Love your mum as hard as you can

Today is not mother’s day as we know it, but for me every day ought to be mother’s day. While it is true that some mothers do not deserve to be addressed with that title, more than three quarters of the world’s mothers are awesome human beings who hold a protective veil over us on behalf of the almighty; guide us and feed us. Mothers are truly phenomenal. You can never do too much for your mother while she is alive.

This piece is really a tribute to one of Nigeria’s most amazing Mums, my mother, the truly incredible Mrs Josephine Amodu whose passing seven years ago August 4th continues to tear me up whenever the date approaches. But I celebrate her today in remembrance and all those amazing mums who sacrificed to make us who we are and taught us to sacrifice for our own children.

I remember one of our last inter-city trips together, my mum and I and it is just like yesterday. We were travelling to Sabon-gida Ora for a burial of the father of a son-in-law at the time. Ever thoughtful, we packed this and that and more for the ceremony. Then the journey began from Abuja through Lokoja. But it is not just the story of what we packed that keeps this memory alive. Truth be told, my mum was one of the best cooks in the whole wide world and if she put toothpicks in a saucepan and marinated, you are likely to eat it without knowing it was toothpicks. So there was the delicious home cooked food that was accompanying us and snacks to keep us oiled she would say. There was never a dull moment when travelling with my mother. But the icing on the cake was the fact that I inherited my “disgeographica” from her. I get lost in a big house and I cannot find that house in a little corner of Gwarimpa because although I have been there twenty times, problem is, the wind brought down the sign post just before the house and I cannot now find my landmark as the houses now all look the same or I take a turn too soon and get myself in a knot. Mrs Amodu could never find the way to a lot of places but she always found her way to your heart.

So we set out for this journey, great food, a great car and a truly good driver who did not know where Sabon Gida Ora was and was depending on us both. Hilarious! It was such a funny trip because we got lost many times finding ourselves at the doorstep of places other than where we ought to be, stopping in a safe place to eat properly, laughing out loud when we had boldly believed the turn to be the right one and driving past the right turn only to return to a junction that we had zipped pass. I can see my mother’s twinkling mischievous eyes when we were now truly lost on account of her suggestions which, to be honest, sounded way off on mention but which we would try any way as I had no better knowledge of where we were going. Going to Sabon-Gida Ora with my mum was one of my most memorable road trips. It was fun, warm and hilarious. I remember it well because it was a trip we made before she fell ill.

As a cook, Mama Eucharia was always trying to get everyone to eat as a result of which till this day, I never cook food for two persons. Oh someone will come by; she would say or pack it for the day after tomorrow when you are too tired to cook. She also believed that artisans who work in your house must be fed. The fee for the job is not the same with the man’s stomach needs. So, carpenters, painters etc always felt at home when working in my home, If we can’t home –cook it, we certainly provided it from an eatery. A lesson well learnt as Mrs Amodu will make you prepare Eba, Amala, rice or whatever was available for anyone who ventured into our homes from Makurdi, to Kaduna, to Lokoja, to Kankia to Abuja.

In the end, it was in the kitchen that we most bonded. My love for her cooking and my apprenticeship serving me in good stead. We spent long hours in the kitchen as her years began to wane and her illness got the better of her. She would cook up a storm in my house or in any of my sibling’s homes, much to the delight of her ever growing number of grandchildren. This brought her the greatest joy. A long cue of grandchildren interested in tasting from the broth or ingredient bearing ones with their gaze on the pot as Mrs Amodu worked her magic.

I miss her today as I have in the past seven years, a few more grandchildren have joined us and I am still misty eyed when I walk those gardens you enjoyed all over the world but particularly so when I sit in mine at six in the morning as you used to with only the sound of birds and insects.

If you have still got your mum, love her as hard as you can today for when she is gone, you can only have memories. I wish you good memories like mine.

Eugenia Abu