MY REAL FAMILY TREE

 

I have always bragged to myself that I have the perfect picture of my family tree, nuclear and extended. I have always known by position and role. I can even tell you that I know what everyone of us is up to and where they reside. The paternal and maternal genealogical divides, I also believed I had a perfect knowledge of. 

BUT I WAS MISTAKEN

On Saturday, I visited the popular Lagos market in the island. Popular for its sheer size, availability of all required items and at a cheaper rate. Most Lagosians when they are less busy troop in there to cheaply secure those items which otherwise would be sold in exotic boutiques at  higher prices.

Immediately I stepped my feet into the market,  my hitherto perfect knowledge of my family tree was forever altered; a young lady selling assorted biscuits called out to me; "uncle buy original Danish cookies". I stopped; goose bumps engulfed my entire body. "So one of my siblings' offspring ended up at a very young age selling cookies in island?" I asked myself. When I looked closely, I couldn't place her identity. So I walked on

Next was an older woman of about 56yrs selling stockings. She was trying to reach out to me too: “daddy please buy with me. I get original stockings". I almost lost it there. I'm yet to have a family of my own and here I'm being accused of fathering a woman of about 56yrs. I was still contemplating whether to confront the woman when a voice called out from behind; “brother, I get better chinos trousers oooo". My brother Mike always said about changing his line of business.  "So he finally switched to clothe business?"  Then I turned to greet him and probably ask him when he finally began his new business. In front of me stood a guy though cheated by height was well-built.  He was holding a long stick with a nail near its topmost end to assist him with unhinging the highly placed trousers. His face bore no resemblance with any brothers of mine. His hazelnut eyes probably browned by too much exposure to smoke or as a result of deficiency of blood-giving vitamins made his look most confusing to me. But he was well-built so I hid my anger and walked on.

Then a feminine voice called out; "my son". I couldn't believe my ears. "Mum in Lagos? Who brought her? Since when? Why didn't she tell me she was coming?" sharply I turned to the direction of the voice and behold stood a woman probably of the same age with my mum, seated on a roadside pavement and pointing at her stockfish for me. When I drew closer to ascertain maybe she was my mother's sisters whose daughter lives here in Lagos, her next words convinced me on the opposite; " Omo dada, ejoor..... " We have no genealogical link whatsoever with Yoruba land. At least for now.

Eventually, I was able to buy the few items I came for and left. When I got home, I angrily wanted to call dad to explain the various brothers and sisters of mine which he never disclosed to me while growing. But then I remembered;

Though we are all different.  In Christ, we are all one.

We see ourselves as strangers but in truth, we are all one. We always say " it is all man for himself" but in reality it should be " all for one, one for all"

So I realized, actually the people I saw were my brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, mums and dads.

#weareone#

photo credit: familytreemagazine.com