TO YOU OUR DAUGHTER ON YOUR 2ND BIRTHDAY

Our Dearest Ayinza,

Two years! You are now two years! We still can’t believe it, really. And yet we can. You have grown so tall my dear, you really have. On the playgrounds in parks, you often leave us in the awkward position of having to defend some of your new-found playmates’ sizes

“How old is she,” your playmate’s parent might ask.

“She’s making two in June,” we respond.

“And her/him?” we’d ask after your playmate

Almost invariably, if s/he is about your height, the answer is three or four years old.

“Oh, s/he’s so beautiful/handsome” we’d say.

Then an awkward silence.

A silence that both acknowledges your height and that of your playmate.

“S/he is a little shorter for his/her age,” your playmate’s parents may sometimes say. To which we always respond, “No, not really. I think Netanya is a little taller than we all thought she would be at her age.”

So you see already, you are standing out. No, we are not complaining. Although if I am to be brutally honest, it would help if you weren’t able to climb out your baby cot. Or switch on the bedroom light in the middle of the night.

But it is not so much your height that has struck us most about your second year. It is just how much of your character has come bursting through. I asked your mother last night to name three things she thought describe your character. She listed the three exact things I had written down (and not shared with her). It was both surprising and delightful to know, that your mother and I were thinking as one; about you, our little one. So whenever it is that you get to read this letter, I hope you will be able to trace some of your life’s trajectory from these things you now are.

First, little one, you are a kind and generous soul. You are constantly in tune to the needs and feelings of those around you. This is particularly striking for us, as you have so far spent more of your life in lockdown (and therefore limited contact with other people) than not. We first noticed it with the way you hugged us after doing something wrong. We’d scold you and ask you to say sorry. Almost immediately, you’d walk up to us and give either of us a kiss. You have a way of figuring out when we are actually upset by your actions. And when you determine we are, you offer an extra kiss. And then a hug. And then-and this gets us every time- your little hands rub our backs and you tap us twice or thrice. Just the way we do it for you whenever you are crying or upset. It’s the sweetest thing ever! I don’t know of a time I’ve been so upset with you as to resist that charm offensive. Your mother claims she can, but…let’s just say I am yet to encounter any evidence of it.

But we have got to see you be kind and considerate with others too. You love playing with balls, but only if you are playing with someone else. So each time we are in the park anyone who has a ball is your friend. Usually, you like kicking it or bouncing it to someone and having it kicked or bounced back in return. Most times, when we haven’t carried any of your balls, you, like most other kids run and grab whichever/whosever ball you see in the play area. The moment you get hold of the ball, your instinct is to give it to someone else. Me, your mother, a friend you have just made…anyone but yourself. Because of your height, you often end up playing with kids a little older than you that find more fun in kicking and running after the ball competitively. So when you give up the ball, they kick it away and start running after it. You laugh and ran after it. If they get there first, they kick it further. When you get there first, you hand it over to them. Sometimes, you refuse to give the ball to the person that last had it, preferring instead to give it to another. It’s so heartwarming to watch.

But it can also be heart-breaking. Recently, we went to the park with your ball and you immediately identified a little girl your height to play with. You gave her the ball, she kicked it away. You ran after it, grabbed it and brought it back to her. She kicked it away again, this time a little further. You laughed and ran after it, bringing it back to her. The cycle continued a couple of times. You fetching the ball and bringing it back to be shared. The little girl kicking it as far as she could and waiting for you to pick it up. You didn’t mind it. In fact, you seemed to enjoy it. But I didn’t. I just wasn’t comfortable with the balance of play. So when you brought the ball back the fifth or sixth time, I tried to convince you to climb the slides instead. Your playmate wasn’t having it. She came and demanded for your ball, that was currently in my hands. She started to cry. You acted immediately. Taking the ball from my hands, you gave it to her. She kicked it. I held your hand and distracted you so that the ball was left unattended. We went to the swings, then to the slides. All the while, your playmate stood staring at us. At you, really. Waiting for you to fetch the ball for her. I didn’t let you. She started crying. You weren’t her pet, I thought. You came down the slide one more time. Before I could grab you, you ran away towards the ball, picked it up and offered it to your playmate. Then you hugged her. She kicked the ball away again and you made to go fetch it. I stopped you and distracted you again. And again, you found your way to her, offered her the ball and a hug.

You our daughter, are a kind, kind soul.

You also have an amazing sense of humour. There are many stories I could tell you to illustrate this point, but my favourite of all is your whisper game. Our game. I remember the day you figured out whispering in my ear was the most ticklish thing you could do to me. You must have been just over a year old. I had whispered something in your ear about your mother and she had heard and protested. We (your mother and I) both laughed and you looked at us in curiosity. You then reached out to me as though to tell me something but proceeded to instead blow into my ear. Then you threw your head back and laughed! The combined action was both ticklish and funny. I laughed hard. You repeated it, I laughed even harder. Soon, it was a game of its own.

