What will we eat for tonight? How long will the landlord let us stay? What if they evict us? Why hasn't he called? How long will this last? Will the fight reach here? How will we survive? Why hasn't he called? Is this the end? Is this all I can do? Why hasn't he called?
It seemed like a never ending cycle of constant anxiety but she never gave up hope. She constantly worried about the ‘what- ifs’ and often felt helpless and unable to provide fully for her children. She felt inadequate and unworthy because she could not give her children the life she'd promised herself she would. In the midst of the nearly two decade civil war in Somalia, she found herself alone with two young children as her husband fled the country in fear of prosecution. Was he dead or alive? Would she live? What about her children? More questions she could not answer that contributed to her fear and anxiety. However, despite what she was going through, she was determined to shield her children from the constant worry and despair that was her everyday life.
I remember her hand holding mine as we walked beside her. She was beautiful and majestic. She walked with her head held high, with a huge smile on her face which hid the fear and despair. With us in each hand, she taught us to see the beauty in the world and to enjoy the simplest of pleasures. Growing up, I never knew of her worries, I only saw the happiness in her face. My mother embodies courage, strength and beauty and I was blessed to “have come from her pious womb” (Musician, K’naan). She raised my sister and me in a home that, for us, was the happiest home one could ask for; filled with love and happiness. She gave us her life and although I could never pay her back, I will try the best I can. She held us in her safe, warm, loving hands and allowed us to grow and prosper to become strong, dedicated women. I remember her hands holding mine with immense love, a mother’s love.
Take action! This post was submitted in response to My Story: Holding Hands.