Eye Abegbe, as I fondly called her, and she, too, would smile and answer me. But on this particular Thursday September 12, 2023, by 9:00 a.m., as she lay on my brother Olu and me, she gasped for breath. I was in my room that early morning, exactly at 6:00 a.m., when Mama’s phone was ringing, and she didn’t pick up the call. I rushed to her room because it’s not usual for her not to pick up the call. On getting there, she complained to me that the call had stopped ringing before she could pick it up. Alas, the smaller phone started ringing, but it was inside one of the bags deftly placed beside her bed I helped her bring it out, and I handed over the phone to her immediately! My brother, Bro. Olubodun, had called her that morning as they exchanged greetings. After the call, she put on her radio that’s always beside her. All of a sudden, the radio went off, and she handed it over to me to charge around 6:30 a.m. the same Thursday. I asked her what to prepare for breakfast, and she said pap.
My mother took her bath by 7:00 a.m., and after the bath, she went to sleep again! Immediately, I felt it was unusual. Not long after, I heard her calling the helper, and we quickly rushed there. She said she had been calling us because she was pressed. As we piloted her to the toilet, around a quarter to nine, I asked her to raise her head the first time, and she obeyed. I asked her the second time, but she refused to obey. Now I placed my hand around the neck at the back of her head and used the other hand to raise the head up! Mama did not open her eyes; she didn’t answer me by calling ‘eye Abegbe’; all I saw was the moving of the mouth without speaking up! My eldest brother started beating her chest, but Mama did not say anything she had already passed out.
As Mama’s last child, Mama would make sure I took something before going home at 97! Whenever I come visit her. When it was raining after closing from work, my mother would stand by the window, waiting for me to come back. And when she didn’t see me in time, she would go to JIF or my brothers to call my line! If there’s any vehicle parked at the entrance of the house, Mama will look for the person to remove his or her car just for me to park. In fact, I would feel embarrassed and tell my mother, ‘kini mo gbe Sona bayi? Aimoye awon ti moto won ju temi lo daadaa, won ma pariwo’. (My car is only a Camry model; don’t bother to clear the road for me.) Mama would say, ‘Temi no mo fo ni’. Returning home from work was a reassurance that a meal was waiting for me at home, waiting for my arrival from work, feeding me before going back to my house, and fighting those who would hinder me from gaining entrance to the house. I remembered the hospital where I gave birth to my twins. Before I could bring my newborn home, I had to wait three months after the birth of my twins. My mum would go to the hospital almost every day. I can never forget you, ‘eye omo’. When you looked at my face, you knew I was broke. The next thing you sent for me. My mother made sure I didn’t lack anything. I remember Mama coming to Owo Poly to visit me. This woman would come with new clothes well sewn for me. She would say, ‘Mo ri lorun omo. Kan o remi, lemi ma ba o ran irure’. I remembered coming for holiday when I was at Federal Government College Maiduguri, Borno State, and Mama followed me to Osogbo to catch the train. Mind you, this train only comes at midnight. I entered the train and joined my fellow students from other Federal Government Colleges (from Bauchi, Portiskum, etc.) jumping and embracing ourselves, but my mother could not return to Akure again because of the time: mama would sleep at the railway station, inside the mosquitoes. When I was pregnant with my twins and I could not eat, Mama would say,‘e Se gbe ni bayii mba gbe ran o’ meaning I would have helped you carry it (the pregnancy), but unfortunately, it’s not possible! That’s the type of mama I have. Very hard-working.
I met my mother as a successful cafeteria and beer parlor owner (until my brother Coli stopped her, telling her that anybody coming from her shop drunk would say they were coming from Mama Coli’s shop), she was a politician, a contractor (she was among the contractors that built Oba-Ile estate). I was already in primary 3 or 4 when my mother went to learn Adire. She would make tea for her boss’s children. And this awesome business changed our lives for the better. My mother made it through Adire business! My mother would travel to Gbagi, in Ibadan, to buy plain bundles of cotton materials with paint (aro) and turn them into beautiful fabrics. She would take these beautiful fabrics to villages like Uso and Ogbese to sell! Whereby groups of societies would ask her to supply them. When my eldest brother wanted to take me away to the North because I was too spoilt and lagging behind in my studies, she released me to him despite the fact that I was the only one staying with her! My mother wanted to see my progress. If I were to continue writing, I would not be able to finish. Was my mother a successful businesswoman? I’m very bold to say yes. Very, very successful! And she was a disciplinarian to the core.
It still looks like I’m sleeping; maybe I’m sleeping and still dreaming. Can somebody wake me up from this sleep? O digba ooooo eye Abegbe. I will miss you. Bye. From your baby.
Abegbe Komolafe