JEALOUS OF MY MOTHER
One of the reasons I used to eagerly look forward to being married was because I’ve always been jealous of my mother.
It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? But I indeed was jealous of my mother.
Growing up, my mother used to (still is) play the superhero character. She always saved the day. I used to be in so much awe of her and wished to have her life.
I loathed that I had to wait so many years to be a fully grown woman, have my own husband, children, and my own home. it felt like such a triumphant achievement.
One of the remarkable and memorable things I remember always was Saturdays.
Every Saturday, she’d host a few of our church members at the house (mostly couples) for breakfast. She would make her famous Akara and pap delicacy, served on a plastic table she always decorated beautifully beside her well-tended garden beside the house.
It became a tradition. My mum became so famous in the church because of her hospitality and famous Akara. Everyone loved my mum and it was so evident but I was so envious of her.
She would wake up every morning to prepare me and my siblings for school, make us breakfast and lunch, drop us at school, and head down to a small Hair-dressing shop where she learned how to braid. At noon, she would pick us up from school, serve us lunch, wash our school wears immediately, help us with our homework and start making dinner just in time before my dad returned.
I never saw her rest. She was never tired.
Now I’m grown, I wonder how I ever envied a life like that.
My mother’s house was always neat, she coordinated the colors at home heartedly and paid attention to every single detail. she had a garden she tendered religiously, we had paw-paw trees and tomato plants, and we planted corn during the rainy season, and also cassava.
When i mentioned she played the superhero character? I didn’t just mean it literally. My mom knew how to change the generator plug, she would fix back our light whenever we got disconnected by Nepa because of default payment of the bill. She knew so much about batteries, screwdrivers, wiring, pin, and screw bulbs. One time, she repainted the living room herself before we got back from school.
My dad was the head of the home but it seemed my mother was the pillar of the home. She held everything in place perfectly. She had a solution to every problem, she made sure everyone was happy.
Because I was young, I didn’t understand how much weight such responsibility was. I felt it was a privilege to have such power, strength, control, resilience, and duty to the family.
Sometime in my teenage years, I witnessed my mum break down. It was not the usual dramatic crying I thought she did sometimes.
It was different.
One night, after dinner. My siblings were already off to bed and my Dad was in his room. My mom was alone in the sitting room, she had her head bowed in her hands. She lifted her head when she felt me walk in, her eyes looked so dull and teary even in the darkness.
“Mummy what happened”, I asked. She was quiet for what felt longer than a minute. I was too scared to ask again. My heart was beating fast in my chest, I have never seen her like this.
“I’m so tired”, she whispered distressedly. And she broke down in tears. She cried quietly but loud enough to hear the pain and tiredness in her voice.
I stood still, just a few feet from her and just watched. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say.
But I felt a heaviness in my heart and somehow I felt what she felt.
So I sat beside her, and just let her cry.
Then I thought of how many times she felt this way, I wondered how many times she sat in the sitting room by herself and cried.
And for the first time in 15 years, I wasn’t jealous of my mother and I was no longer eager for motherhood.
