She is actually a “partial” woman especially when it comes to dealing with her children but I have come to realize the good in that. Growing up was not necessarily “fun” with her because it seemed she was always serious looking and rarely found time to joke around hence I and perhaps one or two of my other siblings naturally gravitated towards our father who was somewhat more “tolerant” of our ways.
She is sometimes misunderstood by even those of her own lineage; those who ought to accept her for who she is after all these years. As time went by and as I grew older, I began to understand why she indeed relates with her 5 children differently. My older sister says that “mummy has the memory of an elephant”; that is how much data of stored information she has about her life and the events surrounding all her children. She knew the one or two of us who needed extra attention and affection; the funny part is that she did things for other children who at one time or the other lived in her house similarly to what she would have done for hers even without any corresponding gratitude.
My immediate younger sister asked her a question one afternoon about a decade ago. She had thought in her heart that she was the least loved because our mother was always “on her case” and she wanted to know why. My mother subsequently told her a story about 2 events that could have cost her daughter’s life. The first was about a fire on the floor where new born babies where kept at the Island maternity Hospital. There was pandemonium and it appeared all the babies were trapped or at risk of succumbing to the smoke and fire. I listened with rapt attention as my mother narrated how she defied all odds to scramble up the stairs to rescue her daughter from the raging flames. The second tale was a cyanotic experience that required emergency attention. I remember one rainy morning while we were children in primary school. Our father had left early for work and she was left to take us to school. The rain was heavy and the flood level was high. As we made our way clad in raincoats, this same sister of mine fell into an open drainage obscured by the flood and it appeared she was going to drown. Help came from those around and my sister was rescued. I am sure that my sister discarded any thoughts of being “under-loved” after those tales.
I hope to sit down with her one day to document the history of her parents and grandparents. My mother practically knows everyone related to her and how they are related. I have listened to stories about how her father’s mother migrated with her children to settle in another town and I was amazed at the incredible detail she recollects. She remembers who said what and did something good or bad to her with precision. The stories about how she served in a woman’s house as a very young girl travelling on foot many kilometers daily will make a good Nollywood plot. She remembers the dates of birth of all her nieces and nephews including the birth weights of all her children, the time of birth and any significant events that may have occurred on those days. I suppose she could have succeeded in just about any field of life assuming she grew up with the kind of academic opportunities which she ensured we got a chance to have.
My mother was not one to dash us 50kobo or one naira to buy sweets and biscuits but she could break the bank for anyone who was serious enough to go to school. She would call her really close friends for urgent loans and help if any of her children (including non-biological) needed to pay school fees, buy examination forms and settle project money. There was nothing like “come back, let me think about it and see what I can do”, she somehow always got the job done. She could go all the way to Sokoto just to lobby for a chance to be given to anyone; as long as a child or ward needed admission, there was no fee that was too much to pay. From time to time, we remember fondly the story of my cousin who was left in the village without any opportunity to attend school until he was brought to Lagos to live with us. My father had thought to enroll him in a separate school from the one we attended in order for him to start up slowly but she convinced him to try our school instead. She prevailed on the school proprietress to give my cousin a chance and a young boy who could not put a proper sentence of English together caught up with his peers in no time.
I remember very clearly the number of secondary school examinations she accompanied me and my cousin to within and outside Lagos. My cousin was practically my brother and I would not have blamed anyone who thought that we were twins because we had just about the same clothes, shoes and bags. It would still be very dark on some of those mornings when we set out for the motor park on our way out of Lagos. We were returning one day from Akure when the bus stopped because of an accident which had occurred on the opposite carriage way involving multiple vehicles. Many vehicles had stopped on both sides of the highway and people were swarming to the accident scene to help the victims. In those days, there were no smart phones to take photos of accident scenes and victims but my mother being a trained nurse that she is left us in the vehicle with clear instructions not to exit and in her “iro and buba”, she hurdled over the road divide to offer her services to anyone in need. I don’t know if anyone was saved that day because of whatever professional help she must have rendered.
