HER MOTHER'S DAUGHTER CHAPTER 3

After carefully packing all the essentials I would need for camp into my travel box, Mama turned to me and asked softly,

“Luwami,(“My beloved”) will you sleep beside me tonight in my room, or would you prefer another room?”

I smiled and gently told her I’d sleep in another room not because I didn’t want to be close, but because I didn’t want to disturb her sleep with my random phone calls and notifications.

She nodded with understanding, though I could tell she would’ve loved to hold me close just one more night.

By 3 a.m., I was up eyes heavy, but spirit steady and ready to begin the long journey to Kano.

As I quietly began to gather my things, I heard the soft creak of the door. It was Mama. She had woken up no alarm, no prompting. Like her spirit just knew.

She walked in with sleepy eyes and a heart full of prayer.

Standing beside me, she gently placed her hand on my shoulder and began to pray. Her voice was soft, low, and powerful carrying both heaven’s hope and a grandmother’s fierce love. She prayed for safety, for success, for peace… and for strength on this new path I was about to walk.

That moment…

It wasn’t just a send off.

It was a blessing soaked in generations of faith and love.

……….

After the prayer, Mama quietly returned to her room. I thought she was going back to sleep.

But moments later, she reappeared fully dressed, having changed into something warmer so she could see me off. In her hand, she held a pair of thick wool socks. They looked old but well-kept, folded neatly like something she’d been saving.

She handed them to me and said softly,

“These will shield you from the cold, Oluwasemolami.”

(“God has added to my wealth”)

I looked at the socks, then looked at her eyes still sleepy, arms slightly trembling from the morning chill and my heart swelled.

“Thank you, Mama,” I whispered, holding them close.

Then I added, “But please don’t stress yourself trying to see me off… it’s still cold and dark outside.”

She smiled gently, but I could see it in her eyes if I had let her, she would’ve followed me all the way to Kano, just to be sure I was safe.

That’s the kind of love only a grandmother knows how to give quiet, thoughtful, and unshakably loyal.

…………….

As I slowly made my way through the stillness of the night, dragging my travel box behind me, I could feel it her eyes.

Even without turning back, I knew she was there.

Standing at the doorway. Watching. Praying. Covering me with every word her heart could form.

She didn’t call out.

She didn’t cry.

She just stood there silent, strong her love louder than words, her faith wrapping around me like a second skin.

And yet…

Little did I know,

that would be the last time I’d ever set eyes on my grandmother.

I didn’t know that her final prayer would become the last gift she gave me in person.

I didn’t know that her soft “Goodbye” unsaid but felt would echo in my heart for the rest of my life.

I left for Kano that day thinking I was starting a new chapter…

But I didn’t know a precious one had just quietly come to an end.

I got to Kano very late that day.

The trip was long and exhausting. I had a stopover in Abuja, which delayed everything. My phone battery had died at some point, and for hours, I was unreachable.

But guess what?

Mama didn’t sleep.

She stayed up all night calling my mum, calling me over and over just to make sure I arrived safely. Her worry didn’t rest. Her love didn’t sleep. She paced between faith and fear until she finally heard my voice again.

“I’m here, Mama… I made it.”

She exhaled with relief, like her heart had been holding its breath all day.

………….

After my NYSC camp experience in Kano, I returned to Lagos and slowly settled back into life the rush, the routines, the noise of the city swallowing the calm that Mama had always given me.

And then…

On the 4th of November, 2024, the call came.

The call that empties your chest.

The call that shifts your world forever.

Grandma is gone.

Just like that.

No more surprise visits. No more “Omo Iya e.”

No more early morning prayers, no more tightly wrapped gele”(head tie”), no more bowls of hot amala.”(yam flour )“

The woman who loved louder than words…

The woman whose prayers followed me like a shadow… was gone.

And though I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye,

I carry her in every step I take.

Every success. Every moment I feel warm in a cold world.

She’s there.

Because some goodbyes aren’t the end

they’re just the beginning of forever in our hearts.

Rest in peace, Mama.

Rest in peace, Iya Wasola. 🕊