I will tell you about my brother 

What I remember of my brother

Not so much but the little I do I implanted in my memory and the rest I have learnt from hearing from my elder siblings

You see my brother was all twenty years and some days older than me. By the time I was born my brother was this impossibly tall brown handsome stranger. He was all grown and by the time I was big enough to notice him, he was already working.

My brother was brilliant…a genius really. He was the best physics and Math teacher in the whole of Maara ridge. He suffered from nervous  energy like most us in the family do. His brain like mine worked faster than our mouth so his words had a tendency to stumble over each other and so he like some of us in the family spoke too fast….and sometimes stammered. On the often occasion when his mouth failed him and spoke too slowly his hands did the trick….my brother could punch you if you got on his wrong side. Those are the stories I heard. But he was also the gentlest soul and generous to a fault with his money. 

He was fiercely protective of his siblings especially the girls. I guess if you are the eldest boy in a family of 11 with 8 younger sisters you would be forgiven for being protective. I am reliably informed that my brother had sworn to bring a lorry full of eligible, well educated and carefully vetted bachelors for his sisters to pick for husbands. He did not trust them enough to make such complicated choices in life. I am also reliably informed that the sisters on one occasion ganged up and beat up my brother….well not really beat him up but if about three girls pin you down and threaten to kill you, you would be forgiven for screaming for your mother. That’s what he did. I still try to imagine the look on my mothers face as she dashed across from, the neighbors to save her first born son. 

Well I am innocent, you see like many other nice episodes of the drama in the family I missed that one as well. But the stories were enough and so my brother impressed me and scared me in equal measures. 

But my fondest memory is when he asked me to trim his hair. The thick mane of hair runs in the family. I swear my brother’s was thickest. I think he had three strands of hair growing from the same follicle whereas the rest of us have two each

I must have been about 8 years old as I proudly pulled a foldable chair and clambard a top to reach my brothers head. My brother showed me how to grip the scissors just right and i proceeded to cut out chunks of thick dark hair from his head. I was the proudest little girl as slowly my brothers scalp started showing through. Well the hair cut looked more like cornrows by the time I was though but my brother spotted that look for several days before the hair grew back. I proudly told anyone who could listen that I was the barber with that signature cut. There were no other takers of my services and that was the first and last haircut I did.

It’s been 15 years since you passed on. We miss you my brother. Rest in Peace.

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