynton, it was a ‘pleasure’ to bear witness in seeing a woman 60+ years of age, questioned as if she were a child!

At some point during the day Kenya had mistakenly misjudged the placement of a curb, hit it and ruptured a tire on the minivan. Unbeknowst to me, this was cause for a serious interrogation performed by none other than Babaaa. The ‘reporting’ of the incident came in from the middle daughter Chidema. She was a passenger in the car
during the incident, and I can only guess was accustomed to making reports to her father.

Given my nature of being very private and one to mind my affairs, I’m not one to eavesdrop or tune in to what others are conversing about at various times. The ride to the house this night was no different. My ritual was to pop my earbuds in and listen to some music or stream video content. I really just wasn’t interested in hearing what conversation that may unfold. However, this particular night, my low battery gave way and off my phone went. It happened to fail me at the point where I hear Baba asking a question and some muttered response given. He asked again. The same. He then asked Chidema, who was sitting in the second row of the van next to me. She responded with a
hesitance, giving enough truthful details, but not being the snitch that would surely get the person she’s snitching on in grave trouble.

Baba: “Chidema, what happened to the tire?”

Chidema: “Mama was turning the car. She didn’t see the curb. It was … it was a weird angle, and she hit it. It wasn’t her fault. It couldn’t be avoided.”

This is the language of a person attempting to save someone before the wrath comes raining down, because she knows the possibility is near certain.

I sat, silent and saddened.

This was the vision of years of emotional abuse playing out before my very ears and eyes.

I was bothered.

You see, Chidema is schizophrenic and medicated to have some semblance of balanced brain chemistry. And she, in this moment, had the wherewithal to sit in a space as protector of her mom. She’s a sweet soul that’s been through a trauma that I wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

Ordinarily, my default feeling is anger in situations like this. However, I was a spectator who felt no place in interjecting my feelings about what I witnessed.

I felt baaaad.

Not being a participant in the conversation, I sat, quietly as we drove. As I looked at the entire family dynamic, I questioned so many things.

We made what was a usual stop at a given store on the way. This night it was the Family Dollar that got our money. As we parked, Kenya began to exit the car, asking if anyone needed anything. Requests were made, and as usual no one budge to go into the store with her, except for me. As I stated prior, I felt awful sitting in the car as she pumped gas, made a grocery store run or any other errand, while everyone else remained comfortably seated awaiting their requested goods.

I felt bad. I felt perplexed, because I know it’s not my place toattempt changing things that were how they were before I arrived and will be after I’m gone.

I was perplexed because do I sit, and participate in seeing this woman who has worked the whole day and will cook once home and wake to make breakfast for all the next morning before chauffeuring the gang to the shop? Do I? It was hard to balance this.

“BULLSHIT!”

She ‘called me out‘.



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