Mummy
"The Avenger"

 Another week, another story. After seeing the title, I’m sure our sweet mothers would ask, “This is your 17th story—how come you are now talking about the most important part of your life?” I want to say I’m deeply sorry that I am only now talking about you. The truth is that mothers are so special that I could not find the words to describe the uniqueness of your specialness; that is why it took me months to craft this story. This is especially true with the title. I started with Mummy the Calculator, then Mummy, the Superwoman, and just after I finished writing “What Awaits Us in a Farland”, the title came to mind: Mummy, the Avenger. Superwoman felt good; however, I realized that all women have superpowers, therefore making them superwomen. Now, if you follow Marvel and DC, you will realize that not everyone who has powers gets to be an Avenger. I settled on Mummy, the Avenger because it places mothers on a higher pedestal. Not necessarily women who have given birth, but any woman who has played a mother-figure role is an Avenger.

You know, when it comes to giving birth, I mostly had three or four scenarios in mind because that is what commonly happens. These scenarios were either the baby comes out successfully, the baby dies, the mother dies and the baby lives, or in rare cases, both mother and baby die. My Dad did a little series titled Maternity Ward which explains the various scenarios that can happen when a woman goes to the maternity ward. It was an eye-opener, and I would like to share it here. Let’s not forget that the key objective of this platform is to learn. Let’s learn a little bit now:

First scenario: the mother returns from the maternity ward, but the baby does not. (I believe this is self-explanatory.) 

Second scenario: the child returns, but unfortunately, the mother does not. (I believe this is also self-explanatory.)

Third scenario: Unfortunately, both the baby and the mother do not return. (Also, self-explanatory.)

Fourth scenario: the mother and child return; however, the mother has a physical deformity. Such scenarios are quite rare; however, they do happen. One example could be a surgery that means the mother cannot give birth again.

Fifth scenario: the mother and child return; however, the child has a physical deformity. In these cases, the child might not be able to walk well, see well, or hear well. As a result, the child would be dependent on the mother for a longer time because they would not be able to do the things regular children do.

Sixth scenario: the mother and child return; however, the mother’s mental development is impacted. This could include depression, social underdevelopment, and related conditions. In many of these cases, their husbands feel ashamed of how delayed their wives’ development is and end up leaving them. As a result, these mothers are unable to play the roles they are expected to fulfill because of their limitations.

Seventh scenario: the mother and child return; however, the child is developmentally challenged. In such cases, you may see a 30-year-old man still attached to toys because developmentally, they have the mind of a three-year-old. Here, the mother hardly enjoys the fruit of her labour because she will likely have to take care of the child for the rest of her life.

In the eighth scenario, the mother and child come out healthy and live happily ever after.

You know, the eighth scenario is what we mostly see; therefore, we normalize it, forgetting that there is only a 12.5 percent chance of the mother and child coming out of the maternity ward normal. We are all walking miracles, and we must be grateful for that. This also explains why the term “Avengers” feels like the best way to describe our mothers, as they constantly beat all odds as if it is nothing. And after all the pain, they still come out wanting to experience it all over again. In these scenarios, I did not even talk about miscarriage, which reduces the odds even further. They truly are Avengers.

Out of the four children my mother gave birth to, three caused her serious complications at birth. We could have ended up in any of the other seven scenarios, but by God’s Grace and Mercy, we survived. When you read the story Miracle Babies, you will learn about everything. I, however, cannot sideline mothers who have not given birth but have played the mother role so perfectly. Please, you all are also Avengers, and we love you so much. Let me now talk about my Avenger.

Every weekend, we had to travel from Madina to Teshie with bottles to fetch water. That water was what we drank for the entire week, and then we would go back again. Unfortunately, small-scale mining makes it quite dangerous to drink pipe water now, but back then, that was our survival. And for those who have never drunk pipe water, it tasted so sweet and refreshing, especially when you drank it chilled.

