My own African Mother

Surfing the net few weeks ago I came across memes on African mums, and almost all the featured pictures perfectly described my mother.

It’s one thing to be born of a mother that is African, females who are unduly ‘extra’ in nature and seem to call defiant children to order in ways that are quite comical. But when you have her double as a religious mother too, then you are bound to have her ‘extras’ in dual-dosage which could be very dramatic.

African mums are generally very strict; Want their offspring to be all shade of useful and in turn successful. A child hardly outgrows their ‘scoldings’ and would always want to dictate the path to thread for as long as their energy allows them.

They are in most cases naïve on modern issues that are akin to the western world, as against their spiritual belief which is in-depth, even if it is not scientifically possible. Which explains why my mum believes as true, the claim that a snake swallowed the missing thirty six million Naira as alleged by the staff of a National Examination Board. And even though I knew it's quite impossible, sarcastically I had inquired from mum what specie of snake that could be and innocently she said;

“A spiritual snake”

I could not help but laugh. Chuckling, I added;

“Scientists had better add the word spiritual, to one of the breeds of snakes that exists”.

“I am not saying that the claim by the Examination Board Staff is indeed true,” she quickly cuts in, having sensed my sarcasm, “but it is possible for a spiritual snake from the spiritual realm to be sent to eat money or do any other evil”. She concluded, while the thought of Tyler Perry's Madea Movies instantly crossed my mind as who most Black moms were.

That’s it; it is easy for a camel to pass through the hole of a needle than for a child to win his/her African mother in an argument. So, no objection.

Reminiscing now, I remember how my Mum once slapped me in the middle of a church service even in my mid twenties.

Her reason?

I had murmured when she publicly scolded me for dozing during the prayer session. Justifying her actions, she said she would not live to raise an ungodly child, one that would unruly murmur when she scolds. And as if that was not enough, some months after the incidence mum never stopped informing whoever cared to listen, that I once humiliated her in the presence of the whole church, and I’m like;

“Who humiliated who?”

There's this beating spree Mama gave me and friend, Adamma Okechukwu, way back 2003. We were both in our late teens and pre-degree students of Olabisi Onabanjo University, Ago-Iwoye.

Basking in the euphoria of being freshly admitted into the university, myself and Ada were always ‘mixing up’. Though I had my activities in school being put in constant check, as my mum’s incessant and not pre-informed visits were too much for comfort. I knew all these were ploy to ‘catch’ me in my raw habitat, but I still found my way around it anyways.

The big day came, we never knew the other room mate of ours who had traveled to Lagos the previous week, had given a whole narration of how we were keeping late nights and supposedly hanging out with boys’. As quite unbelievable as that sounded though, Mum came all the way from Lagos where we resided to Ago Iwoye, got to our hostel around 6pm, and like it was well planned out by the devil to ensure we were flogged, met our absence and we never came back home still until after two hours.

As soon as I sauntered into my room to see my mum seated with a frowned face, arms folded across her breast and legs shaking, I knew I was in for a showdown. Ada never knew the ignited fire on the mountain until my mum dragged her closer with her ears, screaming in pidgin English;

“tell your mama and papa to come and meet me for Lagos say I beat their pikin say he wan spoil for school” (tell your parents to meet me up in Lagos, and that I flogged you for misbehaving in school)

I can’t even begin to imagine the constant jests that ensued from friends for a long time afterwards.

A woman whom despite the fact that she had lived a considerable part of her life in Lagos, over three decades precisely still speaks the undiluted Osun dialect. She had intentionally refused to let civilization take a better part of her life in bringing up a child, or on the choice of the language she speaks. This is why I can speak Osun like I’d never been to the four walls of an institution.

Honestly my mum should have been a Jewish woman. She had visited the labor room a painful four times, had just me to show for it, yet I was never pampered. Instead, I paid for the sins of my late siblings by being four kids in one.

From time immemorial too up until lately, though an adult now, the constant reply I get anytime I err was and still remains;

“o stupid ni” (you’re just being stupid) like an auto reply of sort, it doesn’t matter if we are in a stadium, the more the merrier. I just had to get myself used to it else outright peace isn’t guaranteed.

Needless to say I detest accompanying my mother to the market for purchases. A master bargained who seems to enjoy the boos that comes from crazy market women whenever she slash their wares. Seeming unperturbed, she would maintain her stance while my heart skips at such confidence. At the end of the day, they would strike a balance and purchases are made. More of a case of African Mother versus another African Mother, better watch in silence.

Till I crossed the twenties too, she would never allow me take a seat whenever we journey on a public transport (the one we call lapping), my petite stature not helping matters that I had to stop attending functions with her, or that there are some stringent rule of hers that must be obediently followed; Some of which includes;

· No chewing of gums, only prostitute does that, (wherever she got that from).

· No wearing of dress/skirt of above knee length.

· No male visitors, that I had to attend an all female High School (Now she wants a son in law and I wonder if I’ll have to download that like an App)

· No coming back home later than 6pm else I’ll be seriously dealt with. Those times I wished there was a 911 somewhere that I could call like our counterparts in developed countries,

· No interrupting of adults when they are engaged in a conversation.

· Legs must be crossed when I seat. That is the way to sit like a lady.

· I am compelled to save in my piggy bank, else I’ll be denied future allowances. Savings is a must although that helped me a great deal now as an adult.

· Woe betides me if I say a word when I am being flogged. Neighbors shouldn't be aware of my predicament.

The lists seem endless that I imagined how mum’s commandment is longer than that of the lord which was just ten.

But in all of these however, now I'm all grown and have come to love this woman. She like every sane African mother understood what youthful exuberance was, and did availed me the necessary drills, since she clearly wants the best in me. At one time, I perceived her as being unduly mean such that I almost wanted to ask around whom my real mother was, but now I appreciate the drills as they had positively evolved me.

In recent times though here goes my fear.

With the upsurge in the moral decadence among females who are supposed to be the home builders, I foresee African Mothers’ gradually going into extinction. What upbringing is a supposed slay mama (as ladies prefers to be called lately) who completely lacks morals is expected to give to her child(ren). Ladies with no life outside the four walls of a club, sleeps with older men for money and are lazy, usually scantily dressed, not morally upright, seeming unintelligent, impolite and disrespectful. Ladies of this generation have a lot of ‘brushing’ up to do though.

As we celebrate our Mothers' today, our disciplinarians, care-giver and heroines, mine is in addition a prayer warrior. Kudos to all mothers who serves as pillar of strength to their children.

Happy mother’s day.