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By Uche Anichukwu
The above title was taken from A poem I did, framed, and gifted my mother, Sr. Mother-in-Israel Josephine Mgborie Anichukwu, after my National Youth Service Corps programme, to celebrate her sacrifice, resilience, and heroism. A befitting tribute to my beloved mother was the hardest piece to do in my entire life – not for lack of what to write, but for the difficulty of compressing an epic life and fond memories into one or two pages.
The greatest blessing God bestowed on me and my siblings is to be birthed and raised by our dear father, the late Rabbi (Chief) Gabriel Nworie Anichukwu, Nnabuenyi, and our mother, who both had illustrious careers as teachers, with our father retiring as a headmaster. Both brought their unique endowments to bear on our upbringing.
Mama was not just any mother, but a special one in all ramifications. I will remember her as that no-nonsense woman and a disciplinarian of the strictest order. The name and tone she called readily told you whether all was well or not. When you wailed that you were dying by her cane “therapies,” she would retort that it was better than turning out a reprobate adult. In fact, her disciplinary actions extended to whether you finished or did not finish your food.
Our mother loathed any appearance of weakness. In fact, to her, it was a taboo to be a weakling. Thus, she, together with her husband, tried to imbue in her children humility without timidity, planting a calm storm in each of us. It was an anathema to disrespect an elder or anyone. And you must not fight. But if you must, then you better ensure you emerged the victor. You dared not sob to the house. Even if a much older child tried to bully you, Mama believed that you should be able to defend yourself creditably in one way or the other. Otherwise, she would normally ask you if she had been feeding you with sand since she birthed you and you could be sure of getting the beating of your life.
While we were little children, our mother created a roaster for manning her shop located in front of her father’s compound at Amagu Ishienu, across the river. You closed between 9:30pm and 10pm and still toddled home. Holding a lantern, you would walk alone through the pathway with bushes on both sides, and past Ukwu Ofo ofo (debarium elastica tree) where we were made to understand that the spirits (umu mmuo) lived and milled around. Then, you would cross the railway bridge over Nvuna River. At the peak of the rainy season, Nvuna usually overflowed its banks and roared against the pillars of the bridge. Flickers of lightning made it appear as if you were walking on an ocean as they landed on the vexed river. This, we later learnt, she did to drive away every iota of fear from our bodies.
Again, while we were children, when Nvuna River rose in volume, she would first swim past to drop our farm basket, then swim back again and again to cross each of us on her back. She would tell us that Nvuna would not drown an Amagu son or daughter (Amagu produces the chief priest of Nvuna) and that we were sons and daughters of Amagu by extension because, as the Igbo goes, ebe amulu nne mmadu ka a kara imu onye ahu (transliterated as: the birthplace of someone’s mother is also where the person could have as well been born). It is not unusual to shudder at such high risks now as an adult, but those were experiences that helped in grooming our mentality to never respect obstacles.
Senior Mother Anichukwu was hard work personified. She hated laziness. She was very enterprising and hardworking even till her last days. All our pleading that she should stop working fell on deaf ears. Back in the days, she would normally wake us up at 5 am to 5:30 am, saying it was already midday. We normally set forth to farm quite early in the morning. Yet, we were among the last to leave the farm. Besides the fact that the proceeds from agriculture saw us through school, we gained a sense of industry and tenacity.
Again, we could not have prayed for a more sacrificial mother. My mother gave it all. Yes, everything, just to make sure her children succeeded in life. For instance, when I passed my WAEC and JAMB examinations in 1993, ESUT had just increased the school fees to about N4,000 (Four thousand naira only). It was very tough raising such money at the time. Worse, our dad had just retired as a headmaster. A relation suggested that I retake JAMB since I made it in my first attempt, a proposal my mother rejected outright. She said she would rather sell her entire wrappers than buy that suggestion. Both father and mother went to work, and ultimately, I was able to pay before the matriculation.
The most challenging period was after the death of our father in October 1995. I had just finished writing my second semester, first year examination in the university. There was just no hope. But my mother assured us that none of us would drop out of school. She literally overworked herself, ignoring her personal welfare. Till date, I am still unable to dislodge from my mind the image of my emaciated Mama wearing a small piece of white gown for the one whole year that she mourned our father – not because she could not afford full white wrappers from her salaries, as she planned to, but because she prioritised our education and welfare above everything else.
Growing up partially in Calabar and Enugu under the tutelage of her late elder brother, Chief Sonde’ Nwanvu Anyianuka, a quantity surveyor, an illustrious son of Nkanuland and politician, my mother was a bit exposed to politics early in her life. Importantly, she was fearless. When I made known my intention to run for the Councillorship seat of Nomeh Ward in 2002, many relations besieged our home, expressing concerns over my safety. Her two elder sisters, Uzoamaka and Christiana (both late now), came crying and begging her to stop me. But she insisted that I was already a man and a graduate for that matter; hence, I could not return to her womb.
I was in that race until our elders appealed to me to step down for Amokolo to produce the councillor, since Amigbo, the other division of Nomeh from where I hail, had occupied the position twice or thrice. But that venture proved fortuitous both for me and Nomeh Unateze community, leading to a chain of events that lifted me in life and resulted in the on-going Nenwe-Nomeh-Mburumbu-Nara Road (with a spur to Oduma), a federal project facilitated by my former principal, His Excellency, Senator Ike Ekweremadu, CFR (Ikeoha Ndigbo) and which my current principal, the Disruptive Innovator, and Governor of Enugu State, His Excellency, Dr Peter Mbah, has already flagged-off for completion in line with his infrastructural transformation crusade across the state.
The construction of road to Nomeh, with its far-reaching economic and social impact, is an eternal legacy to the memories of my parents, for, without God’s grace and their sacrifices to see me through in life, perhaps I would not have had the opportunity to function at the level that made this happen. Till her death, Mama would usually dance and hype over the road.
As I said, mother was brave. She did not even fear death. Before departing Nomeh for her medical care, she had the premonition that the hour had come, and she prepared herself for it.
Mama, as the hymnist wrote, time, like an ever-rolling stream, bears all its sons away. You have gone the way of all mortals.
Madam Energy, work was food to you; Enterprise was in your bloodstream,
Teacher, disciplinarian par excellence.
My fearless Lion, woman of valour, Braver than 10 lions. My prayer warrior, the indefatigable fighter. Cat with 10 lives,
Death did not conquer you. Even Death and evil spirits dreaded you. Your time simply came and you went to be with the Lord. Your legacies have immortalised you.
My sweet mother, you vanquished Death.
Surely, life will never be the same without you, But you vowed to watch over us in life and in death.
Chibuzo, Chidera (Ogbom) bid you farewell; Mmaduabuchi (Chimuanya) and Osy Power bid you goodnight.
Mama, I’ve wept uncontrollably since your demise; But today, I chose to celebrate, not mourn you. Rest in peace, Nnem Ogwene, Ada Nwankwo Anuka Orji, nwa Onuofu Orji, Ada Anuka Enyi, Ada Njoku Ekwe, Atu egwu, Odogwu Nwanyi Agu Nwanyi, Nkenke enyi na-achu igwe enyi oso, Nwanyi na ibe ya ra bu n’onu, You overcame, and triumphantly you return.
Mama’m, I’ll love you till eternity. Obodo gbara onwe, ochighi echi
Ya diba.
Anichukwu writes from Enugu
English (US) ·