A Case Of Talking Roaches And Millipede Children

My mother was pretty peeved the other day when the two Ns walked into the house after dark. And instead of launching an attack on the both of them, she decided to allot times to each in order for them to fully state and defend their case, potentially they would each get a hiding.

What followed went exactly like this, and it was said in the vernacular. But for the sake of you Russians and Americans I have taken the liberty of translating it.

The scene was her bed where she lay like a Modern day Marilyn Monroe minus the cigarette holder and sexy pout. Instead she had a phone in her hand and was staring at her reflection trying to decide whether or not she should die her hair, I am not one for other peoples vanity and was shaking my head quite vehemently.

She looked at her reflection one more time and gazed past me to look outside; I was sitting by the window.

“Where are those kids?”

“Still out in the street somewhere I guess, the sun has barely gone down.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she said irritation creeping into her voice, “it’s almost 7 o’clock”

They came in just then, and mama proceeded to tell me that seeing as they were her kids they were on the same wavelength. I learnt long ago never to disagree with my mother. After all she had borne five children and I, none.

“You two get in here," she yelled.

They slowed their paces, guessing correctly that they had somehow affected her mood. Mama has the hand of the baboon -direct translation of a Shona idiom, which means she will use any excuse to slap the tequila out of you.

“Come here you millipede, idiot of a child, no small N, I don’t mean you.”

“What I tell you about coming back at this time and what happens to play crazed monkeys like you, hell bent on spending the night jumping up and down like giant frogs in the street?”

Big N blinked confusedly trying to think whether or not it was wise to move closer.

It was wise to do so.

“Move closer.”

She did, enough to placate and enough to still be out of reach of mama’s left hook.

I imagine that Big N watched my mother through eyes round from fright, and maybe because i imagined they could swivel every which way, she was looking around trying to look for exits.

“Stop gawking at me and answer me.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Would you like for me to call the cockroaches to help you?”

“You can’t.”

“I can’t what?”

“Call the cockroaches, they won’t come.”

“I can do what I want, and I am going to call them to have them answer in your stead.”

“They won’t answer, because they can’t talk.”

Mama seemed to mull over this for a while, which was a small wonder to me, and then seeming to shrug mentally she changed tack.

"you take this one chum, she seems real peeved"

“Big N you are older and for that you should know better, if you behave in the same fashion again. Ever. I will beat you till you are black like little crows.”

All this while I had been silently laughing and piping in here or there. Yelling little gems that I felt would make each’s case stronger.

“I doubt there are enough cockroaches in the house.”

“They really cannot talk you know.”

“She only went outside because there was no electricity; I doubt you will have the same problem tomorrow.”

Each point went unheeded, and because I felt the conversation was going to get more ridiculous I left the room.