HER MOTHER'S DAUGHTER CHAPTER 2

“Ehhhh, Luwami!”( my beloved”), she cried out the second she saw me standing in front of her gate. Her voice cracked with joy, her arms wide open like she’d been waiting a lifetime. Her eyes sparkled with love, and in that moment, the cold night melted away.

It had been so long since my last visit, yet she held me like no time had passed. That’s the thing about grandmas like Mama, their love doesn’t count days. It just waits patiently… always ready to embrace you again.

She immediately asked, “Will you eat amala and ila alasepo?” (“yam flour and okra soup”) a beloved dish in the western part of Nigeria.

That’s one thing about Mama. She lived to feed people whether you were family or a complete stranger, her door (and her pot) was always open. She believed no one should ever leave her home hungry. Feeding others was her love language.

With a big smile, she ushered me into the house like royalty. I couldn’t help but head straight to the kitchen to see what she was making even though I knew she wouldn’t let me lift a finger to help. 😅

I know, I know… you’re probably thinking, “Spoilt brat!”

And maybe I am. 😂

But that’s just how Mama was especially with me. Being her first grandchild came with its own kind of privilege. The way she pampered me, you’d think I was made of gold. Her love was soft, loud, and ever-present the kind you feel in every bowl of soup, every warm embrace, every smile from her aged lips, and in every loving “Omo Iya e (“her mother's daughter “)

……………

Later that night, I had a cold bath the kind that wakes up your bones and afterward, I ate a warm, satisfying bowl of amala and ila alasepo. (”yam flour& okro soup”) I felt relaxed, full, and quietly preparing myself for the journey to NYSC camp.

As I sat in the living room, reflecting and still shivering slightly from the cold bath, Mama walked in gently her steps soft but sure. In her hands, she held a brand new towel and a small soap case, like she’d been saving them for a special moment.

In her Akure dialect, she said with deep pride and emotion:

“Luwami, (“"My beloved” )I kept this towel and soap case for you since last year. I’m so glad you’re finally going to camp. You will be successful, l’agbara Olorun mi oko alalubarika lo ma fe, (“By God’s grace, you will marry a prosperous husband.”)

“Thank you for making my daughter proud by finishing university. Now, you’re ready to serve your country. Kopa shan.”( she salutes me with her hands up

I sat there, heart full, basking in the joy of her words. They weren’t just encouragement they were a kind of love offering. A prayer wrapped in memory. Her joy, her pride, her quiet sacrifices… all of it poured into that simple gesture.

That night, I didn’t just feel ready for NYSC.

I felt seen. I felt loved.

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