Edelweiss

For the longest time, our New Years were spent in a simple way — New Year’s Eve church service, arriving back home in a dark morning, visits to families later in the day, and a nice dinner. We would come back exhausted — too tired to even say goodnight. 

That’s why on this New Year's afternoon, I gathered everyone to watch a film together. Nobody was enthused. My two sisters took their food upstairs. Dad tried to follow the movie, but was frequently preoccupied with something else. He would have sporadic bursts of engagement, asking what characters were doing, followed by disinterest.

My mom was the only one who stayed to watch the film in its entirety. She had been cooking in the kitchen, where you could see the whole TV. After unsuccessful attempts at finding a film everyone wanted to watch, I settled with The Sound of Music. My mom took a quick break from cooking, watching Julia Andrews dance on the green hills. 

“To sing through the night…”

“I loved this song,” my mom said wistfully. 

“Like a lark who is learning to pray!”

My ears perked up at this revelation. “How do you know this song?” I asked.

“I watched this,”  Mom said, “When I was in Jos.”

I found out later from her that she didn’t watch the film at Jos, but had watched it in Abuja, miles further down the south of Nigeria. I wonder why I had misheard her at the time. 

My mom acted like a good mother by all universal terms — she went back to school to get a better job, so that we could all live a comfortable life. Whenever she could, she would give us treats and presents. 

However, I didn’t know anything about her. Her existence before I was born was essentially a blank slate. Was it my anxieties to yank us closer together stronger than the need to listen? Nevertheless, I had formed a new love for the film as soon as she said it. We bounced comments off each other as it went on.

“It takes a lot to dance like that.” 

“A, ahn! They put a frog in her dress!”

“The actor passed away…”

“I can imagine.”

Warm silence was interrupted by our broken conversation, as well as the creaks of the floorboard as Mom moved to the kitchen. She had made an assortment of foods that day — but the tomato glazed shrimp was the one dish stuck in my mind. I asked her if she wanted me to pause the film while she checked on it. At her dismissal, I walked over to the kitchen and stared at the pan. 

Mom preferred to cook and clean on her own at times. My sisters and I would stand at attention as she worked in the kitchen. On rare occasions, I would mix the stews and taste the rice, and sometimes I managed to wash the plates when Mom’s fatigue trumped her need to save water. Mom cooked and cleaned in quick efficiency — I took a dream-like, semi-distracted approach. Maybe it's that difference that pushed Mom from letting me make anything. 

“Taste one.” Mom grabbed one of the glazed, pink shrimps and placed it in my hand. I popped it quickly into my mouth, gasping at the heat of it.

“Let me wash the plate for you,” I offered again. 

“I’m already finished.” Mom transferred the shrimps to a transparent bowl and covered it, but she handed the pan over to me.

I watched Mom return to the living room, hands soapy and mouth full of spicy shrimps. I finished the dishes faster than I normally would and scurried back to the living room. My mind was still on Jos. 

The commander began to sing Edelweiss.

I watched it when I was younger, in Jos. My fascination with the cool green mountains, mixed with legends of snow, created a memory of a land that didn’t exist. 

Edelweiss, Edelweiss 

I pictured a memory of a younger Mom who was huddled with friends, the room shielding them from whispers of snow outside. The commander sang to them the same way. 

May you bloom and grow forever

At that moment in time, I wanted to see Jos more than ever — but the region is now too unsafe to visit.

Edelweiss, Edelweiss, bless my homeland forever

The daughter joined the father in the song. 

“They have such a beautiful voice, they really harmonize,” I whispered.

My mom nodded.

“Do you miss Nigeria, Nne?”

“Yes,” Mom replied with a shrug. “But what can you do?”

Small and white, clean and bright 

“Your dad thinks we will go in the next few years, hopefully,” Mom added.

May you bloom and grow

“We should go in the winter, it’s too cold here,” I said blankly, staring at the rugged floor. Lagos was not a legend to me. The busy roads, palm trees, odd little potholes. If Jos snowed, then Lagos basked in snow, followed by heavy thunder in the rainy seasons. Even that now is becoming a distant memory.

Edelweiss, Edelweiss, bless my homeland forever 

“Don’t worry — in the next few years,” Mom reassured me.

The next few years may become the next few years. I may return, but I had a feeling it might not be with the whole family.

“Yes Nne.” I turned and paid attention to the screen again.