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Sweet Mama

When I think of my mama, there is a theme song that plays in the background. ‘A Song for Mama’ by Boys II Men. The song talks about her teaching her child everything, teaching them about right and wrong. It talks about the mama believing in her child when no one else would. It talks about loving mama being the food to the soul and her being the child’s strength. Amazing song!

My mama was never the most traditional of mums. For majority of my life, she was a single mum. She is a feminist. She travelled often to attend conferences and seminars and to take part in courses, for weeks and sometimes months at a time. She did not enjoy the traditional female roles of cooking and cleaning day in, day out.  I rarely saw her do laundry and she certainly never ironed for us. But…she also did a lot of traditionally mummy things. She woke us up for school every morning she was home. She bathed us both together in the bathtub and wrapped us each in a large bath towel, tucking us in just the way we loved it so that we were like worms in a cocoon of warmth. We would hurry off to our bedroom and fall into bed, clean and warm for a quick ‘shut eye’ and make her go through the process of getting us up again. She washed my hair and patiently combed out the tangles and put hair cream on my hair and scalp. She took me to buy school books, stationary and shoes when the new term began. She waited at the end of the school term for my exam results and told me how proud she was.

My mama recounts that when I was born in a busy maternity ward in Ahmadu Bello University (ABU) Teaching Hospital, Kaduna. She says she knew I was different in that first hour. The maternity unit was very busy which meant that as babies were born, they were given a cursory drying and wrapped up and placed in a queue for proper cleaning before being placed in their mothers’ arms. My mama says that I wailed so loud for so long that the midwife had to come away from the mother she was assisting to pluck me out from the waiting queue, give me a good clean and take me to my mama. I cried all through her handling and I am told that as soon as my mama took me into her arms, I took a deep breath in and fixed my eyes on her. Apparently I was as good as gold for my mum throughout childhood. Not so to everyone else. I was a right madam and often fussy especially when my mama was away on one of her trips. I cried so much that I grew up with a husky voice but my mama swears I was always good for her. I think my tears were from missing my mama and fearing that she had abandoned me.

I was a different baby from my sister. My sister was the baby that wanted to be handled 24/7. I was the opposite. I wanted my mama to cuddle me with breastfeeds but I wanted to be in my bed when I was asleep. I was happy to be at home playing when my mama went out as long as she didn’t have luggage in tow. When she went on a trip, it felt like she took a piece of me with her. I remember vividly going into her room and sitting on the side of her bed. I would stare at the enlarged picture of her taken before I was born and feel the tears well in my eyes. I would press the button on the talking clock on her headboard and lie on the cool tiled floor in the dim light and wonder if I would ever see her again. For some reason, I was always afraid that she would never come back. Even though she told us how long she would be, it always seemed to me that the deadline had passed and no one was telling the plans had changed. I would lie on the floor of her room in the silence as my sister played with the neighbourhood children and imagine she had been killed in a plane crash and everyone was keeping it from us. I would cry quietly as I imagined the worst and eventually, I would find some hope from deep within and say to myself she was OK or I would have heard of the plane crash on the news. I don’t know why in my young mind, I didn’t think she could die in a car crash which was more common place.

When she came home, she always came bearing gifts. Nothing too extravagant but all special. I got my first Barbie after one trip and many years later a Cindy doll after I got over the loss of my Barbie. On a long trip to Venezuela, I got a t-shirt which I loved to bits and wore until its stitching unravelled and I had to be begged to throw it in the bin. I got a ‘born to be wild’ t-shirt from the US which when made me feel like the bee’s knees whenever I wore it. On the same US trip, she got me arguable one of the best gifts, a special edition perfume from the Disney store shaped like Belle from Beauty and the Beast. I still have the plastic Belle bottle more than 15 years later. One trip she went to the Disney store in London and got me a Tazmanian Devil woolley hat and gloves combo. A regular treat were the pick and mix sweets. The highlight was the marshmallows covered in strawberry-flavoured slightly tart sugar. Yummy! Those sweets taught us a highly valuable life lesson. She handed us each a large plastic bag full of sweets and left us to our devices. My sister would go through a fair few in the first day then slow down over the next few days. I was more calculating. I would pour out all of my sweets and group them into types and work out how I could make it so I could make my favourites last the longest. I always tried to save a strawberry sweet for weeks and ate it last. I will never forget how special that last sweet was. It almost made it okay that mama had to travel AGAIN a few months later.

I am one of those weird people who love salads. The secret? My mama. She makes the most amazing salads. I don’t know exactly how she did it but she made it so that having a special salad was an occasion in my home. She would take us to the shops to buy baked beans, sweetcorn and mushrooms. Then she would slice the tomatoes, hard boil eggs, fry the mushrooms and re-cook the beans then dress the lettuce with all of that, laid out in the most beautiful pattern. The salad would look and smell so good that we couldn’t wait to tuck in. It was so delicious that it was the main course of dinner. Thinking about it now is making me salivate. The other thing my mum is a queen of is smoothies. She loves them and she makes the best ones. What makes them extra special is the love she puts into preparing all the fruit and blending it all in batches and giving us all a helping. I have always watched children whine about eating fruit and vegetables and to be honest, I have never understood why. Because my mama was so good that she made us love fruit and vegetables.

