Esther
My mother, not like any other, a brilliant light star that shines throughout day and night, is an Acholi woman, raised by the powerful African traditions. I will be glad to pass on some of her skills to my babies. Being a gen z baby, it’s quite hard for me to appreciate everything my tradition says. Well, it’s amazing to have her. The golden heart that pushes her everyday and the aspiration and inspiration it gives me every day.
Single handedly, mama sent us to school. Dad passed on in 2004 leaving us with nothing to hold on to. Mama had no monthly income to cater for us, nothing beats the power of a woman who has children to give to. She sorted the beans in Nakawa Market, sold fenne in the evening, made beads during the day, made chapati for sale and brewed local-traditional alcohol for sale. Isn’t she multi-talented?
I didn’t go to the best schools, she couldn’t afford them but I went to schools, joined the university and graduated. Mama is the most amazing human in my life, she mends the broken and brings life to the family. All I ever ask for is a guarantee of loving us and the thoughtful small time that we cherish.
It’s amazing how her smile lights up the whole world. Every time I go home and not find her, the house feels empty. Have you felt something similar to the dazzling feeling of a missing puzzle piece? Mama fills the missing piece at home and she is an ever forgiving soul.
When I was in high school, I had an unpleasant situation with mama. I bluntly remember telling her that she was being unfair to me for delaying to pay my fees in time. I was selfish, my brother was a candidate then and she wanted him to stay at school.
I can write a million words about her, and I can never fully exhaust and comprehend how God makes parents. The world’s sacrificial lamb.
Sarcasm, mama with Sarcasm! Her sarcasm raised us, I remember those obvious occasions when I broke a plate or cup, mama would shout from wherever she was, “if it’s your dad that bought those plates, break more my dear” and yes, you know what that meant, coming from an African mother. Whenever mama would send me for something, I would carelessly ask her where the object was. The answers would vary, one being “ it’s on my head, come and get it.” And if you dared to come get it from her head, the hot slaps were always on point and sharpened.
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