Every child owned a toy in my class and I didn't see the reason why I should be the only one having no play toy to boast of. I hated her for not being able to pay my school fees and made me sacked to go home for my school fees only for her to tell me, "Don't worry, all is well". Sometimes she told me to give excuses to the head teacher on her behalf that she would come and pay after she closes from work at the market but never came. This made me shout at Mr Garibah, the head teacher one day when he told me he was fed up of my excuses sneeringly in the midst of my friends, "Do you think I enjoy lying and giving excuses? Was it my fault that I was given birth to an illiterate and irresponsible woman? Go ask her yourself for the fees.......!" At first, he was shocked but realising that I had the guts to talk to him this way, lashed me dreadfully till I almost became paralysed.
My friends teased me as I cried on my way home and called me names like "Kwame agyanka", "The boy who carries the world on his neck", among others. But I agreed with them perfectly. It was as though I was an orphan and more so, carrying the whole world's woes on my lean neck. I was more disappointed in my mum and when I got home told her about what happened at school expecting her to go fighting the headteacher as other friends' mothers did when they were severely beaten. She didn't do this and as usual, told me the same words I had become used to, "Don't worry, all is well".
I never knew who my father was. I only lived with my mother who played both roles of a father and mother. She was the one responsible for paying the house rent, my school fees and electricity bills. Her meager income from her trade in gari couldn't support such responsibilities. In as much as she was helpless, there was no day she wouldn't provide something for me to eat even if it meant she starving for me to eat to satisfaction. It wasn't that she cooked any better food, though. I ate gari and pepper, mostly with no fish. On lucky days, I had some small herrings put on it. I am shocked the amount of gari I had eaten in my childhood hasn't made me blind yet.
Years elapsed, I managed to complete basic school but since my mum wasn't having enoungh money for me to further my education, I joined her at the market to help her sell gari. It was at the market that I began to appreciate the hard work, love and sacrifice of my mother. I soon realized her sacrifice for me all those times. It wasn't glory selling under the scorching sun to sell to customers who talked to you as if you were lesser a human.
Things started to become worse and I wished I could be of great help to her. She was lame at her left leg after giving birth to me and this disability began to affect her health badly. She stopped trading and left paralysed at home. At the same time, the annoying and heartless land lord threatened to throw us out of his deplorable single room we barely could pay. And in a months time, true to his words, he did exactly, and more disgracefully than we ever imagined. My mum was sent to stay at the village whilst I chose to stay on the streets selling pure water to generate income to fend for myself and as well bring my mum to the city to receive proper cure.
It is a year now and I haven't been able to generate enough money to help her. I was just informed minutes ago that she just died. I was told these were her last words before death, " I love you my son and I don't ever regret choosing to die for you before you were born. I couldn't give you material blessings but my love and care, you never lacked. Take my heart as a gift, for it is the only thing a poor mother can offer". My eyeballs almost poped out of their sockets on hearing this message. I cried like a spoilt child. I was more confused than ever. Why didn't she ever tell me that she was raped in her third year in high school and that was how she bore me. She never told me that her family pressurised her to abort me and when she refused to do so, they disowned her and sacked her onto the streets to struggle through life on her own. I never knew that her pregnancy was ectopic but she went ahead,disobeying the doctor's warning of not surviving after the birth of her child. I now knew why she was lame at her left leg and had stomach complications.
This is a woman I should have appreciated more than anything in the world. This is why when I remember ever saying these words once to a friend,"How I wish I were the son of your mother! I would probably have been the happiest boy on earth", then for once I wish that as in movies, I could turn the years back to say different words: sweet ones, of course.
I wish I were by her death bed to say these words I have long kept in my mouth: "I love you mum".
No matter what you do, you can only have one mother and God knows why you were birth through her. She endured nine months of pain and sickness. Not every mother is wealthy enough to express their love with material gifts but even with the passion with which they do the little things for us, we would be definitely ungrateful if we do show our appreciation.
Destiny intertwines our path with others and I'm very fortunate to have encountered a loving and daring woman of a mother. Her love to me was thicker than the ocean and her silhouette of love and care paints my mind,the only thing I'm left to adore.
No matter the state of your mother: strong, weak, poor, rich, disabled, able, you should love her mums as though she'll die any moment. Cherish every single moment u spend with her. Don't wait for mothers' day before you do so. For you can't tell if she'll be alive to feel your gratitude in next year's mother's day.
If there were a picture next to the definition of "Mother" in the dictionary, it should probably be a picture of my mum.
BY: FRANCIS AHETO
(Nana Yaw ƆkƆriƐ)
• Dedicated to a friend of mine whose mother is a single mum yet does her best to provide for him. God bless you Mrs. Millicent Ochere.
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THE SILHOUETTES OF MY MOTHER
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