Of course I am biased but looking back, I think she did an amazing job. She was the disciplinarian whose love I never doubted. In a society where smacking was considered the norm, she was very restrained and I can count how many times I got smacked. Each time was totally called for too and even then I knew. She is now one of my best friends, cliched though that might sound. I can talk to her about anything. My opinions are valuable to her even if she argues about it all. I am her confidant, her financial adviser, her personal doctor, her baby and her friend. I value her above everyone else and everyday, I thank God that she was gifted to me as my mother. I am thankful that she is healthy and strong and fiesty to a fault. I owe her everything I am. She is my greatest love.

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Girly Man

I listen to Ed & Rachel on Heart FM on my daily drive in to work (as I always do because it is the best programme on radio!). Yesterday’s morning’s phone-in was about celebrating the ‘girly’ things that our men do that we think are great. So that got me thinking and this blog was born. Before I do that, let me just say I do not actually think these things are girly. I think the things I will praise below are just nice, lovely, sensitive traits that are brilliant regardless of gender. It is just that because men have the wrong idea about what it is to be a man, these nice things are now feminised. So to the men in my life whose traits I will be praising, I want to reassure you that I am in no way questioning your manhood or masculinity. I am celebrating you in all you glory!

My granddad, he of the military ways, is the only man I know who always has lip balm with him and applies liberally. Also, he moisturises daily and I know this is still true because last time I went home, I decided not to take any moisturiser with me and the only place I could find some was in my granddad’s bathroom. He had several bottles of lovely stuff and my skin was happy throughout the holiday. More importantly, he has lovely moisturised skin, his diabetic feet are the most beautiful I have ever seen and he has none of the skin complications associated with diabetes and hypertension. Well done Baba!

My teenage cousin (Baby A if you have read my blog) is a very creative boy and one of his ‘hobbies’ is cooking. He can cook a 3 course meal and seems to enjoy it but what I was most impressed by is that he can cook the loveliest crepes (thin pancakes). Impressed not only that he can make them delicious, thin, round and unbroken but also that he uses reconstituted powdered milk and if I hadn’t know, I would never have guessed. He also gives lovely hugs and likes to sit and talk about the important things in his life. And when I am not in the same town as he is (which is most of the time these days), he will often say hi or good night or send me emoticon hugs randomly. Warms my heart I tell you.

My brother-in-law’s best ‘girly’ trait is that he celebrates his love for his family. When he and my sister moved into their home, he spent a considerable amount of time and money choosing and framing pictures of their close family members. And by their family, I mean his family and my family. Imagine my surprise when I found the loveliest framed photo of my mama’s in their bedroom and one of me with the pictures of his sisters in his study. Awwwh! The other thing is his ability to turn the volume up when his favourite music is on and dance around the kitchen without any inhibitions or when in the car, do a perfect imitation particularly when it’s a girl singer lol. Before he lived with my sister, I thought that was a girl thing. But apparently not, thank goodness!

There are lots of girl things that I have come across that I have loved and still love in the uncles and cousins, patients and friends too. I know a man who loves black nail polish and getting his nails done who has to hide his love for fear of people’s acid tongues. I know of a younger brother who buys the best hand bags for his sister who is my friend. I know of a cousin who when he was younger loved nothing better than to brush his mum’s gorgeous hair. I know several who love to be hugged just like I do.

Special mention to my dear husband though. I love so much about him but foremost are the girly traits that were like girl-magnet when it came to me. I think the seed of love was planted when he was honest about his feelings and that he let me see how vulnerable falling head over heels had made him. He loves my pink fluffy socks which even I find too girly to wear out and he is not shy to admit it either…he took them all the way to Nigeria when he went to ask for my hand in marriage. My poor sister got a shock when she spotted my socks peeking out beneath his trouser leg. George also has a onesie (I am not sure how to spell it but you know what it is when I say it is like a large baby grow/jumpsuit/overall). He insists that it absolutely is not girly but I beg to differ. On babies is where it should be. On girls, it is cute and could even be a sexy slouchy playsuit-type affair on a young lady. On a boy up to primary school level I could persuaded to see its merits but on a man old enough to shave and father children, I am in the ‘please no’ group. Dearest old George pretended that I could have the onesie when I shared my concerns but did I ever get to wear it? You know the answer to that. The onesie is a bit of a uniform these days and I have to actively order him not to wear it to restaurants or the cinema. He even turned up at the hospital I am currently working in wearing the onesie and asking for me. Oh the embarrassment! If I had known, I would not have owned up to being his wife.

So to my granddad (Baba), Baby A, George and all the unmentioned cousins/friends/little ones that have made my days with their ‘girly’ ways, I love you all and please embrace the girl in you. One love.