These trips also gave us the opportunity to play with our cousins and all that. Those weekends were really fun. Now, when we were returning back to Madina on Sunday evenings, that was one of the many times I got the opportunity to see the “Avenger” in action. There were three cars we had to take to reach our destination. The first was a private car that would take us from the house to Zongo. Now, it did not matter how high the taxi driver’s price was; my mom had a specific amount she was willing to pay, and she was not willing to pay one cedi higher. If you were not ready to take that amount, she would tell you to go. One time, she rejected so many drivers. We looked at her and asked, “What if no one is willing to accept your price?” She looked at us with a stern face and said in our local dialect, “Eko baaba,” which meant, “Some will come.” As crazy as that sounded, some always came. The faith of our mothers is genuinely on another level. If only we had faith like theirs… hmm.

We would get to the junction and board a bus to 37 Station. We had so many sacks full of bottles, and my mom did her thing again. She had a specific amount she was willing to pay for the goods, and no one could say otherwise. Sometimes she would piss off the drivers and conductors so much that we were afraid to even look at their faces, but that woman was never shaken or bothered. In her mind, your anger was your anger.

This is where it got crazier. My Dad mostly had events, so he hardly travelled with us, which meant we were five. My Mum managed to make sure the five of us used only two seats on the bus. My elder sister was around 12 years old, my elder brother around 9, I was 7, and my kid sister around four. We were not too little—you get it—but not only did we fit into the two seats, she still had somewhere to place her handbag. The eyes we sometimes received but that woman was just focused on one thing, sending her children back home safe and sound. There were times people helped us, and there were times people complained… hmm. After getting to the station, she would convince the conductor to help her move the goods—the same conductor she had probably annoyed, oo. Somehow, she would still find a way to convince that guy to help. The funny thing is that they always did. On that journey, we were in total awe of what she was able to do. We always saw her as someone with total powers.

We would pick the last car from 37 Station to Botwe, and it followed the same pattern—she always had her way. Now, we were supposed to alight at a junction in Madina Estate; however, she knew we had luggage, and walking with it to the house would be a struggle. This woman would wait and say nothing, then right after we passed the junction, she would shout, “We will alight here oo!” She timed it so perfectly that the car would stop right in front of our house. There is something we call stopping and braking distance in driving. It was as if she had calculated the braking distance perfectly in her head. That move was incredibly impressive. I must admit, it did not always work, but when it did (almost 90 percent of the time), we clapped our hands in our heads. Most drivers bitterly complained about this move, but once again—unshaken, unbothered—Mummy, the Avenger.

When I was around eight, we were all mature enough to fully understand the situation our family was in. You could see it clearly whenever it rained—it wasn’t the only time, but it was one of the clearest. We had to strategically place bowls at vantage points to collect the water that leaked from the ceiling. In one of our mother–son conversations, she told me there was a time we slept without windows. I asked her, “How did we survive when it rained?” She gave that cheeky smile and completely ignored the question. Oh, I miss those conversations. Oh, I miss those conversations. Mostly after breakfast, she would take a little nap. In those quiet, peaceful moments, she would probably answer most of your questions, but on a regular day, the response was always, “Gabriel, gyenor,” which means “Gabriel, leave me” in our local dialect.

Around that same age, we often went to school with little or no money in our pockets. It was tough, but my Mum did something that gave us the strength to go through the whole day without food. When we returned from school, my Mum always had a meal prepared for us. She usually prepared gari and pepper with fried eggs for us. Immediately we came back from school, the four of us would wash our hands and eat that lovely meal together. It was mostly the same meal; however, each day felt different, special, and unique. I genuinely don’t know how she was able to do that.

