A NOTE FROM MY DAUGHTERS:  She’s just a doll.

I kept my eye on Kibibi and so did they – but for totally different reasons.

If either of my daughters was telling this story, I’m sure they would have other things to say.  But since they’re not, I get to tell it my way.

Say Hello to Kibibi.  Her name means “Little Lady.”  She’s been with me for more than 20 years. Granted, she doesn’t look the same as when she first arrived, but that’s besides the point.  Kibibi is special to me.  I got her through a co-worker who had a friend in New York who made these dolls. She cost me $65.  Kibibi came with her very own music cassette tape and a short bio about who she was and what her name meant.  Unlike my other collection of dolls, I never put Kibibi in the glass curio.  She just didn’t belong there.  I eventually bought one for my mother.  This is her Kibibi.

I love my Kibibi doll.  Maybe it’s because I got to choose the color of her outfit. Maybe its because I got her during a transitioning time in my life, maybe she just reminds me of Me in some strange kinda way. Nevertheless, she wasn’t to be touched.  Looking at my mother’s Kibibi, reminds me of what my Kibibi looked like in all her glory.  Long flowing untouched black hair, Swahili-inspired head wrap, long skirt and dashiki top, an “I am Miss Black America” wrap over her outfit, and matching necklace & earrings.  Plus, she had that brand new doll smell and she was simply beautiful.  That’s how I saw her and so did my two daughters who were 7 and 9 years old at the time.  The two of them couldn’t wait to “play” with Kibibi and I couldn’t wait to “showcase” her on top of my dresser.  I kept my eye on Kibibi and so did they – but for totally different reasons.

It seems my daughters found every opportunity to come into my room and get something off my dresser accidently bumping into Kibibi and nicely having to pick her back up.  Perhaps they felt some kind of unexplained connection to her.  After all, they had listened to her song, memorized her little jingle, and knew just how special she was.  Over a period of time, I knew my daughters had somehow found a way to play with her when I wasn’t around; carefully straightening her back up (or so they thought) and putting her back in place.  I didn’t bother to scold them for doing so.  I knew they couldn’t help themselves.  Ever so often I would pick her up too.

As the years went by, my daughters outgrew their desire to play with Kibibi and simply admired her from a distance.  When my youngest daughter, now 30, gave me a grandbaby girl several years ago.  I did the unthinkable — I let her play with Kibibi.  You should have heard my daughter go at it with me. In her eyes, I had lost my mind.  I mean what in the world would make me let a 5 year old play with a precious, priceless doll like Kibibi!  Whenever my daughter saw Kibibi in the arms of her daughter, she would just shake her head and say “grandma NEVER let us play with “that” doll.  Your grandmother had us afraid to even touch “that” doll and here she is letting you strip her clothes off, put her in the bath tub (rubbing the color off her eyes with soap, no doubt), paint her fingernails and toes, and comb her hair.  This isn’t fair!

I couldn’t say anything.  I don’t know why I let her play with that doll.  Perhaps I was feeling guilty after all these years.  Perhaps it is true that as we get older, we become “softies” with our grandkids and let them run amuck.  I really don’t know why I let her play with Kibibi.  But when she did, I saw the joy on her face and the excitement she had for Kibibi just like we did.  And even though my daughter was upset that she didn’t get to play with Kibibi when she was younger, I saw a look in her eyes that said “thank you mommie for at least letting my own daughter play with her.”

When I recently moved into my apartment, Kibibi was the first thing I took with me.  I sat her on the kitchen counter allowing her to assess her new space and new surroundings.  I walked around with her so she could get comfortable in her new home and we sat on my balcony for a while; taking in the fresh air.  When I moved my dresser in my bedroom, I brought her in and put her back in her place on top of it.  Every now and then I would pick her up, comb her hair, re-tie her head wrap and straighten her clothes. It seems she’s aged a bit after grandbaby started playing with her.  Maybe the wear and tear is just starting to break her down. Regardless of how she looks now, she’s still my favorite doll.

I don’t think either of my daughters will ever forgive me for not allowing them to play with Kibibi.  The memory of her is still fresh in their minds and they remind me of my “don’t touch Kibibi” rule every chance they get.  To them she was just a doll…what was the big deal?