“Many women do noble things, but you surpassed them all.” Proverbs 31:29. This verse of the scripture describes my mother – mama. She was a woman of strength, capacity, and excellence. What a time to reflect on your life my dear sweet mother. Our mother/daughter relationship spanned between joys, laughter, thrills, tests, highs, lows, trials, and triumphs. Through it all you were a part of me, an indelible part. A mother hen she was very protective of her children. She had a very good mothering capability. She would go to any length to search for resources to make us comfortable. She protected us from predators of our time such as hunger, bad companions, and other vices.
My mother worked diligently with her hands. She was up while it was night to give supplies to her household. Her arms possessed the strength of the diligent worker. Her “buka” business thrived as her children were not spared the embrace of their respective portions of the trade. She would wake us early in the mornings (especially in the old harmattan we loathed) to join in the daily preparations of meals for civil servants in the government office nearby. You can trust that our stomachs never lacked good food. She was also into other businesses which she learnt as an apprentice in her adult years and a mother of grown-up children. Her hands were strong for her tasks. She would not eat the bread of idleness. Her words were laws to us. She started early in her life to raise children. Young as she was, God endowed her with grace to keep her children in subjection to rules and regulations with required etiquette. She would monitor every one of us from house to school. We often felt her shadow was always monitoring us as we dared not get involved in any of the pranks common to our peers. Our free and play days were mostly Sundays only. We could freely mix and play and run around with others. She was stern when it came to discipline. Who dared dare her among us children? Thank you, mama God used, you to sharpen us. We are better for it.
At the age of five years, my mother released me to go to live with my 19-year-old (barely a man who could fend for himself) brother to take care of a child! We coped! I mean my brother coped. He collected my baby doll every girl child adored, kept it away in his cupboard. I could not play with my doll. Why?? “Mama said we are in Ibadan to read our books and not to play!” Hmmmm, what an instruction? And what obedience! I cried. Did it make any change? I can’t remember now. A five-year-old! Rules! Instructions!
I cannot forget our night gist. We always had plenty of laughter before drifting to sleep. On some occasions, we would sob and cry when she told us some unpalatable parts of her life.
I remember the period she lost her eldest daughter. I was young. She could neither be consoled not comforted because of the circumstances that surrounded her death. One of the mourners called mama’s attention to me as another daughter. In her grief, she retorted “when will this one grow up?”. The grief was intense, cutting her to the innermost being. Thank God, I grew up for her. God sustained and is still sustaining me. I survived her. I am Abiye!
Mama was never idle. She cared for people generally, especially her relations. It was not a matter of what she wanted to benefit from them privately, rather she wanted to give and be of value to them. She was a giver.
I remember mother as being careful around her health. She arranged for her own medical carer who saw to her well-being on a regular basis. She would not miss her appointments even when she was in top shape. She would bother no one. She knew how to arrange visits and obtain her medications.
On September 14, 2023, I was told she woke up to her routine telephone conversations. She afterwards made a request that her breakfast be prepared. In the process, she made an urgent call she would need help in the washroom. Within the space of twenty minutes, she transited into the other realm while the breakfast she requested was still cooking!
I saw her body, days after. There she is still cold on a stretcher. Could she be the same mama? I wailed and wailed, I cried. No response! She was gone.
My mother stretched herself to do amazing things. I saw her as a superwoman. Well, she bowed to death, giving us an understanding that she was human, a woman, a caring mother – a great one for that matter.
Rest on mama, the labour is over!