“Tope, it’s time to spoil your mum and thank her, well, just for being her”. Another Mother’s day looms, hence the above email in my inbox. I smiled wryly because I can neither spoil my mother nor thank her. My mother died on Friday the 13th of May 2011 to be precise. Hmmmmm, the curse of Friday the 13th!!!!! I am not superstitious at all, so I do not believe in the myth. That day is still very fresh in my memory down to what I was wearing. Funny, I could never wear that dress again. I gave it out; bad memories attached to it.
My mother was an enigma, a very strong character, totally fearless and highly opinionated. Honestly, she had opinions on virtually everything. I remember falling in love for the first time. I was glowing with excitement and I must have told her about my ‘champion’. She asked me a series of questions that I didn’t find amusing at all.

Mum: “Where is he from?”

Me: ” Ijebu Igbo.”

Mum: “Ha!!!!! That wicked woman next to our house is from Ijebu Igbo”. Invariably, draw your conclusions. “What position is he in the family?”

Me: ” He’s the first son and child of his father; the only child of his mother. He has eight younger ones because his father is a polygamist.”

Mum: “This girl will not kill me, a polygamous family, after all I told you I went through?  Leave him now before it gets too serious. Also, you can’t marry an only child because you would have his mother interfering in your home. Secondly, he would have too many responsibilities and you would never enjoy him.”

At this point, I was getting angry because my opinionated mother was throwing spanner in the works. I was hook, line and sinker in love; a land where all reasonable rationales exist not. Plus, what is my business with his family?  I was just a 200 level university student; definitely not thinking of marriage just yet. However, I kept my cool because showing my anger meant she will take my case to the higher authorities; my dad and God. So I smiled, rolled my eyes and said, “Ok mum”. Could I just add that my mum was an “omo Ijebu toh baaad” from a polygamous Muslim family? She always told us growing up in a polygamous family was a tug of war. She always emphasised she never ever want us to have the same experience.  She is a believer in the adage, “only the foolish learn from personal experience, the wise learn from the experience of others”.

She protected us fiercely like a mother hen will do when a hawk looms high in the sky. She would fight like a wounded lion if we were maltreated. However, woe betides that child that disrespects her elders. She was a disciplinarian. She paid my Maths teacher for extra curriculum lessons; trust me that meant extra lashes of cane. She laid out rules for my sisters and I; no questions asked we had to follow them. She always told us never to rely on anybody. This bred a self -sufficiency that showed me I’d have to work hard to get what I wanted. She instilled the principle of giving in us and showed this by example. She was generous to a fault; always giving to others even when we had very little at home. She believed in helping others; she taught us that there are times you give to a man and you reap from a woman. This concept used to confuse me as a little girl growing up. How could that be? But, she was right as always; I have sowed in A and reaped from B. My mum was extremely funny; it came to her effortlessly, she didn’t need to try at all.

My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2007 on one of her visits to the UK. It  was a huge shock. Shocking, because my mother was very observant with her health. She would tell the world if she had headache and would be at the hospital at the very first opportunity. Her cancer was at an advanced stage and she never had an inkling!!!! She underwent intense treatment; all the works, chemotherapy, mastectomy and radiotherapy. My mother was stoically brave all through the treatment. I remember breaking down on one occasion when the nurse could not find her vein to insert the drip for the chemo. She was the one consoling me; quite ironic because she was the one who needed consoling. We decided to cut her hair before the chemo treatment to minimise the shock but it still didn’t help. She became completely bald down to her eyebrow; but, she was still positive and strong. She kept saying “I will not die in a strange land” and she did not.  She went back home better but not cured of the big C. Alas!!! The big C returned in 2011 in the form of a cough that refused to go away. It had spread to her lungs and it was too late!!!! Cancer floored my very strong mother; leaving her husband and children with beautiful memories of good and bad times.

Time they say heals all wounds but it hurts so bad still.  I really don’t know if it will get better. Writing this has been emotionally draining; I nearly jacked it in. There is no single day gone by that I do not think of my mother, no matter how fleeting. My mother will never have that big 70th party she so longed for. Yeah; typical Ijebu woman!!!! She was six years short of that when death came knocking. My mother will never see another Mother’s day. She always reminded me to get her presents, regardless of what continent she might be on the day. My mother will never ask me to take her shopping again; like mother, like daughter. We didn’t need an excuse to hit the shops.  My mother will never be old and grey; she only had specks of grey hair. My mother will never welcome me back to Nigeria; she waved me goodbye when I left the shores of the land.

If your mother is still alive, be grateful and please spoil her with love. Mum, it is not goodbye; it is see you later as you continue to rest in the bosom of your Maker……