Finding Myself: What I Learned From My Mother

Mom is cooking beans and fried plantain for breakfast; yes, breakfast on Saturday better be heavy because we have work to do. I am summoned to fan the coal pot which I obediently oblige. My elder sister fries the plantain. Soon breakfast is served and all five children are called to pick our plates, laden with beans, palm oil and plantain.

With full tummies, we follow her to the farm. Each in an oversize wellington boot dad brought mom from his work – the mining company. Yes, mama is a subsistence farmer and daddy is a hotshot in a reputable mining company.

I learned from my mother how to step up to the plate and sacrifice for the future, how to suck it up and do what needs doing. I never heard her complain and point fingers; she worked back-breaking hard. She was tight lipped and in a rage; I learned that too.

We grow most of what we eat and buy only what we can’t grow. The rains have failed us this season so the girls fetch water from a nearby stream to water the vegetables, okra, garden eggs and pepper. The boys pull out weeds growing amongst our precious vegetables. Mama hurriedly clears a weedy area and makes mounds in readiness to plant yam as soon as the rains fall. Then she harvests plantain and cassava, cuts and binds five bundles of dead wood – one for each child. We need firewood to supplement charcoal. Charcoal is expensive, we cannot afford to depend on it solely.

By sundown we march on home. Mom has a large basin filled with plantain, cassava and other assortments on her head. We follow with our burdens of firewood.

Back home we set our load down and my stiff necks lets me know it doesn’t appreciate overload, so I complain: “mom my load was too heavy, my neck is stiff”. The response: “shut your big mouth and get your fat cheeks and ugly face the hell out of my sight”. Need I tell you she isn’t singing anymore?

We eat a hearty supper of boiled yam and left over palm nut soup. It is delicious, I love it. Well I’ll be honest, I love food, period.

I learned from my Mama that hard work pays and the diligent never goes hungry.

Before she bathes, she feeds and waters the sheep – sheep my daddy keeps as a hobby, then cleans their pen. She takes delivery of a barrel of palm oil and painstakingly measures it into gallons and returns the barrel to its owner. Tomorrow, she will call her customers to come get the gallons of oil.

What I learned from my mother is to tolerate and adapt, adapt and tolerate. I learned to silently endure, bend over backwards, until I was stretched so thin I could break.

We all bath and my siblings and I retire indoors. I can still hear mom’s footsteps in the corridor, she’s probably setting things in motion for tomorrow. Finally, the lantern on the lamp post dims and I hear mom’s door shut and the click of her lock. She is finally going to get some sleep, hopefully.

As I lay on my mat, my twelve-year-old mind began to wonder, why does she work so damn hard? Why can’t daddy be here? And why did she accept to move into this house and neighborhood with no electricity? What is it that makes her talk to herself so much? Why is she always so angry? Could she just speak up and not be so afraid of daddy?

What I learned from my parents’ relationship, watching my mother, is what happens when you don’t speak up. When you don’t ask for what you expect and need, I learned you are not likely to get it. If I don’t say “I cannot,” people will take me for long, jolly rides. That if I don’t speak my truth, set clear boundaries and love myself, no one will. I learned if I deny myself to unhealthy limits, tolerate disrespect and accept less, that’s exactly what I’ll get.

And thence my subconscious resolve, way before I knew anything about financial and emotional abuse; I will use my words and I will use them well. I’ll look out for me, will love me, I will take care of me. I didn’t know how I’d do it, but even that young, I fairly understood why.

But it is easier said than done. We learn by watching, and from what is modeled for us, we form habits unconsciously. And while it is quite easy to say, “that will never be me,” you may be surprised to find yourself trapped in the same revolving door you swore off of. That is until you make the conscious effort to heal, take a step back and do things differently. And so if you need to forgive to get unstuck, forgive today. You may need to release the past and concentrate on the present and work towards your future.

If what was modeled for you in the formative years stole your voice and power, you can work on getting your power back . You can learn to love yourself again. You may need to unlearn old lessons and learn new ones.

Know thus, what is done to you when you’re young and helpless is not your fault, but what you do with the cards you’re dealt when you’re old enough is all on you. You can play a bad hand well, all you need is effort.