Little JB

There is still love in this world. I see love and innocence in the chubby face of Little JB. JB is my 3-year old neighbour and he is just adorable. He is always up very early – actually too early for someone his age. He does not seem to mind. He is resigned to the fact that he has to be dropped at the day care centre before mummy can run to her day time job as a cleaner, tea girl, and messenger in Mr. Mutyaba’s big office in town. On the weekends, she does laundry and helps us the bachelors shop and cook. She has to do all that so that JB can stay in the day care centre away from the child traffickers who seem to be on the rise. At least at the day care centre, he is protected and if she pays her dues on time, they will feed him as well.

We all love JB especially the way he sticks his chubby hand with its tiny fingers waiting for a handshake as he squeals a delightful ‘Good morning, Uncle’  His eyes are still heavy-laden with sleep but his mother reminds him that he will sleep when they get to ‘school’. The talk of school always excites him. He is more than glad to meet his friends. He waves a hasy goodbye to me and trots after his mother. 

JB’s mother is called Sophie but out of respect, the boys and I call her ‘Maama JB’. She is very nice. She told me that JB’s father left her when she refused to abort the pregnancy. She was 22 and very much in love with Philip – that is his name. Philip was 27 and a carpenter at the local construction site. You see Philip had another woman with whom he had 3 children. Maama JB believed that Philip would marry her. But after making her pregnant, he dumped her.

She remembers clearly that day her world crushed. She met him at the clearing, near the river. She waited for him under the mango tree. As she waited, she kept rehearsing how she would break the news to him. A rustling of the dry leaves brought her out of her reverie. She did not see him coming. Suddenly he was there, looking down at her, the way he always did. That curl of his lower lip still made her hot all over. He sat next to her and slid his arm around her waist. She was sweating and shivering. In that deep rich voice of his, he asked; ‘Babe, what is it? Please talk to me.’

She fidgeted with her fingers for a while and then suddenly, she blurted, ‘I think I am pregnant.’ His hand left her waist faster than it had gotten there. He looked at her and stood up slowly and in his deep voice said, ‘You have to get rid of it. Marita will kill me.’ She was shocked. She remembers telling him that she could not do such a thing. She could not live after killing their child. He said, ‘ If you do not get rid of it, then it is over’ He had walked away without saying goodbye. She sat there for a very long time crying till she felt she had cried herself dry. She stood up and made a decision to leave home that night because if her father found out, he would surely kill her. Her mother was just powerless in this matter.

She found her way to Kampala and got a job as a house girl till she gave birth to JB. Six months after JB was born, a  friend recommended her to Mr. Mutyaba and so far all was going well. Mr. Mutyaba was nice to her. JB had the face of his grandfather and the posture of his father. He was a good boy. His world revolved around his mother. We had an agreement to protect him from the evil. According to his mother, we were the fathers that he did not have.

Today, an evening is incomplete without JB. He has stories that we could never miss for anything in the world. He trusts us and fully relies on us to always be there for him. We shall not dissapoint. God help us.


12 thoughts on “Little JB

  1. I like-with minor irritation about the bits about going down to the river rural rustic setting where you were wildly creating what you think might have happened and then boom, you hit us with urban slang, Babe, what is it? really???! -I like. Nevertheless.

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