I always knew I came from a very odd family. There was mother—too short, too old-fashion, too simple, and too intelligent for a woman with no University education.
There was something special about her, something irreplaceable she had—something rare and difficult to identify, but it was there. She never dressed up nicely, except on Sundays, when going to church. She never wore make-up or earrings no matter the occasion. She had three big boxes filled with expensive clothes and jewelries, but she prefer wearing the cheap ones she hung in the closet. She never begged when she lacked—she preferred to suffer in silence. Mom was a woman who loves to make it on her steam—she loved the sound of the words ‘self-made woman’, and always told my sister Amaka how important it was for her to go to school and achieve something she could call her own. Mother never even asked my dad for money—she was a feminist. She never ate anything fried, cold or spicy—she was very selective in the foods she ate, the words she spoke, the friends she kept, the dreams she nurtured, the prayers she said, and the steps she took.
Mother had no role-model and no fashion icon—she invented her own style, and often she was very controversial and unwelcoming of external thoughts. She cared very little about the way people perceived her. She would lock herself in a world of hers, and did things as she pleased. Mom was very religious—too religious I may say. She changed churches like bedsheets—and still does. No one knew the name of the church she will attend next Sunday—she always surprised us with something new. I really didn’t understand what she was looking for, or what she was asking God for, that made her changed her faith that much. Maybe she was trying to taste them all, or maybe she didn’t want to run away from something she didn’t clearly understand, so she explored. But there was something I admired so much about her—mom was always happy and contented with what life gave her. She never asked for more.
She spoke three languages fluently—English, Igbo, and Yoruba. Some neighbors thought she was Yoruba, while others thought she was Igbo. She was like a chameleon—always able to blend into any crowd she found herself within. Mom was strict, but not like other moms. She would get mad over little things, and ignore the bigger things. I couldn’t clearly understand her principles, because she was overly spontaneous with her judgements. She was always busy, even after her retirement several years ago. Though she never worked formally after retiring, mom would always engage herself with something—petty trading, church fellowshipping, or cooking. We never liked mom’s cooking because she never fried a thing—she was aware of this little fact but never changed.
Mom was a beauty when she was younger, but after retirement, she never cared about her appearance. All her focus fell upon her children—and I don’t know how exactly that made me feel. I would appreciate her simple nature when I see other moms taking good care of themselves and ignoring their children. But I would detest her simple nature when my friends from school came around. Mother never wanted to earn a lot of money, so she never prayed for it. She would only pray for long life and happiness, and thank God for the little she had. She was happy as long as she met her needs, and the wants of her children. Mother had no wants. She was too simple for my liking.