Let them come, don't push them away.
Last year I wrote that my late mother was inseparable from music. "Omo baba olowo won se fun Omo talika Ile aye le bowo." This was the song she sang the day I told wunmi (not her real name) not to come to our house again to watch our television, the biggest in the neighborhood as far as I can remember. Children leave their house just to come to ours to watch TV because they knew mum loved them. Every night parents came to our house to carry children from our home who had slept off watching TV or just come for dinner.
This day was no different; the only thing was that wunmi was not following my instructions about where and how to sit. I told her to sit on the floor against the couch because I did not want her to dirty them since part of my responsibility was to clean after them when they all left. I was the unpaid nanny, house girl, olopo, and everything. I hated it, but you would not be reading this if I showed it on my face or attitude. My mother would kill me. But this day, I was tired and did not know she was within earshot. I asked wunmi why she and all the children come to our house and do things that I don't come to their house to do. In the first place, I told her that the least they could do was sit on the floor to watch TV, wash their plate after eating or stay in their house. Mum came into the scene to give me the usual beating and told the children they could come anytime because I am not the house owner, food, and everything they ate. She started singing this song. The following morning it was the topic of the morning devotion. For days mum called me Omo baba olowo Igbo. She made sure to personally go to their house to bring them to our place consistently for months until she was satisfied by they no longer thought about it. This was my first lesson in power, privilege, and position. I was barely 8 years old.
I learn so much as a child, things that have shaped me. Occasionally I deviate from them, but soon as I remember, I retrace my step. My mother was a disciplinarian but also helplessly loving and kind. There was nothing too expensive to get for her kids or anyone; she was loved personified. I won't say that I love children equally and uniquely as my mum, but I think I am loved by my children. One way parents punished some of "my kids" was to tell them they were not going to Aunty Rosemary or Seyi's house; they would adjust quickly because they liked to come.
Despite our differences, my mother was my greatest inspiration and role model for motherhood. Our difference centers around several things; one is her generosity and hospitality. In retrospect, I think mum has a savior complex. Mum wants to feed the community. I believe people should eat in their house, especially the food they cook, not me being a caterer for the gastronomical pleasure of some people. With generosity, mum was a "reckless" giver to the extent of paying school fees for 5 kids whose parents were more interested in satisfying their insatiable genitals than raising their product.
One day I asked Mum if raising these kids was sustainable given our finance. She said kids should never be made to bear the consequences of two irresponsible Adults. She told me that since those children did not bring themselves into the world, somebody must take care of them. She said one person gives birth to a child, thousand-person take care of them. In simple terms, it takes a village to raise a child. Years later, one of the three kids called me to send my account number because he wanted to give me what he would give mum since Mum was late. I wanted to collect the money as a reparation, but I imagined what Ololade (my mother) would say; I told him I was okay, that I didn't need it, and that he should give it to his parents since they were alive. His response was that "he does not have parents." I thought the parent had died, but he said no and explained how mum clothed them and other community children.
Today's children are tomorrow's adults. Let's invest in children, love them, not condemn them, nurture their curiosity and not kill it. Be their friend. Attached to this post is the letter of invitation and instruction to me for one of my nephew's birthdays in 2020. It was handwritten, but I am sharing just a portion for privacy reasons. Jesus instructed the disciple to suffer this little one to come to me.
Happy Children's day!
Posted on Facebook on May 27, 2022
