I have silently scrolled social media and I’m yet to bump on a post by a single Dad hailing himself and wishing himself a happy Mothers day.
Were it Fathers day, single mothers, some who cannot tell who amongst the men she screwed – the married man, the Uber guy who ate her in a car, the office boyfriend, the friend with benefits or the one night stand she had with a Facebook hookup is the real baby daddy- would be declaring themselves Fathers all over.
Mothers; pray tell, are there words that can decorously describe them?
How they used saliva to remove anything from our faces, including a birthmark? And this they would do in front of all your friends.
And how they would ensure you don’t sit your tiny bum- “Juu umekaa hapo, umeogesha mbuzi? Na mabati umesugua?”
Oh, how they’re the queens of coded language. A single stare and you know you are to sit like a girl, or go play with your mates or “you are dead” look.
Discipline had meaning. Through them we knew you get off the chair when an adult walks in, you greet visitors without being reminded, you clear the table…
If I were to speak for myself, countless are the nights when sleep became elusive; sunsets when I become a captive of my own thoughts…
And it would be not because I’m pondering over my dreams and goals and whether they’re tenable; or fantasizing over a son of a woman… Rather, I’d be wondering what, where and how my life would be, without the prayers of my mother.
“I remember my mother’s prayers and they have always followed me. They have clung to me all my life,” said Abraham Lincoln.
I am tempted to believe I’m not alone. Our mothers pray for us even when we serve the guy above nill by mouth.
They pray that we keep our jobs. That our unions may blossom. For our broods. I’m certain mine prays that I climb out of my whiskey glass and climb on a hubby.
They pray even for their sons who would spend 10k in one weekend entertaining friends who will scamper the minute he loses his job, and women who give him fellatio, stress and STDs- but sends only 2k home after two months.
They pray for daughters who are blinded by the flash of city grandeur, them who mount dead Indians hair on their noggins, worth my sem fees while their mothers trek in torn rubber shoes as they head to the market.
They pray for us even when we hang their calls because we are busy practicing reverse cowgirl with some random fuckboy. “Huyo najua anataka pesa,” we scoff, when more often than not, they only want to hear our voices. They just want to know we are okay. Because our voices feels like heaven to them. Gives them hope and a reason to live- just so they can continue to hear the melody of our laughter.
They pray that God bless us ,even when we feast while they go to bed on porridge. They intercede for us even when we forget how they toiled to put ease the pangs of hunger inside our bellies. When we chat with our baes daily and only call them once a month…
And God listens to mothers because we unknowingly continue to live under His grace and pity even against the backdrop of our flaming wicked ways.
Happy Mothers Day to you mamas. We are because you are…