Oh sweet mama!


For those who harbour a special kind of love in their hearts, I believe you all can relate to the chills your mum/mummy/mama gives you. For those who have lost theirs to this cruel world, I believe you all too can feel yours even more than I do. Every mum is a blessing, a celebration and a joy to the hearts of those who cherish a good thing.

I can’t say I’m closer to my mum than I am to my dad but part of who I am today was hugely impacted by mama. She would resound these native proverbs (incomprehensible ones) when I was little each time she wasn’t happy with me and they never really made sense until now. I sing them to my friends in English like I’m actually advising them when in reality I miss being scolded by mama. She makes the most jokes in the house and will always be the first to discipline any of my siblings including me whenever we decide to be naughty. I hated the days of “church every sunday and wednesday” coupled with “fellowship every friday” but all that I miss now knowing how much I’ve drifted away and how far from home I am.

It’s not easy to raise five children, and sometimes I look back now and admire mama in the purest way ever. The least she does is complain about how best we should be doing, instead she would find alternatives even if it means risking her all to get it for us all. Everyone in the house will call her “mgbo” (meaning-bullet) because she’s overly protective of her own especially towards papa. I’d tease her sometimes about her tummy asking her when we’d be expecting more siblings. Her response never changes anyway “Zuzuru gi shi eba puo!” (meaning- stupidly get out of here!).

I was never used to saying “I love you” to her but staying away from home for more than a year has got me into the habit of doing so, knowing how much I miss her and her Sunday white rice with “ofe akwu” (palm kernel soup). One of the tastiest you’ll ever have from a typical Igbo (ethnic group in Nigeria) home. Mama will giggle and say “Okay” each time I tell her I love her. Guess that’s the Nigerian way of saying “me too”. I very much miss my mum and I can’t bear another year apart from her nor my dad and siblings.

How much does/did your mama/mum mean/meant to you dear reader? Would love to know if there are momma’s boys and girls around my blog :). Thank you for reading.

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2016.



17 Comments Add yours

  1. Mama’s boy. Not close to my father except when I was taking care of him on his death bed for a week. All was silently forgiven. He acted like nothing transpired between us and that is Ok. I think he made peace with me being there. Be well

    Liked by 1 person

  2. ipeniwrite says:

    Awww bless you. I’m sorry for your loss dear. There’s a reason for every bond shared, even the littlest shared in seconds. Thank you for reading and being vulnerable too🌸

    Liked by 1 person

  3. kiranmag says:

    Your mama is a strong and loving person likewise every mama is 😊

    Liked by 1 person

  4. You’re welcome. Stay well 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  5. ipeniwrite says:

    Yessss!🌸 thank you for stopping here

    Liked by 1 person

  6. kiranmag says:

    Hugs and lots of 💖

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Kate says:

    I miss mine as well. I haven’t seen them in a little over a year and a half. I’m daddy’s gal. I’m close to my mom but I hung out with my dad working on trucks with him.
    Thanks for sharing!

    Liked by 1 person

  8. ipeniwrite says:

    Awww beautiful..hope you get to reunite soon. Thank you for sharing too xx.


  9. Em etetim says:

    This actually made me cry thinking about how much has changed, about how much I love and miss them. Nigerian parents never say ‘I love you’ and I never used to say it as well, but just thinking of how much they have done for me, makes me want to do more, be better just for their sake.

    Liked by 1 person

  10. ipeniwrite says:

    Awwww..it’s harder being away from home. The first year may be like “oh well, I’m free finally!” but after a couple of months, you’ll be sick from being absent and having them tell you what you’ve been missing. The good thing is, we get to learn the importance of appreciation and place value on who really is worth it to us. Whether they respond to us or not (saying ‘I love you’), they’ve proven to us for years how much they love us, we only realise it more when we are far. I appreciate your shared thoughts Ataaaagree😄🌸. Thank you😘


  11. erinismeblog says:

    This is beautiful 🙂 I used to consider myself a daddy’s girl, and I suppose that in some ways that may still be true, but I’ve become so much closer to my mama the past several years.

    I think becoming a mother myself and finally having that unique perspective has given me a completely new appreciation for my mother. It is easy to forget our parents are flawed and human sometimes. That is something we have definitely been able to relate, as my own boy views me as someone I fear I am not.

    I grew up with my siblings in a home environment where every conversation, goodnight or goodbye was ended with an “I love you” even with each other. So, there is always kissing and hugging and I love you’s shared with my sister’s and my brother. It is a blessing to have those moments now, as I have a greater appreciation for these people who have helped shape my world and have shown me what true unconditional love really is.

