And now, memories becloud my sense of presence. As the scent of the perfume filtered into my respiratory system, it evoked my world of the 90s into my consciousness- 1991 to be precise. I can still remember the season we were in- The Harmattan, my best.
As a teenager, I sneaked into my mother’s bedroom in the village. She had gone to the market and so I had the liberty of doing some rummaging for a while. I found what I was looking for, an oval-shaped bottle with a slightly yellowish liquid inside, or was it a colourless liquid in a translucent bottle.
Puff! Puff!! I sprayed the content into my underarms. The smell was strong. I donned a red short and a fur monkey jacket, equipped with my specially carved stick that was a signature to me, I stepped out in a pair of slippers from different parents, both in colour and thickness.
It didn’t matter that I did not wear the perfume to any party or special event where I had to ‘dress to kill’, but it distinguished me from my peers, none of them could afford such luxury. From afar, the harmattan wind announced my presence. I felt good and big, it was Mama’s perfume.
In 2012, while rushing to work one morning, the scent of the same perfume caressed my nostrils. I couldn’t place exactly who wore it as many ladies breezed past me. I wouldn’t have gone sniffing around to hound down the ‘wearer’ either in order not to attract the wrath of passersby. I felt nothing but euphoria.
Later in 2014, Ibifuro, my colleague, smelt the same way to work one morning. As soon as she stepped in, I asked:
“The perfume you wear, the bottle is small and somehow rotund?”
“Yes Sir” she replied.
“What is the name please?”
“Happiness”
Bingo!
I didn’t need any other description as the scent did the entire job.
March 2015, Mama came visiting. I ordered for a bottle of “Happiness Perfume” from a store around Education Bus stop, Mile 1. When I got home, I presented it to Mama. She appreciated the gift, but not with any special attachment.
I probed her a bit and to my disappointment, Mama did not remember anything about the perfume. She used perfumes randomly then, but I think she used “happiness” a little more than others. I told her how I used to steal her perfume in those days and it cracked her up.
This morning, Mama woke up in my house. When I went to say “good morning’ in her room, I saw a bottle of happiness in her bag on the table. This time, I didn’t need to steal it, I asked. She smile and nodded.
Puff! Puff!! I directed the nozzle at my underarms once more and went into my room.
When I was set to leave, my suit in hand, I went in once more and asked. Mama smiled once again.
Puff! Puff!! I directed the nozzle on the shoulders of the jacket and off I went to work. All through the drive to the office, the feeling and thought was homewards.
Even right now in the office, I am living my life in the 90s, harmattan keeping my skin very dry, with a thin film of Vaseline over my lips, swiping the slippers under my feet on dry leaves.
I’ll buy a bottle of ‘happiness’ and keep for myself after Mama leaves so I could take a puff off it once in a while. It would forever remind me of Mama.

I love my Mama.

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