Mama of all Trades
Celebrating the woman
My mum made my 10th birthday dresses. She sewed them herself. There were two dresses, one yellow and black and the other red and black. The bodice of both dresses was black velvet with either yellow or red ribbon crisscrossing the front in a pattern that formed diamonds. In the middle of each diamond shape was a faux pearl and each dress had a full skirt with taffeta lining and puff sleeves of the same material as the skirt. I wore the yellow dress first and then changed to the red at some point during the party. I had my hair in braids with yellow and black or red and black clips to match whichever dress I was wearing. Nobody could tell me anything! I was a princess that day.
I was proud of those dresses, more so than the one she’d tried to make months before my birthday. It was a royal blue sack masquerading as a shift dress and I must have shown my displeasure because I looked up at the right moment because I clearly listen to my inner spirit and my quick reflexes allowed me to narrowly miss the smack she was sending my way. I took off running. Fast.
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I remember my mum taking lessons to prep for an exam that would allow her to go back to school for a law degree. She already had five of us kids and a husband and a business, but she found the time to study, pass her exams and get into law school.
It was as an adult that it occurred to me that while the Nigerian society was largely patriarchal and beset by an impression that women were “kept” by their men, the reverse was actually the truth. Most women worked. And they worked at multiple things, living an extremely entrepreneurial life. I reviewed my acquaintances and family friends from childhood till now and realized I didn’t know one full-time, stay-at-home mum.
It hadn’t stood out to me until I deliberately looked at it because the narrative of the kept woman didn’t truly resonate with me. Everyone worked outside the home in some capacity, whether it was in a corporate office or running a business, however small or modest the venture. My grandmother for example ran her business selling non-alcoholic drinks and non-perishable groceries in her neighborhood till she died.
The beauty of the Nigerian woman was in wearing her many hats with much finesse that it appeared effortless. My mother was one of such women.
I went to boarding school on and off during my high school years and during one of my stints, a small part of my front tooth was broken when a friend “mistakenly” tapped the bottom of the coke bottle I was drinking out of. I hadn’t seen my parents for a few months but the first thing my mother said when she saw me on the last day of school was “what happened to your tooth?”. My dad didn’t even notice, indeed, most people didn’t because it was such a small chip. But somehow, she did. Such was her hawk eye.
Today she still notices everything. You can see her mind working as she latches on to a tiny morsel of a clue. Analysis is her forte and the subject of many an argument.
But she’s worked her way into an adult relationship with each of her kids. We can laugh and argue and laugh again. Her sense of humor slipped into ours in the way that announces to everyone that we share blood ties.
I’m hoping that the latter part of her life, and my dad’s, is full of a joy that eclipses the former. Their sacrifices have allowed us to go places that they never dreamed of going. And for that, our gratitude will never be enough.
