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Issue 7 Nonfiction

The Perfect Purse

I got feedback to expand the purse a bit more and delve more into my relationship with Kaa. In general, it was really helpful to hear how my work read to other people

             My grandma, my Kaa, has had the same purse throughout my entire life. Throughout her entire life, it seems like. Its dark brown made from smooth leather, with a wide leather flap closure and gold hardware. This purse has followed her everywhere. It’s been by my Kaa’s side for many decades. I can imagine the countless times Kaa shuffled through her purse to reach for her passport in a British airport on a trip back from Nigeria; probably thinking that she left it behind but forgetting she just put it in her back pocket. I know that purse was with her on all her bus rides through Downtown Columbus on her way to her Water Aerobics classes and trips to the free food market . For all I know, that purse was with her when she watched MLK’s ‘I Have a Dream’ speech all the way back in 1963.  

             Kaa is loud, confident, unapologetic, and unwavering. When she wasn’t visiting Nigeria for months at a time, she was living with my family or was up the street living with my aunt. She was the first voice I’d hear in the morning. Most likely engaging in some unserious, but loud nonetheless, argument about Nigerian Politics or the recent breaking news on CNN. When Kaa was living with us, I could expect our kitchen table to always have a tablecloth on it, covered in flour and sugar and baking pans full of sweet potato pies, pound cakes, or muffins. She would spend hours at a time looking through her copy of the Joy of Cooking and her black composition notebook full of handwritten recipes. She would spend hours before actually baking, making sure we had all the ingredients and laying them out of the kitchen table. I remember one time when she made muffins and used salt instead of sugar. I remember my aunt and Mom laughing about it for hours.   

            Kaa is antagonistic, volatile, and critical. I think Kaa was my first bully. From as long as I can remember, she would comment on my attitude, my weight, my hair, basic parts of my identity, or my developing identity, at least. My hair was always too dry. I was always too loud. I was always eating too unhealthily and getting too big. When I think about it, I really can’t recall her saying anything nice about anyone in the family.  She demanded acceptance and tolerance, though she never gave it in return. At least three times a day, I could count on her yelling at my mom or me to be quiet while we watched the evening news and then continuing to talk over the TV throughout the whole broadcast. It used to utterly perplex me how she didn’t realize that she was doing the very thing that she didn’t want us to do. It still does. There are hundreds of examples I could choose from, but it’s so hard to remember. Especially since Kaa has been so different the past few years because of her dementia diagnosis.