You know, many people take the statement “There is light at the end of the tunnel” very lightly. People see it as a common statement, but it is actually a very profound one. Knowing that light will surely come, no matter what, gives you the strength you need to overcome the fear that comes with darkness. My Mum showed me just how profound this statement was. As a small boy, going the whole morning and afternoon without eating was difficult—really, really difficult; however, it felt easier because I knew that by 3:30 p.m., my stomach would be filled with what felt like my favourite meal. So, for everyone reading this, whatever you are going through, I want you to know this: there is light at the end of the tunnel.

For my diasporas, gari is a granular flour made from fermented and fried cassava roots (also known as cassava tubers). It is a staple food in West Africa, particularly in countries like Ghana and Nigeria.

You know, there is this assumption that people who know how to critically manage very little have experienced a certain level of scarcity in their lives. I mean, when you have just a few cedis to spend for the whole month, you become so good at managing it, it’s unbelievable—but that same person with billions seems to forget the basics of managing. My Mum’s hustling character made me assume her family had faced some struggles growing up, but I was totally wrong. As a teenager, I learned that my Mum’s dad was a wealthy man. She grew up in a house where she could have whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Like her father had lands, and shares in companies. His finances were affected during President Rawlings’ era; however, from what I know, the man had money, like a lot of money. I got to see a glimpse of his will and I was quite impressed. Apparently, the land on which our house was built belonged to my mum, and she gave it to my dad to build our family home. Her younger sister also did the same for her husband.

This revelation gave me even more respect for both my Mum and Dad. I respected my Mum even more because she disregarded all the wealthy men who came her way and chose a young, slim pastor who had almost nothing financially. Even though she was raised in wealth, she did not consider that a major factor when choosing her life partner. She focused on the fact that he loved God, and that was enough.

One day, my siblings and I were together, and we heard a lovely story about my parents. We were told that on one of my Mum’s birthdays, many suitors brought gifts—a whole lot of them. Then, towards the end of the day, my grandmother, my mum’s mother, asked, “Oh, we haven’t seen any gift from Pastor.” She then called him to ask why, and he explained honestly that he couldn’t get her anything. She responded on the phone and said, “that’s why I love you, you are genuine”. You should have seen my siblings and me shouting, “Awww, aww, aww—what a sweetheart, what a baby!” It was such a joyous moment at home. It was a little strange to realise that our tough mum had once been so soft.

I respected my Dad even more because, as teenagers, all my boys and I wanted was to get girlfriends from wealthy families because of the perks that came with it. In fact, at some point, we used to write romantic letters to these imaginary—but soon-to-be—girlfriends and even practised how we would flow. We couldn’t afford to make mistakes. We had to be ready for the moment. Please, biko, we have changed. After finding out that my Dad gathered the courage to approach a woman from a wealthy family and was able to convince her to marry him, we would sometimes look at him and make comments like, “The man with the vibes, the man with the romance, the man with the boldness.” We praised Him as much as we could. Honestly, I asked myself how many times he had to pray to God about that relationship. I mean—meeting her, approaching her, meeting her parents, knowing very well you don’t have money, asking yourself what you are offering their daughter, wondering if she will accept you, looking at the men you are in competition with—wow, the man really tried. No disrespect to those of us from certain backgrounds, but we know, we know the competition that comes from people raised in wealthy families.

My Dad was not the only lucky one, by the way. He also had a couple of eyes on him. He was the cute, fair young pastor who had a couple of women crushing on him.

I will end this story the way the Bible ends most stories. And the rest of the acts of Mummy, the Avenger—all that she did—are they not written in the hearts of all her loved ones, in the chronicles of both the young and the old? I didn’t talk about the experiences we had when we moved to the market to buy things, or moments of pain and how she overcame them, or moments when all hope seemed lost but she stood as our strong tower. Obviously, after the first year, when Experiences That Makes Us becomes more interactive, we will talk more about this lovely woman. I mean, “why won’t we?” Mothers are avengers, and everyone loves avengers. Honestly, I really enjoyed writing this story, and I’m hoping you enjoyed reading it too.

That’s the end of the story! 

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