September 18, 2010

Bataata.  My father.  MY father.

As we learned in our last class, in the Bemba language the word for father is a completely different one when signifying “my” father, as opposed to the father of another person.  And when the instructor told us this fact, tears sprang to my eyes, for I knew that I was about to make the journey I have anticipated for over 2 decades now.  Zambian time and logistics being what they are, I knew it would not be definite until I was actually on the road.  But after an 8-hour journey yesterday, I arrived in the village where I was, for a portion of my childhood, raised.  And this morning, the man who knows the way knocked on the door and led me to “where my father lies” . . . bataata kumanda kobalala.  There I did what I had decided upon:  In colored chalk I covered the stone.  A cross.  The word bataata.  And the initials of the 4 of us who knew him as such.  So be it.

One Response to “bataata”

  1. Cherie Blessing said

    My heart hugs yours, dear one.

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