“DEDICATED TO ALL OUR NIGERIAN MOTHERS”.
There’s a special kind of magic in the world, and it’s almost always wrapped up in a Nigerian mother. They are an odd blend of fierce and loving, a walking contradiction of strict discipline and endless doting. How can you be shouting at me one moment and you are pampering me in the next moment?
Nigerian mothers don’t just joggle activities; they conduct an orchestra with their eyes closed. They can be on the phone with a friend in Abeokuta, stirring a pot of soup on the burner or a traditional swallow, and simultaneously shooting daggers at you for something you just did wrong. Their ability to manage a household, a career, and the social lives of their children is nothing short of miraculous. The food they cook is exquisite, you will always want more. There are hardly better feelings than coming home to meet the food that your ‘mummy’ has cooked for you, after you’ve had a long day. “Pele, omo mi” (sorry, my child), I can not count how many times my mother has used this phrase to console me.
I am thoroughly convinced that there’s a secret cult for Nigerian mothers. How could there not be? What other explanation could there be? Because they all think and act alike. From the similar phrases; “put it on my head now”, ” it is because you’re always pressing phone”, “I did not kill my mother so you will not kill me”, to the similar mannerisms; especially that gaze after you have collected chicken from Mama Nkechi. The side-eye they give and you just know they’re not going to repeat themselves; the typical mode of communication. There is no written manual but we all understand the interpretation of that gaze. Its one non verbal form of communication that we have all seemed to master, even when it comes from another person’s mother to you.
Is it their pride and their aggressive care? “Tough love” is what we might call it. The one thing you should know before you approach any Nigerian mother is that they are a people full of love, everyone is like their child. That’s why they’ll see you at the market and address you as ‘my son’ or ‘my daughter’. Your health is always top priority for your mother, they believe that a well-fed child is a sign of a good mother, so they’ll feed you until you can’t possibly eat another bite, then ask if you’re “sure” you don’t want more. Another fact that I think is worthy of note is the fact that you can never win an argument against them. They are very skilled in the art of emotional manipulation, they are the founders of gaslighting. Just when you think you’re about to win the argument, they bring out the ‘I carried you in my womb for nine months’ card and you know that the war has been lost.
What about their love for parties? Weddings and ceremonies. The real rockers of Owambe, especially when their child is finally getting married with their Gele competing to be the tallest. I need you to know that once you see a bunch of Nigerian mothers gather over a burning firewood, that food is about to be superb! Be it Nigerian Traditional Swallow, Masa or most especially Nigerian Jollof. If you still wonder how come Party Jollof tastes different from the ones you cook at home, go ask your mothers. And somehow, the Jollof at every party manages to taste the same even at different locations. The hat tricks all belong to our mothers.
Let us talk about their incredible bargaining skills. I once joked with my mother that if I eventually opened a business, she should not patronize me. I think it’s an in-built feature once you cross the threshold of motherhood. Only Nigerian mothers can price a tuber of yam sold for five thousand Naira to a thousand or one thousand five hundred and walk away with paying the same five thousand naira for 3 or 4 without getting arrested. They taught us how to say “Put Jara” with confidence. Personally, I like to shift away from my mother once she has begun to price. I always end up feeling sorry for the sellers. Its one reason I do not even like to buy things myself, I always feel that my mother can get it cheaper!
The last thing I want us to discuss is the icing on the cake. It’s something that this author is confident that every Nigerian has faced. It’s the matter of money, especially gifts from your visitors. Let no man deceive you, money that enters your mother’s hand on your behalf never comes out, it always disappears into the food you eat or your school fees that’s about to be paid. Most of the time, even as an adult, so far as you are given money by visitors in front of your Nigerian mother, she will collect it from you once the visitor leaves. You are expected to give it to her, unless you want her to ask you if the food you have been eating since you were born was coming from the trees. Or she starts giving you tales by the moonlight again about how she carried you for nine months and carried you on her back for 3yrs. “This thing happened to me last week sef. E dey pain die
Regardless, we would never trade them for anything. Our mothers will always be close to our hearts. Their prayers feel like they are personally bargaining with heaven for our welfare. They’re the ones who remind you of your worth, even when you’ve forgotten it yourself. Their love is a fierce, protective force that shapes you into the person you’re meant to be. With just a single wrapper tying you firmly to their backs, signifying that they are ready to face anything and go to the moon and back with you. So here’s to all our Nigerian mothers -at home, in diaspora, and in our hearts. You are truly one of a kind.
She?
Every drop of blood, a proof of her resilience.
She?
Every cycle, a journal into motherhood.
She?
Her preceding begins as a pre teen
Charged with the case of ovulation.
She must win the case, she must fight it!
For it is not her battle, it is for the future generations.
Her cases?
Through her, a sac called the womb stretches.
It is her burden for 9 months.
A life for two, an inbuilt sesame twin.
Umbilical cord connects love through her heart.
Now she must feed for two.
Her day cannot be set without his soft kick.
The case enters its climax.
The young must grow!!
Her milk is his first life support.
Her back becomes a nest for his cradling.
Her arms are a shell for him till he can crack through the world.
His crawling and tossing is her greatest joy.
His metamorphosis, the fulfilment of her dreams.
She???
She is a mother, a woman, a fighter.
A carrier of life, nations and continents.
With the patience of a spider, she spins the web of her child.
Her journey started as the little girl,
Who graduates into puberty.
Poem by: theblessinggift ©️2025
