Stitching Generations

Mama dresses eh! I opened my eyes in wonder, feeling the quality of the cotton ankara dress that could fit two people of my size in it, as I rummaged further through the old box of clothes in my late grandma's room.

It all started when my school decided to go on an indefinite strike, a common turn of events in a federal university, the reason why a four-year course of study could become six years.
"What are you going to do? Travel back to lagos"

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My mum asked, I could feel the worry in her tone as she asked because I had only just travelled back from Lagos a month ago, the stress of travelling the long 12 hours on the road, the rising insecurity in the country, and to top it all, the high cost of transportation.

Reliving all in my mind, and especially how I had the worst motion sickness ever during the last trip,

"No, mum, I won't be coming back," I said assuringly, I will be fine, let me use this opportunity to know about your hometown, I will spend the break with Aunty T, I said. All my life, I was born and bred in Lagos and never really visited my state of origin until I got admission to study here.

Still, after resuming, school has kept me so preoccupied that I hardly had the time to visit; now was indeed the best time to get to know more about my origin, maternal side, though, since all of dad's siblings were far away in the city or out of the country.

Aunty T had welcomed with the tightest hug; even with her tiny frame, one could easily underestimate her strength. "Feel at home, she said as she ushered me to my room. This used to be Mama's room, I'm sure her spirit will be so happy that her grandchild finally visited, she said.

Though the house and rooms were kept very clean and tidy, one still can't shake off that vintage feel, it felt like I walked into a former era, the carefully crafted wooden windows and doors, the flowery satin curtains with lace edge, the old but stil shiny marble floor, the creeek of the spring bed as I sat on it and so much more.

But what caught my interest more was the gigantic box in one corner of the room. The first day, Aunty T filled me with a heartwarming traditional meal and more talks of how beautiful and tall I have grown since she last saw me when she visited Lagos.

Aunty, I cut through her talk the next evening after our hearty meal,

"What's in that gigantic wooden box in the room?"

"Oh dear, they are for your grandma. We just left the room as it was after her demise. You can go through them in case you see anything you fancy, I'm sure she won't mind you having them, your granny was a fashion girl like you, you know" She said, and went in to bring old pictures of grandma and her children, my mum looked exactly like me, I laughed, how did she get so big now, we laughed as she tells me stories of their childhood, some I had heaard from my mum before, before retiring for the night.

As I woke up the nextmorning, my first agenda was to satisfy my curiosity about the box content, Wow!, Mama dresses, and wrappers were neatly folded, they were old styles, but you could tell she had a high fashion taste with the way the dresses were designed, the quality of the fabrics were also top notched copared to what we have today, I couldn't hold my excitement, as I took some of them with to hurrying to aunty's room, can i remake some dresses for myseld using mama's dresses, I said pointing to the old sewing machine that laid dormant at one corner of her room.

"That would be great, he said, supporting my idea, let me call Okon to come service the sewing machine for you.

I was excited, it wouldn't be a boring break afterall

The next few days were a blur of activity. Okon, a lanky young boy, surprisingly had the old Singer machine humming like new in no time. Aunty T, with her endless stream of stories and delicious meals, was the motivation I needed. I transformed Mama’s room into my makeshift sewing room. Fabrics were spread across the bed as I paddled away,

Using the first ankara dress I had picked, I made a matching corset blouse for myself and Aunty T, fitting mine first, I felt a connection to Mama I hadn't anticipated. It was her fabric, her history, but reimagined through my hands. Aunty T gasped when she saw me. "Ah, Glory! Your Mama would be so proud! she said, with a drop of tears from the side of her eyes. I handed her the blouse I made for her, and then she let the waters flow as we went in for another heartwarming and comforting hug. Rest in Peace, dear Grandma.