My friend Jummy Fasola..
I lost my friend Jummy Fasola this April…but grief for me takes time to process. I’m a weird combination of the extrovert and a lone wolf — and so to speak of things that affect me it takes monumental effort; I don’t think I can ever put to words even now the passing away of Maximus and my grandmother — guilt, regrets and pain. Searing pain that almost numbs you into functionality; that makes you get up, go to work and come back in automan fashion.
And this December as I try to clean my house and figure if I want to have a Christmas tree or not — I remember Jummy. How extravagant and lively were the celebrations at her home. How loved and warm I felt there.
I can still remember the day I first met her in college. She presented such a striking picture. She was wearing a blue jeans and a cream formal shirt; and tied to her back in a colourful Nigerian scarf was baby Lynn. I was stunned at her courage in having travelled thousands of kilometres from distant Nigeria to India to pursue a journalism course — with baby in tow.
I badly wanted to be friends with her — and of course there was charming Lynn added to the bargain; her big doe-eyes and chubby apple cheeks; I just wanted to pinch them so bad and have her in my lap forever.
And baby Lynn all of six months formed a regular addition to our journalism class, when Jummy couldn’t get a maid or babysitter. A charming sunshiny baby, she never cried or disrupted lessons. The world was always a place of smiles, boo-boos and kisses with her around.
There were also other attractions to friendship with Jummy. Having read Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche I really wanted to taste garri and jollof rice — and I had my first bite of these two dishes at her home. My other journalism classmates — Krishnadas (nickname KD), Nikhil and Prathiba weren’t that enthusiastic. In fact Krishnadas — who has gone onto become Hindu’s SC correspondent — gamely soldiered on eating garri only not to hurt her feelings. He says he’ll never forget the taste till his dying day.
Jummy and I shared other connections. She lived in the lane next to my parents’ home and also attended the same church as my mother. So even, when I wasn’t calling her — I did get updates from my family. From 2005–2017, Jummy lived in India and during those years — I hate my country for this — she found it very difficult to get a job. Despite being educated and smart, she found herself forced to go for BPO jobs or data entry ones — jobs that were far beneath her capabilities. Finally, she gave up and settled to being a homemaker for her two kids. In India, racism goes hand in hand with casteism. We love fair skin and white men; and we can’t wait to role out the red carpet for them. Just look at the welcome our former enslaver Queen Elizabeth received on her visits to India. But, when it comes to Africans — the stereotypes are the women are hookers and the men pimps and drug dealers. There have been horrific instances of Africans getting abused and beaten to the point of death in India.
And so at times something as simple as taking a bus ride with my friend would irritate me no end. People would just stare and stare. Some women would walk upto my friend and ask if they could touch their hair. Lynn because she grew up in Tamil Nadu could speak fluent Tamil. A smart kid, she was a pet of her teachers — but then there were other nasty kids in school who’d taunt her. Call her a pig (pani); make fun of her hair and skin (though she was fairer skinned that many of her Tamil classmates).It used to hurt me. Make my blood boil with rage. Wish I had the courage of my friend
who recently called kids stoning her dog “expired condom products”. And so in a way I am glad, Jummy made the decision to go back home to Nigeria. Even though I miss her, I guess it must be better for the kids.
And so when news came of her death this April — I was shocked and grieved. I regretted that I had not spent more time with her; not been a better aunt to the kids. That I had let distance; living in a different city come in the way of our friendship. That I had only attended 2 of dozens of birthdays in their family.
But this December, as I take out a box of tinsel and fairy lights, I remember how much strength I’ve drawn from my friend. It was the image of her walking into college with a baby tied to her back — that I had when I decided to bring up Indra on my own. That it was her decision to travel thousands of kilometres to an unknown land, an unknown language and an unknown people — that fuelled by ambition for Indra to know every nook and corner of Tamil Nadu and Karntaka. We have travelled extensively since Indra was a baby. I’ve never coddled her fearing sickness or adverse weather conditions — because I’ve had the example of Lynn before me. Travel hadn’t hurt her. Neither had diverse experience. She’s grown into an elegant and charming young lady — whom I’d love for Indra to emulate.
But more importantly Jummy taught me to love. She taught me to laugh and celebrate life. Having been brought up in rigid and conservative Tamil Nadu, at 19 I was a girl who didn’t share the same seat with a boy in a bus; who didn’t hug but shook hands with members of the opposite gender. I didn’t drink, sing aloud, dance or party. If I ever sang or danced it was in the privacy of my own bathroom. But Jummy would invite me to her Christmas parties — and that was my entrance to Wonderland, a place so Lewis Carrolly in its whimsy, loudness, laughter, shiny bright lights. A place without judgement; without the trappings of conservative Tamil society. And it was in her home that I was first taught how to dance an Irish reel by a Nigerian engineering student. The magic of music, dance, the afterglow of a glass of champagne — and the effortless ease with which I was being spun around; the grace and soaring happiness that comes with dancing; as your partner’s lightest touch at your shoulder or waist guides you into intricate steps — it felt like the emergence of a butterfly from a chrysalis!!
Thank you Jummy for teaching me to love and laugh unreservedly…I’m missing you this Christmas…