    I feel very lucky and blessed to be able to develop a stronger love and understanding of my mother on a level much different from a child’s vantage point. After a terrible relationship with my child’s father that nearly took my sanity as well as my life, my little boy and I were welcomed into my parent’s home as if it was always our home too. My parents never put me down for what I view as my great failure. They are truly amazing people.

    I know not everyone has that love and respect for their parents, or even from their parents. I have friends who have suffered a great deal at the hands of the people who were supposed to protect and teach them and it is truly sad. It gives me even more gratitude for what I have though.

    Sorry my comment is so long! 🙂 I enjoy your blog very much and look forward to reading more of what you have written.
    Best wishes and warm regards to you!


  12. ipeniwrite says:

    This really moved me, to be able to share the joy of motherhood whilst appreciating those who bred it in you is beautiful. Becoming a mother to your boy who see you as something you fear has made you bold enough. Enough to acknowledge what’s best for you and for him, enough to still find home in those who made it home before your boy came. It’s a great feeling to reciprocate the same teachings you learnt from your parents to your beloved son I must tell from your post, and you should never feel the need to apologize for expressing such love in places that ask or don’t for it. I truly appreciate your open mind and vulnerability on this post and I hope you stay strong and find hope from even the littlest words and things projected to your good energy. Thank you dear.

    Liked by 1 person

  13. erinismeblog says:

    Thank you very much for saying that. You have a very kind and beautiful spirit ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  14. greetings ! what a soulful blog you have, and what a beautiful, timeless question eh?

    i was my mother’s only child, and she almost died giving birth to me.
    we were best friends. the kind that bicker & argue all the time.
    we were also so incredibly stubborn.

    my mother died in 2013, when i was 32 years old.
    we had just spent 18 months living together in an absurdly large house in Goa.
    18 months with my mother and her liver tumour.

    her dying was an earthquake & a tsunami. i got washed away deep into grief, and self-reckoning; exploring each and every corner of our stubborn, argumentative, confusing, fragile & so deeply loving relationship.
    i had a relationship with my mother as she was, and i have a relationship with my mother-as-she-is-now.
    it is an ongoing journey. incredibly precious.
    when she died, it took me 2 years to find the words i needed to share this journey, and i recently published a short memoir about my relationship with my mother & my journey with her dying.

    my mother gifted me with the love of words, poetry & writing- which she herself had inherited from her mother (and father too).
    when i was an unborn thing, uncurled in the warm & quiet of her body, she wrote me a poem.
    ‘To My Unborn Child’, she called it. i would very much like to share it here, with you.


    What shall i say to you, you who i can feel day after day,
    growing inside me, living inside me,
    you whom i don’t know, of whom both of us can say,
    flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood.
    What can i say to you?

    And what can i tell of this rude world
    where people take death into their hands,
    and clinging to their own, disperse that of others
    in their betrayal of life, betray their own mothers.

    So some take blood, while others shed it.
    Human vampires and human victims.
    What shall i say to you about it,
    You who are yet unborn?

    And what shall i answer
    if you were to ask about the world
    into which you will be born,

    that i don’t know when it will burst asunder
    because death is riding closer and closer
    and the winds of doom are howling louder
    as the winds of war will in your ear,

    that it is painful to laugh when one is crying,
    to stop this destruction and mad pretending,
    in the same breath life insurance and atom bombing.

    Who shall say life is for the living, and death for the dying,
    when the ranks are all mixed up and which of us is lying?

    So if you should ask why i should enter your world,
    me who belong neither to the dead nor the living,
    how shall i answer, except to tell you that i will love you
    and i will care for you,
    and like fragments of an unknown song stuck in one’s mind
    you’ll find somewhere air sweet enough to breathe,

    and that if you’re born to die, you’re also born to live,
    and there’s space in between to rest your wings
    till you’re ready to fly and perhaps find out the reason
    why you’re not yet ready to die.

    Don’t ask me the reason for why you will be born,
    i carry you and will care for you,
    i’ll love you with my heart and my mind,

    but the reason – that is yours to find.

    (Sputnik Kilambi. Written on the 22th May 1980)

    ps: i have just published a short memoir about my journey with my mother and her dying, if you would like to read more on my blog:


  15. eliza rudolf says:

    Nice post…🙂🤗

    Liked by 1 person

  16. ipeniwrite says:

    Thank you dear

    Liked by 1 person

  17. eliza rudolf says:

    Yr welcome….🙂🤗😇

    Liked by 1 person

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