Her father was rich and was determined to train her. She often tells me how she was his special pet.
But, tragedy struck when her only brother died and grandma died and grandpa was ill and needed a grand child before meeting his gods, and so, had to make his young darling Bridget get married at the tender age of seventeen.
"I was so young," she often sighed whenever she told us her story. "But, Papa was very depressed following Goddy's death and I just had to get married to give him a grand child. I wanted to make Nnam happy."
Not like she's the first girl. Far from it. She had late aunty Theresa and aunty Rose ahead of her. But, as she often explains, they were already in college and were already too exposed to be asked to get married before finishing school.
So, mama was the one in line and a husband was chosen for her. Chosen for her by her loving Uncle, Duke. He was Mama's second father. A husband was chosen for mama.
A husband who came from a poor home, who had no money and who was way older than her. But who was nonetheless, very intelligent and exposed and punched way above his weight in politics. Mama's uncle wanted her to at least have a man who'd take care of her since she was getting married too soon
Yet, mama only wanted to please her father and got married. "My father's happiness was everything to me" she often says with something I'd term loving tenderness in her voice.
And soon the children would come thick and fast. My five elder sisters before me.
Mama recounts often how the society put too much pressure on her young anxious shoulders. "You're yet to have a boy."
A weight, she often says would have been too big for her were it not for how her husband saw things and treated her. A stack contrast to how the society treated her.
Mama often recounts how papa behaved the day she gave birth to Njide, my immediate elder sister who's still Papa's favourite. Another girl.
According to mama, she was back from the hospital after giving birth and was too ashamed to bring her baby out. And so visitors had to come into the room to see her, until Papa came home and asked her to bring the baby into the living room.
She often tells me that she was so surprised. Her husband didn't mind another girl? He'd asked her, "Mama Nneka, why don't you come to the parlour?"
And when she asked him if he didn't care about a boy Papa answered by showing her the best of baby cots in the market that he'd bought for his girl and the name he had for the baby, 'Njideka, I'll take care of the one I have.'
"I care only about children. And I'll not let the world take away my love for my girls." Mama says she will never forget those words said by Papa, how they encouraged her.
And even when I came, mama says that Papa didn't do anything special. He just did the same routine and gave me my name. 'Nnaemeka.'
And so, years would fly by like harmattan whirlwinds. Years of struggle to get us to school, to feed us and clothe us.
Years in which mother endured more ridicule from the world who sneered at her and father "you are training girls for men. A girl's education ends in the kitchen." Stupid words to which they paid deaf ears.
Years in which Mama toiled in the farm and in the market in order to help Papa with raising us, her aspirations to get education having now been buried under the ruins of the hardship that came with Buhari's, Babangida's and Abacha's dictatorships.
Years would creep by in which mama had to totally forget about the luxury of her father's house and cars and had to trek and toil with her husband.
But, like all strong women, Mama didn't give up. She was well brought up and Papa often says, "without her-your mother, I'd have been dead."
Mama trudged on under the weight. She kept vigil and fought the odds until she saw darkness give way to light as all her girls got the education she couldn't get.
Our family is such that there is no preferences to a particular gender. Papa and mama made their girls know that they could be anything they wanted to be. From the onset.
Papa often told them that a girl with education or a big wand of cash would become anything she wanted.
Papa never let me point a finger at my sisters or even raise my voice on them. "You must respect women," he often counselled.
Perhaps, that's why even when women insult me on Facebook, I let it go without insulting them back. I forgive easily shaa. 😂😂
Papa is a feminist. He believes in girl power. He even made me forfeit my first JAMB in which I made 264 simply because my elder sister was in school and the cost of keeping her was much.
Papa told me that my sisters where my elder brothers.
That's how my big sisters became my big brothers. I'd have a problem and before I could say a word they'd would be all around me.
Njideka was the one who made me strong when I failed pediatrics. She's strong like a man. "Nothing will happen" she often assures me whenever I panic.
I could go on and on but, one thing I want to say is this: In my sisters mama has realised her dreams.
I remember how she danced when big sister Nneka got into school. She was the first girl to do it in my village then, and the second girl to become an Engineer in my town.
"No one will laugh at me anymore. My girls' dreams will never end like mine," Mama danced.
She'd do the same dance years later when her first granddaughter, Janefrances Nwagugu would get into the university too.
"No one will say I have only girls now," she sang.
***
There, is Mama with her grand daughter, my brilliant niece. I wish them a happy international women's day.
©Nnaemeka Ugwu
No comments:
Post a Comment