My Mom, My Muse.
Oct 9, 2021
Story
It was late that night when we finished cooking, after fanning flames from the wet firewood we used in cooking. It was the best we could afford that day. As a routine, once we were done eating, we moved straight to studying, then to bed. On this day, we were done cooking in our traditional fire-wood kitchen. With the pain in our eyes and low voltage affecting our bulbs, we managed to study in the living room with the kerosene lamp, which was often placed at the center of the table. After ensuring that we had eaten, our mother got into her room to sleep, so she could wake up at 5:00 am to prepare us for school the next day.
At about about 9:30 pm, we were in bed when I got four hard nocks at the backyard door. That was my father. Rushing, I opened the door for him. He didn't seem drunk but he didn't seem happy neither. Directly, he went straight to his room, while I got into our room. Myself and my two siblings slept on one bed in one room.
It was during the early hours of the morning (approximately 4:30 am), when I heard a hard push on the door to my mother's room. Then sleep immediately evaporated from my eyes. My mother's room was opposite our room. Since he often violated her physically, it was adviced that they live in separate rooms. This is why my mother will often sleep with the door of her room closed with a bended nail. But that push at that hour of the morning was hard that the door at once got open. It was suspicious. With hundreds of thoughts flooding my mind as to what could be going wrong, I heard a loud scream follow. That was my mother's voice. I was so scared and sad. It was my father hitting her again. Then quickly before I could notice, my siblings and myself were already in my mother's room all in tears. Though in the dark, the fainting rays of light from an almost head torch lamps in my father's hand helped me to notice my mother laid on the ground. She laid there helplessly and screaming and all filled with tears, as she begged to know what her crime was. She was helpless and yet, he bent over her and continued to hit her as though he wanted her dead.
He had pulled her off the bed to the ground. By the time we got there, he was literally pulling her hair, dragging her on the ground, punching her head and her face with no mercy. This movie has never gone off my mind as it leaves me in tears each time I think of it. It wasn't the first time but this time, I couldn't stand there to see my own mother die. Not long, we had heard of my father's colleague who had killed his wife by pulling his wife's hair. I felt my mother was going to die too as she normally has nervous issues fro time to time plus other illnesses.
Often, before he got her beaten, he'll lock the door to our room from outside. No matter how we begged him to open the door, he wouldn't. We could only see our mother with the wounds and pain the next day. Each time I saw this, I ways wished I could help.
But standing there on that faithful day while crying, we begged him to let her go but it seemed we were telling him to continue. I told myself the chances of my mother's survival depended on me. Something kept telling me to do something. I didn't know at what time I went low to my father's had and got his finger beaten. While he concentrated on the finger, my mother managed to find her Ballance off the ground. He still didn't let her go. I didn't know what else to do. It was a typical rural area. The nearest neighbor lived at least 5 minutes away from our house. So no matter what was transpiring in our house, no one could get it. It was hard to seek or get immediate help.
In the dark and with bare foot, I ran to my father's friend that Early morning. Severally, I nocked on the main door but everyone was deep asleep. I went to the backyard door and nocked again. I was so bold like my mother's life depended on me. His wife came out and asked me what the problem was. Then her husband came after. I told them that my father was in the process of killing my mother. While his wife went back to sleep, he followed me to our house. He tried to understand what the problem was the problem. Then I heard my father say this \"I have the right to correct my wife in what ever way I want\". Well I didn't know what her crime was. And neither did she.
After my mother had recovered, she told us that she had always wanted to go back to school. She had this conversation with my father and he agreed with her that she could go back to school. As the time approached, my mother heard from another woman from our village telling her that \"your husband said you're not going to school this year, because he'll not finance the process\". My mother told this woman to tell him too that she prefers to leave the marriage if he restricts her from getting access to education.
This beatings this time confirmed the information she had gotten from that woman. So my mother went to one of her meetings and borrowed some money. She bought items to start her \"puff-puff\" and beans business in the neighborhood. We helped my mother in her business during the weekends while she sold during the week days in some schools during break, and in the neighborhood during the morning hours while children went to school and parents went to their farms. My father had abandoned the responsibility of providing food and health for us. But my mother stood the gap. My mother did this business for 2 years, she saved up, and went back to school. I was so proud of her.
I was and I am still so proud of my mother as I refer to her as my \"Iron Lady\". She didn't give up despite the challenges. She had critics from other women who made mockery of her such as do you want to take care of kids or she wants to go to school? Some asked if she's not ashamed of sitting to learn with children in the same class. But one thing I am happy about is my mother was a role model to other women and husbands in our neighborhood. I saw men sending their wives back to school. I saw women coming to meet my mother to assist them with assignments. My mother could better support us in our education process. My mother got a better paid teaching job though far from home. We now had at least two square meals daily. Each time education seemed hard, I told myself if there was nothing good about it, my mother wouldn't go back to school just like us.
Serving/volunteering with some American peace corp volunteers in 2011, provided me with a platform to support vulnerable women. Then it occurred to me that there are many women out there with my mother's story. This still was an assumption till I had the privilege to participate in the national conference for American peace Corp volunteers in Cameroon (Kribi) that same 2011. In this 3 days conference, I spent almost every day crying in the rest room. I saw women with my mother's experience written all over them. I saw reports presented by these peace corps from each region of the country. Then I knew I had much work to do to improve the lives of women. This is why I chose to study women and gender studies at the University, and today I'm a gender activist.
from 2011, I chose to raise my voice against all types of gender based violence again women and girls on every platform I find important.
My mom did it, I know you going through a similar situation can as well do it through firm decisions.
