ode to iya dapo;the woman that shaped the man

The first cry of a child heralds one thing; symbolises different things. To the mother, it is music to her ears; the end of a nine-month sojourn, the fulfilment of her goddess purpose; the beginning of a lifetime of watching, praying, fear, love, joy, beatings (my mother didn’t forget this part), success and finally, the reversal of roles where the caretaker becomes the one being taken care of. To the father, well, it is a period of imprinting, ingraining and when you misbehave, reminding your mother “se ori omo e?” (can u see YOUR child?) and when you do well, “omo mi niyen” (that’s MY child). Of course, at all times, you are your mother’s “omo mi”(MY child; MY own). To the barren, it is a cause to remind God of their existence and of course to some, it is a reason to prep the stomach for the naming ceremony.(others can fill what it means to them here,thank you)

Written many an article, stories. Today, today’s, is about iya dapo; it is way past due.

I was born more than two decades ago, 14days after my parents officialised what they had already been doing unofficially (my dada didn’t believe in time-wasting) and upon being birthed I cried!, what I’m sure went through my mind was “tha f*ck?!what happened to the warm cocoon?! and what is this anomaly?!”. On top of that, the idiot doctor decided to lash my buttocks(the sadist, mschew); it was all good though; from being inside to being in my goddess’ arms and there I was, literally, for the first few years and, metaphorically, ever since I was too big to be carried.

So,I suckled, grew teeth and bit her nipple. All she did was wince in pain, and in that pain, find a smile for me.

A few years passed and I was registered and started schooling, walking like a boss infront while she carried my bag and most importantly, my food flask like say she be ADC; every day.(and like a boss and good son,I finished the thing.”waste not,want not”). Primary school, “usurpers”(I love my siblings but then, a spade is not a cow) secondary school, friends; addendum to my first friend because, you see, she cleaned up my shii and piss so she gets 1st dibs in everything, university. . All through it, she babied me; she listened; she cajoled; she threatened; she insulted(d woman can insult well,mehn); but above all, she loved me unconditionally.

Many an instance have I pushed her to her limits. Is it the time I had a combo of typhoid and malaria. Was hospitalised. Everyday, everymorning saw her commute between home and the hospital. Could not eat as I was being dripped (the rubbish doc said the IV contained nutrients to sustain me #wash). I took this calmly until day 4 when I told my ma I was thirsty and wanted hi-malt. Now, nothing epic about this ordinarily until the nurse said I can’t have the drink. Say what?! Iya dapo stood up,re-tied her wrapper, went out, came back 10mins later holding a cold bottle of malt, opened it and passed it to me. She was watching the nurse, giving her that “if-u-feel-like-to-die-say-somthn”-look.

Writing about the above triggered another memory, one involving me being too sick to eat. She could not eat either. I felt so bad for her I ate a lil rice,held it in forcefully and threw up when she went out. Atleast,she went out with a smile.

Times have been hard. Life has thrown lots at us, didn’t feel the brunt, felt only the aftershock because my mother shielded me; because my mother is a superwoman.

So today, I’m telling the world that I don’t have the best mom in the world, I have THE MOM. Having the best mom implies competition; the thought of that is just hilarious. Ikira fun iya dapo, she is an orisa; she is my orisa.