Remembering a treasured motherhood

ONE of the beautiful compensations of a successful matrimony is that one waddles through life with the kind presence of an understanding, caring spouse. Vicariously stated, it is a glorious fortune of the man that finds life a success if his wedlock is coupled with the audacity of a forgiving wife. From antiquity to present time, it has always been man's speculated conviction that spousal desire for marital success is to be blessed with good kids and for them to be believing servants of their creator. This is a good prayer. Notwithstanding the transient nature of such a plea, it is becoming improbable seeking out today, a typical person in our peculiar clime that can stand with ecclesiastical honour and academic excellence in an earthly career as a consequence of a motherly nurture. Every expectation of success, some menfolks diffidently argue, invariably devolves from masculine circumstance, birth, breed, or sheer providence anchored on gender brawn.


I have been opportune to read of persons with variegated experiences on either side of the motherhood divide! Some I have even met, and others I co-traveled with, courtesy of the information superhighway. The one live constantly with their tell tale signs of sheer horror, and the very other few, abound with magnificent stories of a glorious pamper and care. Serendipity or not, examples lurk in your very neck of the woods.

It is not always that a full-grown man reminisces on a great motherhood! My personal experience belongs to a different hue. It is one that flows from a unique push that is profound in its love and commitment. The only motherhood I have ever known was a great lover of Christianity, service and education. She lived her early life without an opportunity to earn earthly education, yet went on to insist that everyone must strive to excel in the knowledge and wisdom of the heavenly realm. Her offspring and their stations attest to her belief and work.

In the beginning, the heavens ordained it well. Our woman of honour was actually named Esther Ngozi Uzoukwu at birth. Many believed that the firmaments foretold her story since she was sired during a holy period according to the Easter calendar in the year of our Lord, 1930, to John and Felicia Uzoukwu Emeanuru of Umukor Nkwerre in Imo State. John Uzoukwu was a noble man, titled to the hilt according to primal Igbo culture. Esther was later to marry Francis Umelo Ihekwaba, several years prior to Francis becoming the last elected Mayor of the old Port Harcourt municipality from April 1, 1961 to the beginning of the civil unrest in the late 1960s. She was blessed with nine children - seven sons and two daughters. As a Christian woman full of good purposes, she insisted that every one's daily routine must begin and end with both knees on the floor, in humble supplication and total submission to the Almighty God. A good testament that he who kneels before God can stand before kings! Mama Esther believed strongly that persons that combined hardwork with prayerful commitment to ecclesiastical teachings would inevitably succeed in earthly engagements.

A good memento to good old maternity is to celebrate a loving motherhood always. Many owe tonnes of love and appreciation for their mother's unrequited succour and nurture. In a reading of the 16th President of the United States, Abraham Lincoln, I came out with the admirable impression that many mothers share certain things in common. Reading Honest Abe reminiscing that "I remember my mother's prayers and they have always followed me; they have clung to me all my life" was a reminder of great motherhood that one misses everyday. Mine taught me graceful living, to receive everything with thanksgiving and praise, and to share all moments of love. In my book, she walked before her time.

In the end, and quite remarkably so, my mother, Esther transited to the souls triumphant in the twilight hours of the Christian worship day, a year ago on Sunday, January 28, 2007. Her long good-bye started five years earlier with a debilitating stroke that was complicated a year later by the loss of her last child and son, Uzoukwu. In the five years of her physical disability, she fought the good fight and kept the faith. Her life trailed the pathway of Paul of Tarsus in advancing Christian precepts in several fronts: economic, social and spiritual.

While alive, Esther was a firm believer and follower of Jesus the Christ. Like her biblical namesake, Queen Esther under the mentorship of Mordecai, a nationalist Jew during the reign of King Xerxes in the Citadel of Susa, she personified many biblical teachings and lived out the doctrine of being your brother's keeper. As with many of her type, that was vintage motherhood personifying the dictum of the golden rule. She loved her songs of praise. Her sonorous voice still rings true every passing day. It is our fervent belief that her spirit leaves in those hymns of the glory of God. She was such a passionate worshipper and we find solace in her many motherly footprints that continue to guide many daily routines. An avid encourager of forgiveness, she dotingly reminded us the meaning of my middle name, Maduabuchukwu!

One of the trailblazers of realism in literature, Honore' de Balzac (1799-1850), a French journalist and writer, opined that "the heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness." The woman who begat me and my siblings insisted that every person must walk the talk of the golden rule. In our home and outside, she taught everyone to do to others, as one would expect or pray to be done to one. She forgave all and insisted that true conscience requires that one return every deed with a better, decent one laced with love.

It is not always that one encounters persons that are positively consumed with humility. The woman of note was very shy in her assertiveness and would frown at anyone who self-announces their presence to a public audience. Esther usually will dissuade folks from soliciting eccentric public acclaim believing that accolades must add value and inspire further accomplishments. Activities that seek recognition must be audacious in their encouragement, fierce in their inspiration and must lead others to greater heights.

Usually, many adherents of the great religions strive to personify character recognition in their preachments. My Esther strove to imitate the Christian piety as espoused severally in the Pauline letters. As a memento, and since she missed the birth of my twin children by a couple of weeks, the one mirrors the Pauline steadfastness to the faith and the other is a testimony of her sterling qualities that begat many a child of God.

Many have composed and sung their dirge for her transition. We miss her wise counsel though, and her love, care and profound sense of family is immeasurable. We can never ask for more. And if we, her Christian co-workers and natal children, are to choose again, if it is even permitted for humankind to choose, we will choose her all over again as our mother and guide. She was a great rallying hand that personified in more ways than one the biblical Dorcas in living gracefully yet understanding personal privations.

It is apposite to pass with some stirring confessionals about great motherhood from some great ones in history. The counsel of the famous number one, George Washington (1732-1799), about his beginnings is instructive and unique: "My mother was the most beautiful woman I ever saw. All I am I owe to my mother. I attribute all my success in life to the moral, intellectual and physical education I received from her." This is a good inspiration for us and anyone who have experienced great motherhood notwithstanding the temporal loss of the physical person. The icing comes from the number 16th, Abraham Lincoln (1809-1865), about whom many may feel was never able to get over his mother's guardian nature when he claimed that: "All that I am, or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel Mother." The joys of experiencing great motherhood can never be lost on the man, no matter the status and locus in society.

It has been about one year since the final physical exit of my mother, Esther, and it can never be taken away from us that her spirit lives on. She was the very first person who taught me that a moulder of young minds must first set out to be a servant. She surely deserves her rest in the Lord.