Why I love our African mothers

CRITICAL SITUATION
    The beauty of our African parents is that they protect their female children from getting wayward when it comes to matters of the opposite sex; just one touch, and you have signed a 9 months contract, ( avoid boys they are walking time bombs) our beautiful African women with the highest ranking- (a mother) would say. And they did still be the ones to reprimand you when you are 27 and still at home unmarried. But nevertheless  I learnt to close my legs as tight as I close my mouth,  as it was no secret that I was the shy and introverted type. But truth be told, this petite stature of mine didn't even bring temptation my way, thus I paraded myself with the patriotic flag of a good daughter.  Frankly speaking it was not like I had to explain to anyone the reason why, but things continued to follow that order until judgement day- yes judgement day; the day you have to go shopping with mum just before you return to school, and give a clear account as to why you still wrote "big tin of peak milk"  after she had bought two big tins earlier, two new towels, fair and white body cream when you possess a well toned chocolate complexion, and Zaron foundation. That is the day you will also give a detailed account of why the total sum of the figures on your list surpasses that of your neighbour's daughter who attends the same school as you,  and dear people that is day you shall confess your sins as well as your identity as to either being mother Christmas; for all the things you gave to a needy friend, Robin Hood; for the things you brought home that she doesn't remember buying for you and clearly isn't yours, and "pick and drop" for all the things you had clearly misplaced and she has to buy again, but trust me this is different as by the time she begins with you, you shall harken to her words and like the parable of the woman with the lost coin, you shall find that property and even find it appropriate to call your neighbors to rejoice with you when you do.
      But that is not the only thing you shall clarify, you shall also explain why you want to ditch the nick name of black beauty and assume the status of "oyibo", by asking for a cream that is not for your skin tone and finally it's either you explain why you want to assume the status of "mammy water" due to the list of your make-up or you write down a nice essay as to how that will improve your life.
       But mum is a lovely person, in fact the best that I know, so she knows that your confession is enough punishment, thus she might decide to get you the things either according to her mood or according to the number of chores you agreed to do without question during the break.
     But to be frank the task of shopping wasn't that easy,  as I was already fatigued but didn't dare allow it escape from my thoughts to vocal words of mouth because I knew better than to implore the wrath of an "are they not your things 101 lecture" and that was the reason why I almost chanted hallelujah when I finally sat beside mum in a bus.
     The breeze was beginning to blow softly as my thoughts wandered as to getting home and getting something to eat but all that soon became a thing of the past when "the guy on black"  boarded the bus, he had this light chocolate skin, that looked so much like cocoa butter, and a really handsome face,  my God he was tall. His masculine stature and the way he was nodding rhythmically to all the vibrant songs I liked that were being played in the bus, made me feel strange things.  And I was lost staring at him, at his back anyway as I was seating on a roll behind but trust me I didn't understand how just seeing a good looking person could make your day, until that day.
    I soon caught him throwing sideways glances to the back where I was seated, and I turned almost aggressively to look for my competition but there was none, except if he was into sugar mummies or gay which I doubt. But soon my questions were answered when a passenger alighted and he had to come sit with us at the back. I shuffled a bit with that petite frame of mine to make a space for him to sit beside me,  and when he apologized making a joke about himself being fat, I flashed him a killer smile at least that is what I thought it was at the time and he sat down. But few minutes into the journey he whispered into my ear "is that mum?" he asked, and I nodded softly.  My heart started to beat fast like it was a bass drum to a Christian song in church during Thanksgiving and I feared it would jump out of my chest anytime soon, my temperature increased and excitement filled me like a child who just got new shoes a day to Christmas but I contained my excitement. The best part soon availed itself,  he asked for my number and quietly slipped his phone on my lap.
   My excitement knew no bounds but soon an even heavier wave of caution swept over me like the heavy downpour of rain, I was with mum! Thus various questions invaded my head as I looked down at the gadget on my lap,  was I going to take the phone and type in my number; which was an open sign of rebellion by the way and an action I didn't know the outcome of...  Especially on mum's part or was I going to turn down the first tall good looking guy that had ever approached me...