Tamara Phiri, Blog Author's South-African-born daughter is 3 this year and it occurred to me that gaining the power of writing might one day cause me to forfeit a place in her good books.
Elder sister to Tamara, Tanzanian-born 19-year-old Miss Mertho Matanje (Phiri), holding an own sibling, Mr Maziri Phiri (aged 3). HOW MUCH DOTING ON DO I OWE THIS PAIR? |
South African Blog Author and Miss Mertho Matanje (Tamara's elder sister) born and resident in Tanzania, back in 1999 (aged 5). REMOTE-CONTROLLED DOTING ON? |
So, as from the 3rd this month I started doting on Tamara in the positive sense of the word, though.
By the 5th of the month I had already made tremendous strides in the right direction, or so I'd thought.
However the last episode of the day today has left me anxious and querulous: "Am I appreciated in the right places?"
APPRECIATED FOR WHAT? you may ask.
Appreciated for moving...
2. ...To being her knight in shining armour where some bumbling pair of ignoramuses had tried to abduct her on January 19th 2013.
Yes, in less than 24 hours I have been a charwoman , night nurse , wet nurse , menial, baker, banker, usher, pharmacist, psychologist, policeman, horse, dog, bodyguard and a dozen other professions and mimicries the Animal Kingdom may not even be aware of if at all in Goodman Manyanya Phiri's service to one person named Miss Tamara Phiri.
It has all been o so surreal; pretty much like an emotional earthquake on Planet of the Apes as Men in Pretoria--South Africa --lauded me for actively bringing up a future wife to one of their sons!
Assured of the survival of their own species (often in spite of hanging so precariously from the supposedly amorous arms of their striding husbands), the, men's gentler counterparts became even more courteous towards me.
Everybody loves a brave man and so the world lauded me for peering so boldly into the world of motherhood, YET THE SUBJECT AND RECIPIENT OF THIS DOTING APPARENTLY REDUCES ALL OF THAT EFFORT TO 'FLUID FOOD OF ONE MAN WHO IS FOOLED' (me, the father, in other words!)
Listen to this dialogue that took place at around 8 p.m. as sweet slumber was beckoning in some quarters.
Father: Are you hungry?
Tamara: Yes! (accompanied by a nod of the big round head)
Father: OK! And so I am going to cook you something. But what would you like for supper?
Tamara: THE BOTTLE!
Father: No! The bottle is out! Your mother took it with her. It is definitely not on the menu where I am concerned. Grow up, Tamara!
Tamara: THE BOTTLE!
Father: I tell you there is no bottle around here. Perhaps I should phone your mother; and tell her to bring that bottle back. Until then, it is not about what liquid can swoosh down your throat, rather it is about what solid food I can COOK you!
Tamara: FOOLED!
Father: What?
Tamara: Fooled! You cook fooled!
Father: I do not understand. How do you mean I cook you....?
Father: You mean 'JUICE'? (aforementioned 'The Bottle' is usually filled with 50% water and 50% fruit juice just as long as it has been squeezed out of neither apple nor citrus to which two fruits 'Fong-Kong Phiri Baby' (as she is so fondly, if sadistically, nick-named by Mamelodi) is allergic.
Father: That is going to be a first of firsts. How do I cook fluid that is fooled? Please tell me more clearly what I must make you for food this evening, will you? WHAT DO I COOK?
Tamara: (shouting and very clear this time round) FOOD!
It is the ring in that voice that got me worried by feelings of being undervalued.
Or maybe I should work on my own sense of self-confidence and stop reading adult reactions into infantile communication!
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