A few days later, we were in the living room. I must have been watching a tennis match and you playing with your building blocks when you decided the mood was just too serious. You jumped into the sofa next to me and then made as if to cuddle. I promptly obliged, only for you to head straight to my ear and whisper something. I was caught off-guard and couldn’t control myself! I burst out laughing, but not before you grinned. Then you threw your head back and laughed the most heartfelt laugh ever! You let me get over it and back to the match before again, pouncing! It was game on! You whispering in my ear, me tickling you.

With your mother, it’s the laughing. You walk up to her and then just randomly burst out laughing. It gets her each time. Other times, you put up a one-girl talent show, singing a newly learnt rhyme or imitating a certain character from the cartoons you watch. Once you pull off the move or song, you throw your head back and laugh. A deep, heart-felt laugh to which no other response but laughter is appropriate.

You or daughter, are funny.

Lastly, you are strong-willed and fiercely ambitious. Once you set your sights or heart onto something, you will move heaven and earth to get it or achieve it. I remember when you had just started walking and we had to barricade the space between the living room and kitchen. We put two mopping buckets (with some water in them) and a stool in your way. It worked, but only for a few days. You quickly figured out that if you pushed the stool in a little, it created some space for you to wiggle through. So you did just that. When we got a bigger stool, you found a way of pushing it too. When we got the biggest stool that you couldn’t push away, you realised you could climb over the buckets just as easily as you climbed onto the window from the sofa. Seven months or so ago, we finally found what we reckoned was a final solution: a wide, long board that we put across the space. It was higher than you and had nothing for you to cling onto to climb. But every day, you tried. You jumped up to reach its top, hung on it for a while when you succeeded, tried to push it…you did everything you could. Each time, you failed. Each time you cried. And each time you tried again. About three weeks ago, owing in part to your unfair height advantage, you finally succeeded at climbing over the barrier. What is so striking about all this is that at some point, getting into the kitchen, which was your initial goal, ceased to be your goal. Overcoming the barrier became the main objective. And it isn’t just with the kitchen. Operating Maama’s or my phone, trying to figure out our passwords, finding the TV remote regardless of how well we hide it, insisting on a specific order of events when it comes to eating or bathing…you my daughter have the determination of a champion.

And your mother and I are so proud.

So what is our message to you our first fruit, on this your second birthday? Well, first keep growing in these things. Continue to be kind and generous and empathetic. In a world that seems to thrive on heartlessness, let your kindness and empathy continue to light up the hearts and souls of those that encounter you. Yet even so dear child, guard your heart from those that seek to use it. People have no shame or boundaries when it comes to taking. Often without giving back. Do not give so much of yourself that those that receive your kindness take it for granted. Be fine with putting yourself and your needs first sometimes. Do not be afraid to say no. Allow yourself time to enjoy your toys and other possessions before sharing them with others. Spend as much time as you need with them to know for sure that they are yours and no one else’s. For you can only ever truly share with others that which you know to be yours to give. And remember, kindness and empathy aren’t for others to demand. They are yours to give. So give them out as much as you want, but always keep in mind, it’s your choice to do so, not anyone else’s. Not even us.

Your humour, dear child, will light up many hearts. It will open doors for you and impact more people than you will ever know. But keep in mind, not everyone will get you. Not everyone will laugh at your jokes. Not everyone will accommodate you. When this happens, remember that it has nothing to do with you. Not everyone is meant to get you so don’t expect them to. If you try to make some laugh and they don’t, that’s ok. It takes nothing away from your joke or effort.

Lastly Ayinza, ambition is good. Being a go-getter is not something to hide under the table. When you grow older, you will find that there are barriers put in your way. Societal norms, cultures and expectations that seek to make you conform to what others have decided is acceptable for a child.

For a girl.

For a black girl.

For an African black girl.

Do not be afraid to question them. Even to ignore them. More often than not, those barriers were put in place by people that feared the power you would possess in their absence. And so, you see, they are not meant to build you up but cut you down. Never be ashamed of your ambition. UNLESS it cuts others down. If you ever find that the path to your dreams involves crushing other people, take pause and rethink your dreams. Not much satisfaction comes out of hurting others.

Your mother and I pray that you will have many years on earth, all full of life. That you will grow up in the fear and knowledge of your Heavenly Father. That you will always hear His voice saying “This is the way child, walk in it”. That you will grow in favour before God and your fellow humans. That your path shall be lit up by His word and your life’s journey guided by His Spirit. That you shall know happiness and joy and fulfilment and satisfaction. That you shall love and be loved a million times over. And that for as long as you breath, in this life and the next, you shall never be in doubt of this truth my child:

WE.

LOVE.

YOU.

Happy birthday Netanya Ayinza Ramya Isharaza.