Page 12 - My Mom Speaks Broken English: My Lingustic Identity; Language and Literacy Project, UWRT 1103

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“Amaka!” My mother called for me from the kitchen, a
slight tinge of annoyance marking her voice.

“Yes, mom?!” I listened for a moment, hoping that she
would give some indication of what I had done wrong
before I had to see her face to face.

“Come here now and off dis light! You umuaka are
constantly wasting electric, leaving every light in dis house
on!” As my mother scolded my younger sister and I for
our forgetfulness, she sucked her tongue against her teeth,
the classic noise that indicated that I should tread
carefully.

I run to the kitchen, turning off the light as quickly as
possible to make sure that my mother would not have to
repeat herself. My little sister, aged six or seven at the
time, was on the floor, her dolls surrounding her.

“Ugonna, abeg! Pick dese dolls! Why are they
scattered here and there, making dis place look tattered?
Ah-ah! Use dem in one place!” Before my mother could
continue, she was interrupted by the ringing of the house
phone. “Am using d phone now. Do not trouble me; dis
call is very important!”

My mother answered the phone and began speaking.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.” My mother paused. “Oh yes,
this is she. Thank you for getting back to me so quickly.”

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