She trained to become a nurse at a time when nursing students got their beddings changed and free laundry with regular provisions of milk and eggs from the Federal Government. I must say that she did the job passionately despite the obvious progressive decay in the health sector. Many of her peers completely left the fold by 1992 to start trading or whatever craft they could learn. She opted for fashion designing and she actually did very well at it. She did not quit nursing and she was more or less the first to be called in the neighborhood whenever there was any emergency. There were a few emergency baby deliveries for those who could not reach the hospital on time and bloody injuries in need of dressing including a young boy who tried to beat a ram to the head-butting game. It was never too late in the day to help anyone and she at times accompanied them to the hospital to ensure the right things were done. I am sure she did very well for her patients all through the over 30 years she spent at the National Orthopaedic Hospital Igbobi. We were at the Ikoyi Registry in December for my youngest sister’s court wedding requirements when a middle aged man alighted from his SUV and started to walk towards my mother with a slight gait. He called out to her and introduced himself expecting my mother to know who he was. My mother looked on perplexed for a moment as if her vision was failing but she was going back in time to remember who he was and in a just a few seconds she recollected everything and hugged him. They spoke together for a while after which I asked her who the man was. He was one of her patients who she helped nurse to recovery over 20 years ago. He was injured in an accident and the amputation of his leg was contemplated. From all indications that did not happen and in 2014 he was able to remember accurately the name of one of his nurses who he had not seen since his final discharge from the hospital’s care. We should not leave the expression of gratitude for whatever our parents have done solely to those outside of our family while we treat them with disdain because we may imagine that they have not done enough.
My mother went to any length possible for her children. She could have made an excellent Health or Education minister; no price was too high to pay for the health and education of any child. I have told the story of how she lost the contest to accompany my older sister on an impromptu all-night road trip to Gombe in order to meet up with the closing date for arrivals to the NYSC orientation camp. Mobile telecommunication was in its infancy at that time when a young man clad in NYSC uniform visited our house to inform my mother that he was sent to her by my sister to collect funds for her treatment after an emergency surgery in Gombe. He named a figure and urged my mother to respond quickly as he had to return immediately. There was no way to call Gombe to verify the tale and my mother was concerned but instead of handing over any money to the young man, she was the one heading out to Gombe on the next available bus that day to find her daughter. The young man was a fraudster and only a desperate mother could have found that out. My mother stretches herself beyond normal limits even for people who have proven undeserving. One of her flaws may be that she does not know when to say no to help even those who would end up insulting or defrauding her she could be overbearing at times but I can explain it as an attempt to ensure someone did not make a wrong decision. The same woman who would pledge to mind her business and cease from helping those who treat her unjustly would be the one reversing her position the next opportunity she got.
As much as I may not like to admit it, I am in many ways like my mother. She could be overly critical of herself sometimes wanting to ensure that other people are pleased at her own expense. She would rather have all her guests eat to overflowing while one would have to beg her to drink water. She asked me what I wanted her to give me as a gift for my wedding ceremony but I asked her that her presence was the entire gift I needed. I remembered the days many years ago when she strategized with my father how they would ensure our school fees got paid even when they ran out of time to pay early. They practically sacrificed all to ensure their children turned out well; what better gift could a parent give a child? She endured severe pain in her back in early 2010 that only she could explain. Despite these she rallied for both her sons’ weddings in a 3 month period before eventually landing in hospital for a few months. She got well with the help of the doctors and nurses at the hospital where she worked. She was discharged just in time for her first grandson’s naming ceremony and she was not an onlooker for the event. Not even a hospital bed or a broken leg could stop this woman from doing the things she knows how to do best. Her walking pace has slowed a great deal following those days but at her peak, even younger females could not cope with how fast she walked. We went to food and cloth markets together and I surely learnt the trade and tricks of how to haggle with the sellers.
My mother used to pound yam as if she was left handed and I still do not know why. It was customary when we were children for us to deliver pounded yam with correct soup to our neighbors and family friends during the Christmas festivities. We would be sent on many of these delivery trips wondering if there would be any of the good stuff left for us to eat when we returned. She surely never forgot to give us this yearly treat until one year she declared her retirement despite the fact that I also participated in the pounding process before the really rigorous part. She made us cut the grass around the block and swept the stairs even if our neighbors had children who never did same. It was upsetting then as it felt like punishment however I am grateful now for those episodes because I understand what taking responsibility means.
My mother still watches football with so much passion even if she does not support any of the teams playing. She still watches a game featuring any Nigerian team today just like she would have done 30 years ago. She developed a liking for Thierry Henry when he first came into the global limelight during the 1998 world cup in France. Even if she did not know any footballer she saw on her screen, she could not miss the characteristic head of her favorite player.
My Mother is not flawless but I can live with that. The result of the things she did is visible for all to see and she deserves all the praise. I celebrate her today on her birthday and hope that many more mothers are so celebrated and their values extolled. She did not fail her nation and she must know that she has done more than enough even if she feels she could have done much more.
Happy birthday Mrs. Florence Arike Akeju; all your children and grandchildren honor you even those unborn.
God bless you abundantly.
