Johnson child, said, grabbing a bottle of water to keep from choking on her laughter. “I remember the day Mama gave me one hot slap on the back because I was being all moody after school. That thing reset me to factory settings! It reminded me never to carry unpleasant moods.” The siblings erupted again, their laughter spilling freely into the air. Silence followed, broken only by the rhythmic crash of waves. Then Audrey’s eyes glistened. “When Dad disappeared in Liberia, I watched her carry everything alone. She sold meat pies, cloth, even small trinkets at the market—anything to keep us afloat. But she never let us feel shame. We went to school like every other child. We laughed, we played. She shielded us from the weight she carried.” Their laughter rolled once more into the sea breeze, full and unrestrained. Then, as always, came the familiar rivalry. “She loves me the most,” Mansa declared, tossing her hair dramatically. “In your dreams,” Awo shot back. “No, me,” Adah insisted, placing both hands on her chest. “But I’m her bestie, her confidante,” Missy reiterated. “I’m the first fruit,” Audrey added with a mischievous grin. “And I’m the last baby—the only boy. No challenger here,” Junior boasted. A chorus of “Ooooh!” followed, with playful boos and laughter. Beneath the teasing, though, the truth lingered: Mama had loved them all, fiercely and equally. Mansa’s tone softened. “What I cherish most is how she always wanted us united. When Audrey first travelled abroad and sent things home, she never wrote ‘From Audrey.’ It was always, ‘From the Johnson family.’ She never allowed division. We were one front.” She paused, her voice thoughtful. “On Mama and Daddy’s 18th wedding anniversary, I was in Holy Child. I had saved up my pocket money to buy this big, beautiful photo album from the school bookstore. It was expensive at the time, but I was so excited to give it to them. I wrote a long note and signed it: ‘Happy 18th Wedding Anniversary, Love Mansa.’ I was turning 18, and their anniversary was in July 2000. I showed it to Mama first, since Dad wasn’t around. She looked at it and said, ‘It’s perfect, just rewrite the message, but at the end, write that it’s from all of you. Put down all your names.’ She told me, ‘Even if it’s your money today, another day it will be your siblings’. It all balances out.” “So I rewrote the message and listed all our names. You guys didn’t even know I had done that. That album is still in the house. When Dad came back, I gave it to them. He was so excited and thanked all of us.” Her eyes softened with memory. “That really stuck with me. Even now, there are days when Mama will call to say, ‘Thank you for the money,’ and I’ll have no idea what she’s talking about. Then I’ll text you all, and someone will say, ‘Oh, yeah, we sent something from all of us.’ We’ve always presented a united front. That way, there’s no competition, no one trying to outdo the other. We’re all at different financial levels, and this system covers everyone.” We weren’t rich, but we were never short of what mattered most—love, laughter, and the belief that tomorrow could be better if we worked for it. Our parents’ faith was their compass, and it became ours too, though we didn’t realise how much it had shaped us until much later. Turning to her siblings, Mansa smiled. “Even our relationship with each other has gotten better because of Mrs. Jay. Growing up, I was always fighting with you,” she said to Adah. “Do you remember? I wanted to follow you everywhere, but you’d get annoyed.” The Birthday Journal 27
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy MTAyMTM3NQ==