I’m not used to being up this early. But, that doesn’t really mean anything to my mom. I mean, whether you like it or not, if you live with her, she’ll wake you up either way. And then she’ll have the pluck to push that ”my house, my rules” thingy right up into your face.

I wasn’t really planning to wake up early. But, you can never sleep peacefully with my mom around! I mean, NEVER!! She sings in the morning. And if that fails to wake you up, she’ll make it a point that she finds a reason to wake you up.

“Zinzi, haven’t you seen that…” she’ll say, standing at the door of my room. Like really mom? *rolling eyes* I have hardly been here for more than a week yet you expect me to know where everything is? How does that even work, huh?

But, those are questions that my mom never answers! She’s got what she wanted, right? I’m awake and sitting on the bed, seething and almost regretting why I had to come here. I mean, what’s the point of a holiday, if you can’t rest and sleep until whatever time you feel is appropriate?

As if waking me up is not enough, she’ll be standing in the kitchen and screaming: “Zinzi, my tea, please…” The ‘please’ only added in that short sentence for politeness purpose. It doesn’t really mean anything! I mean, you know how our parents are, right? Whether you want to make the tea or not, you’ll make it either way.

Otherwise you’ll be subjected to listening to a long lecture about ‘good manners’ and how ‘varsity is changing you’ to the point that your mom can hardly recognize the little girl she gave birth to.

So, I kiss my beauty sleep goodbye and begrudgingly make my way out of bed – hopefully when she leaves for work I’ll catch up on my sleep.

After making the tea, I silently make my way to my room. “Where are you going?” is the question that stops me on my tracks. I stand there, wondering whether to ignore the question and keep on walking. The good and obedient child in me decides to resurface.

“Nowhere, mama!” the voice is too innocent to be mine. I don’t recognize it.

“OK! Where’s your tea?” Mom knows I don’t like her strong ‘Five roses’ tea, but whenever she feels like it, she forces me to make myself a cup. I never finish it. But, that, too, doesn’t really matter! It’s not about tea. It’s about forcing me to sit down with her for a conversation… Oops! Scratch that out! Conversation is not the word I’m looking for. The word is interrogation!

The kitchen is an interrogation room. Uncomfortable questions that have been asked since I got here on Saturday evening are repeated. Are you passing, Zinzi? How’s Bloemfontein? Why didn’t you come back home in March? Uyathandana, Zinzi?

So, I just look inside my untouched cup of tea, shyly and close my eyes to thank the God who saw it befitting to give me such a loving and caring mother. You and your mother may not see eye to eye, especially about sleeping patterns, but that doesn’t mean she loves you any less, hey!

It’s not Mother’s day today. It’s only a Tuesday. And it’s not different from all the other days, except the fact that I’m blessed enough to wake up to this much caring and loving. Some children out there are not this lucky. Some children have mothers who couldn’t care whether the child is OK or not! Did I just refer to myself as a child? Yes, of course!

I’ll forever be my mother’s child. It’s just one of those things I can’t change, whether I like it or not.

I’m blessed!

ZZ xx

Dish it: What did you wake up thinking this morning?

Catch up with me on Facebook: The Diary of Zinzi Zwane.