Tag Archives: worry

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.

When You Argue with a Fool

Have you ever had an argument that goes round and round in circles, never-ending with no point to be made? Where the person you are arguing with seems to be in a monologue? Where their comebacks are so off the mark that it feels like you are in a different time-zone? Where hitting your head hard against a concrete wall might be more productive?

I have and it used to annoy me so much that I’d get really upset and want to stamp my feet. And I used to try and reason with them and try to get them to see that the argument was entirely useless and was going nowhere. Now that I am older and wiser and my fuse less short, I deal with it in one of 2 ways. Either I say ‘look this argument is going nowhere and I don’t have the time for this’ or I just say ‘we will have to agree to disagree’.

I will confess something. I copied that 2nd response off somebody older who I admired when I was teenager. I remember the first time someone used it on me and back then, I couldn’t handle the maturity of it. Back then I thought everything was black or white. I thought every argument had to end with a winner and a loser. Now I know that there are many shades of grey in between (no, not 50 shades child!). Knowing that the world isn’t so binary makes arguments less upsetting for me.

I can now acknowledge what is fact for me is not necessarily fact for another because we are all shaped by different factors. We are shaped by our genes, our environment, our family, our friends, the media, our education, our beliefs, our religion, our culture and much more. Most important of the factors that shape how we view the world is our experiences. Hence, some of the things I would have argued successfully so passionately for 10 years ago, I am not so sure now are as I argued. Yes I enjoy a good debate but I am the sort that will not be dragged into an argument unless I have strong views on the subject and I have very solid reasons to back up my views. Fact is, I do not back away from an argument and I am often successful in getting my point accepted or at the very least acknowledged by my debating partner. But I choose what I will be sucked in by. And more importantly by who.

Which brings me neatly to the quote I have used as inspiration for this blog…‘don’t argue with fools, people passing by won’t be able to tell who is who’. It is my belief that arguing with someone who you know is arguing for all the wrong reasons is a complete waste of your life. This wrong reason might be that the arguer loves the sound of their voice and they are using you as a sounding board. Or they want to impose their beliefs on you because they do not think yours are important enough. Or they say things they don’t believe in order to shock or upset or entertain the passers-by. Or they want to score points. Or they are angry or upset or stressed about something or over someone and they want to take it out on a scapegoat. Or they are arguing for the sake of it, not because they believe in what they are trying to convince you is true.

These days, with my adult hat on if I spot the arguer with these wrong reasons and they ask an opinion so they can start a diatribe, I simply say: ‘oh good question but I am afraid I don’t know much about that. I’ll pass.’ Or ‘how about you tell me what you think’ or ‘I would be lying if I said I care about that matter’. Then I listen until my patience runs out and I find an excuse to not be in the same space anymore.

If it is a proper friend and they pick an argument over the littlest thing, I will usually get worried and ask if they are okay…really ok or if there is something they need to get off their chest? You know the saying ‘when you ask a woman what’s wrong and she says it’s nothing…’ Well fact is, when your sister/mother/husband/friend who you usually get on with great starts to conjure up arguments from the most innocuous conversation, then they are asking for help. Something is up and they want permission to spill. They want you to listen. So please, instead of entering into a slanging match, give them a hug and invite them to tell you what’s really bothering them. Chances are that they do not really think George Bush was a good president or Apartheid wasn’t all that bad.