My Mum… Water, Fire and Spirit!
She came, lived and we experienced her!
I smiled. I kept smiling with teary eyes and a heavy heart as the undertakers carried out their final rituals of pouring sand over the casket in the grave. We were all around the grave silently watching the men with their sweaty faces dig up and shovel sand respectfully into the grave. It was a moment of retrospect and reflection for all of us. In our ways reminiscing on the life we all lived with our mother. For me, she was water, fire and spirit.
“That is my mum you are covering up’’, I muttered in pain, silently to myself. The intention was not for them to hear, it was for me. I was emotionally drained. Tears still making their way freely from the two main sources. We were all caught up in a moment of deep reflection. Every one of us reminiscing on the life we all believed was well lived but wished was lived a bit longer — our lived experience of her!
“Woro, woro!”, her sonorous voice bellowed across the compound in search of me. She knew very well that if she did not call to a halt my evening playtime, I could easily extend that into the night.
‘‘You will learn how to make egusi (melon seed) soup today’’.
I think I was 8 or 9 years old when she first handed me the bowl of melon seeds which we had prepared over two days peeling off the seed shells (as we say in Nigeria — breaking melon). She pointed at the grinding stone and asked that I get to work grinding the melon seeds in preparation for my lesson. I must confess, I hated her for that. It was one of the most daunting tasks I had to do as a child. Whether in hate, tears or duty it didn’t matter, I spent the next one and a half hours grinding the melon seed into the smooth paste necessary for the egusi soup. Then, my lesson started. My mother was water!
She nurtured us from a very tender age with life lessons that directed us through adulthood. She taught us virtue through tough tasks and inculcated accountability into our souls from that period when we were responsibility-free. She was patient with our grumblings and rumblings. She would wait and when we were done, she would repeat her instruction. Whether in hate, tears or duty, it didn’t matter, we will carry out the instruction. By this, she taught us discipline and resilience. She prepared the tender soil of our minds to become life-long learners, ready to take on the lessons of life and learn to become better visions of ourselves. She was water.
She allowed her spirit of empathy and kindness to slip into us. It was always the fresh dew of a humane heart shared at every experience. As a child, I always remember the times she gave me food to take to Era — the lunatic everyone avoided in the neighbourhood. He lived not far away from our house in an uncompleted building but survived as a human on goodwill such as this. I never understood it then, but now I know! We are all humans first, before any stereotype. She watered and cultivated the soil of our hearts with compassion and understanding in our interaction with our world. She spent her life catering for us. The sacrifices she made for us were huge. They were huge! She was water.
Many saw her as a loving and kind-hearted lady, yes I agree, but my mother was also fire! Giving birth to seven kids in quick successions will wear any woman’s heart to earth. With the majority being boys (6 boys!), you will need to be a General to command the platoon. And a General she was! Before she leaves for work in the morning, she will bark her orders and the consequences of non-compliance to her little army. She was not a single mother, but my father was away most of the time schooling, thus the responsibility of raising the army was left to her for most of our formative years. She executed that duty excellently.
She was a strong believer in ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’. You may have your opinion on that, but her belief worked. Not following her orders can attract anything, and I mean anything — a ‘bitter’ slap, hard knocks on your head, two hours of being on your knees with your hands raised to the heavens in apologies for your sins (we never had naughty corners), and the worse flogging — several strokes of the cane, her favourite corporal punishment with any available instrument — slippers, belt, ‘turning garri’ (kitchen spatula), cane, etc.
“Woro!”, her voice was calm and soothing. I was convinced my sin had been forgiven and most probably forgotten. “Woroooo…”, she called again, “Please I need your support”. I raced to the bedroom where she was. At this point, I was the most obedient child in the house. The act of obedience that you wish atones for your sins. I had sinned the previous day and my guilt was hovering around my head yet to be atoned and I knew it. The previous day, she had instructed me to prepare lunch for my siblings while she was still at work. To date, I cannot explain how I went to play football with my friends and forgot her instructions. By the time I returned, she was back home, cooked and served lunch. To my surprise, she had served mine as well.
“Please, I need your help with one leg of my shoe underneath the bed”, she pointed to the area of the bed she suspected the shoe was. I went down on my knees and bent my head over to scan underneath the bed and there it was at the far corner of the bed, close to the wall. I gave her a nod confirming she was right. “Help me get it”, she demanded. The space underneath the bed was just enough for a boy of my age to go under in a crawling position. Still on my knees, I went head in first, pulling the rest of my body in with my elbows on the floor. If only I knew!
What followed next was pure ingenuity. With most of my body fully underneath the bed, my mother got to work. The first stroke of the cane that touched my butt sent a painful and burning sensation through my spine to my head. I lost my orientation; confused, I wanted to run but my attempt to spring was thwarted by the frame of the bed as I hit my head against the metal under the bed. I fell back into the same position as the second stroke landed on the other portion of my body. This was well planned and I fell for it. I got 12 strokes unresisted in that position. I atoned for my sin. My mother was fire!
Her fire of discipline refined us like raw gold! Her convictions were strong. Foolishness abides in the heart of a child and you need discipline to drive it far away. Sometimes, I consider her a mean and bitter woman who does not deserve to be my mother. But today, I am grateful for her corrections for they were done from the place of motherly love for a better future for her children. She burnt away chunks of irresponsibilities with her fire and consumed the spirit of selfishness. With this, she instilled in us the act of communal living — caring for one another.
My mother was a spirit! This part of her had two dimensions. One part we dreaded and the other we cherished. As a child, the last thing we ever wanted was to hear my mum 2:00 am praying to the heavens over your case — your waywardness, irresponsibility, stubbornness, etc. And there were many nights like this we did experience. Her prayers in the middle of the night will wake everyone up. Her voice had a high pitch to it whenever she was commanding devils to lose their grips over her children. We will all lay still with our eyes wide open listening to her. When she mentions my name, my heart temporarily stops beating and guilt flushes through my veins. She would demand for the souls of her kids when she senses the power of her discipline waning.
The other part we cherished. She was our spiritual cover. She prayed for her children till she had no more breath in her lungs. She was the bridge we had on earth to realms our sinful hearts wouldn’t permit. She went on our behalf, interceding and pleading for our imperfections and Adamic nature. She will go on long fasts for our sake, praying for divine protection for her children and mercy in all that they do. She was closer to heaven than us and we appreciated her standing for us in the place of prayers. There were places we went because we knew mummy was praying. There were conversations we had because we knew mummy was praying. There were people we connected with because we knew mummy was praying. My mother was a spirit.
“Today, we commit the soul of our beloved sister, Edna Samba Akpore, into the hands of the Almighty God, ….”, the voice of the clergy brought me back from my moment. This was it. The Undertakers were done, she was covered and that would be the last I will see of that wonderful soul. One that was a true epitome of care, love, sacrifice and grace. It is difficult to summarise in words our lived experience of her, this is just my little attempt to always remember her — our water, fire and spirit!
Thanks for reading this article on the lived experience of my mother. If your mother is still alive, please show her some love. Mothers are priceless! And if any part of this article resonates with you, let me have your comment and please don't forget to clap as well (as much as you can). Thank you.
