This is a story sent in by an anonymous author known as Senibuasala. She writes to remind women that you're allowed to celebrate the small or big wins. Motherhood is a big one and we tend to overlook that. Enjoy this piece.
Last night as I sat in my garden, I had to take a moment to capture all that was unfolding around me; it was a beautiful starry night and fairly warm for the North, my kids were bathed, fed and in bed and I was finally ready to unwind. The mood was set with warm-white fairy lights cascading from the tree above me, soft music played in the background and the clinking of wine and cocktails glasses were followed by “cheers beautiful!” Sounds romantic, doesn’t it? As romantic as it was, there wasn’t a husband in sight! Almost all our husbands were presently crammed in a dingy garage down the road, drinking grog and singing Sigidrigi love songs, to themselves! Eu! Bau oca. Anyway, this is not about them, let’s not spoil the night (story).
“Cheers beautiful, here’s to Bulou, congratulations on passing your exams!”
I turned to Ro, “Cheers to your family lewa, I’m very happy for you all!”
At that very moment, the back gate swung open, and in walked Adi finally making her grand
entrance! One would think she was stuck in Fiji time, but we all understood the tardiness. Like us, she too had to cook, clean, iron, sort the kid’s night-time routines out and just about build a house and dredge a river before finally claiming some guilt-free uninterrupted mummy-time. I bet bed-time stories tonight were not at all verbatim and read in record time; I personally covered three-pages worth of stories with every turn of a page!
“Yay! She’s made it!! - here’s your drink, lovely. Cheers to getting that job!”
For the record, I already had a job, no new accolades and was I was definitely repeating my
accounting course this September because I again, bit off more than I could chew! But like every good Fijian wife sitting at the table, I had to justify my attendance to what all our husband’s had earlier labelled as an “unnecessary party”. “Ra party madaga o ira na gone, cegu o kemudou!” they said, after they heard us making plans that afternoon at my daughter’s 9th birthday party.
Without skipping a beat, I shouted, “Cheers to Motherhood, ladies!” Random? Yes! What would the husband say? “Isa, sa vaqara celebrate vaca o Na!” Veitalia! After all, today 9 years ago I walked into CWM Hospital and motherhood. I deserve to celebrate too! They all raised their glasses, Bulou exclaimed, “Yes indeed, cheers to Motherhood!”
Although neighbour’s, we hardly had time to meet, so tonight was a rarity and a catch-up session was not to be missed. The ladies raised their glasses, each celebrating a triumph and the best part was – we all felt that this was a safe space to do so! There was no resentment, shade, or fear of a twisted story in the gossip mill next week. I smiled as I listened to these ladies openly express just how much they’ve overcome over the years, like true champs! There was a lot of unpacking and then some. The drinks flowed and so did the conversation, from serious reflections to some witty velavela stories that any good PR would advise us never to share again; this had us in stitches and nearly rolling off our seats. You know how that laugh goes, long, dragged and in unison, followed by exclamations like “a rusu!”, “gonei!” and “ai tukutuku!”. Overall, it was a really nice night!
How fitting was it that our party would end with an alarm ringing at midnight? It was time for these rebellious Cinderella’s to return to their homes, each picking up their flip-flops and gently placing the empty bottles into the bottle bin. Adi, totally oblivious to the whispers and tip-toe exercise, gave us all away with her loud clinking of bottles! We all hushed her as we waited for Bulou to enjoy her last roll and discard the evidence in my rubbish bin. Ro turns to me and whispers, “Lewa, we go and check my door, eh? If it’s locked daru lesu tale mai I ke, eh?” “Set sister!” I replied.
Minutes later she walked into her home, both of us whispering our goodbye’s smiling and giggling like two teenagers sneaking back in from O'Reilly’s. As I walked back home, I couldn’t help but to reflect one last time; in the last 10 years, I’ve lived in 3 countries and 6 different postcodes. One of the many lessons I’ve learnt over the years is that making friends or finding my clique as an army wife is hard! However, I was truly blessed that my husband chose this address because I have had the pleasure of meeting some lovely friends who I now get to call my sisters.
-Senibuasala