For the new ones, let me introduce my siblings again. We’re four in the family, all six years apart.
Kenneth – First born
Samuel – Second born
Irene (me) – Third born
Peter – Last born
Our childhood was fun. Mum made it memorable to the best of her ability. This woman did her best to ensure we were still comfortable even after our father’s demise.
Let me talk about our habits.
Kenneth was the chief justice of our house. He was always sober-minded when making decisions, never letting emotions take over. He inherited my dad’s problem-solving skills and was also the most polite child. Any case in the house was handled by mum and Ken and Ken would always stand for the truth, even if you gave him side eyes filled with rage.
He was also the worst cook. His food was edible but never sweet. I don’t know what he did to eggs, but one day he cooked for mum and she stopped eating eggs for a while because of him. And when it came to music, oh Lord — the worst taste according to me. He listened to hip-hop — DMX, Nas, Dr. Dre, 2Pac — and his songs annoyed all of us.
Do you still remember Sam? He was the showstopper. The best in everything. A great cook, the cleanest, the best dressed, the family accountant, the first to know celeb gossip and new songs, the most popular, and the softest manipulator. Mum had a habit of giving us pocket money equally and advising us to spend wisely. Sam would sweetly whisper to me, “Let’s spend your money on both of us first. I’ll use mine later.”
And of course, after mum warned me not to fall for the trap, I still did every single time. Sam would finish my money, then Peter would pity me and spend his on both of us. Once his was over and Ken still had some left, Ken would pity Peter and me and spend his money on us. The last man standing with cash was always Sam.
Since he was the smartest, he’d convince us to take loans from him and even go as far as selling loans to mum. Mum would need some coins for something small, and Sam would draft an agreement to loan her, complete with an interest rate. He always had agreements in the house for everything, and mum had to sign and even include her ID number before engaging in any business with him. We never understood why he needed all that yet mum lived with us and would always pay. When it came to finances, Sam was unbeatable.
He was also the one who instructed us using only his eyes. There were many times we planned to teach him a lesson, but when he came home and gave us that look, we’d humbly drop our plans. With a straight face, he’d warn, “If I find you planning anything against me, I’ll deal with you and lock you inside the toilet.”
Then there’s me. I was not the best in anything. In fact, I relied on votes to pass agendas. We had very serious voting sessions in the house — more serious than what IEBC does for the nation. We were just five people, but we’d campaign for hours or days, sell our ideas, and vote.
During voting, we’d give a few seconds for last-minute persuasion, and somehow, I always won because of sympathy votes. Mum had no choice but to vote for me. Peter was always on my side in everything. Ken would support me because I was the only girl in the house. Sam would vote against me — alone — and still walk around proud.
The last one is Peter. This one gave us enough heart attacks in that house. Peter was extremely playful. He’d come home in the evening looking however he wanted — darker than usual — and only return to his original skin tone after bathing. His arrival would make all of us shout, “Eeeii Peter!” every evening.
There were days he’d come back with trousers torn all the way down, shirts without buttons, shoes hanging on for dear life, and a bag held together by faith. Peter would dash straight to the bathroom and leave us with our “Eeehh!”
Mum was always speechless. She never had the strength to even shout “Eeeh.” She’d just stare at Peter because my brother had turned her into a part-time tailor. Mum bought new uniforms, bags, and shoes every term until she had no strength left in her.
When mum told you to go look for Peter, that meant you had to check the trees too. It was common to find him hanging from a branch with his friends because, apparently, they’d finished all games available on the ground.
On the positive side, Peter was always index 1. He’d shower and study without mum reminding him. And before you ask — yes, Peter was mama’s boy. He supported every agenda mum passed and would even pretend to enjoy her songs and movies just to make her happy. The rest of us didn’t know how to pretend.
The best times were when mum wanted to take us out.
“Get ready. We’re going for dinner today. Dress well.”
The first people to protest were Ken and Sam.
“Why do you want to go with us?” they’d shout.
“We’re not walking with you. Go with siz. We’re comfortable watching TV and cooking for ourselves. We’re not coming.”
Mum would plead and even try to force them.
“We’re not walking with women,” they’d insist. “All you do is window-shop and embarrass us. You also walk slowly, admiring everything on the road. We’re not coming.”
The arguments would go on and on, but those two never changed their minds.
Peter, on the other hand was always confused. If he came with us, they’d say he had “umama” (feminine behavior). If he stayed behind, he knew mum would miss him. He was always at crossroads. With time, he started calling himself a “mature man” like my brothers and stopped tagging along.
Now that I look back, I realize mum didn’t just raise four children, she raised a courtroom, a bank, a parliament, and a playground under one roof.
📸 Mum and Peter during Peter’s high school 
prayer day.