She was 30 when I came into the world.
I was handed over to her unclothed, crying and kicking but when she picked me up and cuddled me in her warm, powerful arms I had to accept her, and love her.
I got clothed with clothes from her closet and fed with food from her land; I drank water from her well and lived in peace and tranquillity. As a little child growing up I didn't know what she was going through, she looked healthy and strong with no sign of worries.
I learnt with her, watched over by her; she was supportive, she was productive, she was warm, she was easy to live with; she was great. I grew up peacefully with her...
But as I grew up and became a little older, I noticed she had changed drastically, she became twice as old as her true age, she looked very different from her other friends and age mates around the world.
Now, she has been completely changed by burns and smoke. She looks devastated and frustrated by the pain and suffering some of her children cause to her other children, most of her houses burnt, she is financially down and hardly can see any more; she is crippled - on a wheel chair with aides that lead her way, her own children, her own blood, but they poke, push and kick her recklessly, making her stumble and fall from the wheelchair with neither remorse nor sympathy. With bruises and scars all over her, her favourite white dress with green patches always stained with blood.
Who does that to a mother?
While some of her younger children stand at a distance watching the pain their elder ones cause to their mother with anger. Screaming and shouting, they tell their neighbours what is happening; using local and modern media to convey their anger and grief. Their neighbours look on with astonishment and surprise. Some of her children used to feel comfortable sitting on top of their mother’s wonderful fence but even that has been bulldozed from its foundation.
Some of her children have tried to rescue her from the hands of those that maltreat her but they are bullied and beaten as well, they don't have the arms and armoury neither do they have the wealth the older children have, they are not as rich in material as they are in sympathy for their mother - a mother that nurtured them, a mother through whose wealth the elders became rich, a mother kind enough to give too much to those who would later destroy her, and less to those who would have helped her. She hasn’t been biased; she has been overpowered. They stand like thick walls between a mother and her other children...
Mother I can't blame you for you were everything any child would want to have.
Just like when I was handed to you all those years ago, I am kicking and screaming now. How I wish you would come around again as you did the first time, to take me in your powerful now mark -covered arms, but you are obviously sick and devastated, needing urgent help for your paralysed and hungry soul.
On the 1st of october when you turned 53 the mere look on your face made me cry, the bruises and scars looked fresh and new, the blood stains pure red, the smoke stains pronounced, you looked tense and unhappy, silently wishing for something better.
O pretty old woman of age! were that you'd look strong, healthy, peaceful and full of life. Sitting with all your children in a green fresh garden, everyone looking happy and cheerful on your birthday.
You will be a proud mother with supportive children. The rich supporting the poor, the old looking after the young. None harming or inflicting pain on the other. No disparity, no bullying.
This has always been your dream, I wish and pray it will come to pass soon.
On Twitter @Yadomah
