Mom. Widowed before Widow

There’s is indeed no agony like bearing the agony of untold story,

This can seem too long an article but too short for the story. When Bami chatted me up on one issues of widowhood I tweeted, can’t remember exact; with this “I suggest we look at the questions that tackle the cause of this seeming societal disregard for Widows and ensuing nonchalance from government and law officers. Maybe then we can attempt to find a solution. It seems even men whose mum suffered as widows still don’t care”.

I never knew I was about let a young man free from the “conspiracy of silence and secrecy of widowhood” which I thought was only the widow’s dilemma until he wrote “my mum was also a widow for 13yrs before she passed on. Despite her ordeal, we rather saw her as a strong woman than a widow that was denied most of her rights in her husband’s house. Instead of fighting for her, we celebrated her struggles that turned into victory”.

Yet, in all that their celebration, the empty space side of his soul created by his pain didn’t real heal as our discussion showed with my saying to him, tell me your story. With apology he mailed me the article he titled; Mom. Widowed before widow

Holidays never came early enough for a boarding house student. It was supposed to be the time to escape from the hardship of hostel life and walk into the warm embrace of your home. This time, it wasn’t the case for me. I had just been given my end of session report sheet and my cumulative marks didn’t meet the required percentage for promotion to the next class. I was asked to repeat the S.S.S 1.

As I journeyed home, I felt pity not for myself but for my hard-working mother who had always tried her best to get me going in school. But you See, I never wanted to go to boarding school. My dad and mum were separated and dad ensured all six children of his were made to depend on mum alone for our upkeep. He essentially blacked out on us. His reason was simple; he accused my mum of being a witch and at such asked us to denounce her or he disowned us. Well, none of the six of us denounced mum so the decision was easy for him. He left and never came back.

So mum struggled really hard to put food on the table for us talk less of paying for our fees. I was the last of six and at such very dear and close to my mum. I could tell her emotions. I knew when she was sad or moody. Most times she held it in until midnight when she would wake up and start to cry. I always woke up and saw her. I sometimes cried silently too. Or just said a silent prayer to God asking for relief for my mum. So throughout my S.S.1, I never concentrated whenever I went to school because I would always imagine what my mum would go through at nights alone in her room. So I unconsciously began a ritual of crying for my mum every night. Yes I meant EVERY NIGHT.

The resultant effect was that I would go to class in the morning with heavy eyes. So i always slept during class. Of course it didn’t take time for my teachers to punish me for that. My classmates also began to mock me, therefore there was only one way out – miss classes. The result was inevitable. I decided to use my experience and mum’s before dad died as a prelude to what would eventually lead to a rude awakening when dad died 4years later.

So at the beginning of the new millennium 2000, on Jan 28, my died after a long protracted illness. He had actually being sick for 2years before he gave up the ghost. During the time of his sickness however, he came to himself and realized how much wrong he had done to my mother and we the children. So he called a friend of his and asked him to reach out to us. So my mum asked the eldest of my siblings to go see him. He went and came back with gory report of how bedridden dad had become. We all took turns to go visit him at the hospital and he was glad to receive us. But he never wanted to see my mum. It wasn’t because he was still bitter towards her. Instead he was too weak and didn’t want his estranged wife to see him in such helpless state.

He was a proud Ondo man and even in his dying period, he still maintained that defiant state of mind. But fair enough, he sent message to mum asking for forgiveness for all he had done to him. His friend duly delivered the message. Indeed we all held on to hope that dad would recover and reunite with his estranged wife and everything would be normal again. But it wasn’t going to be. Not long after, on that fateful morning of Jan 28 2000, dad gave up the ghost. News reached us an hour later and we wept. But the worst was yet to happen. 

Dad was buried a month after his death. His siblings were very cooperative with my mum. Afterall they knew she was his wife. So they asked her to perform the customary rites of a widow by shaving her hair and staying indoors for 40days after the burial. After all the rites were performed, my dad’s relatives called a meeting and asked that the man known to them as dad’s lawyer to read out the will. Dad had left behind a significant number of properties and shares in top companies in the country. The lawyer came and read the will to the hearing of everyone present. Dad bequeathed most of his properties to his children. He only left a property in the city to his siblings and ofcourse his house in the village. All hell was let loose at the meeting. My dad’s siblings practically beat the lawyer to a pulp. He ran for his dear life. They turned to my brother, the eldest, and warned him sternly never to come near any of dad’s properties until they called for another meeting. 

So that was actually the beginning of another beginning for mother as a widow. She had done a good job trying to take care of the six of us. My two eldest siblings had graduated from university but they couldn’t get a good job. They merely did menial jobs just to take care of their own immediate needs. I had just finished my secondary school and I had good grades from W.A.E.C but I didn’t bother to do University matriculation examination because there were no funds to go to school. Mum kept on going from daddy’s friends to his village elders in a bid to get justice for her and her children. Her efforts were fruitless. One of dad’s friends even wanted to have an affair with mum before listening to whatever she had to say. She therefore decided to seek for justice in court. All necessary suits were filed and our dad’s family were served court notice. Unfortunately on the day the hearing started, the lawyer who read dad’s will who was supposed to be in the witness box declined coming to court despite previous assurances that he would appear.

Mum’s case was thrown out even before it started. She only did traditional marriage with dad. They didn’t go to the registry so there was no document to legalise her marriage with dad. The only hope was the will but the lawyer was never to be seen again. The Judge surprisingly advised that we settled the case out of court. But my dad’s relatives concluded that since my Mum had taken the court option, the battle line had been drawn. They threatened to fight mum physically and spiritually. Mum retired into the normal concession – Let go and let God. But you see, that was never the case for mum. She hardly stopped thinking about all she had suffered. And Yes, she indeed suffered.

Dad was just a mere public servant who had the attention of his superiors as a bright Secretary in the 70s and 80s. My mum was a trader when they married and she was indeed very successful selling flour. Those were days when flour mills just came to Lagos and mum was lucky to get goods on credit from their warehouse. She always paid back and her credit capacity grew to the extent that she became one of the top distributors in Lagos island market. But you see, all she made in profit was saved in a joint account with dad. Dad on the other hand was a very bright thinker. He knew landed properties would always increase in value so he convinced mum that they use the money in the joint account to procure properties all over Lagos. Ofcourse mum obliged and she even worked harder to make more money. Dad was a snake. He bought all the properties in his name and he would only take mum to the site of the properties for confirmation or to clear any doubt.

By the time he would start building houses, he asked mum to lend some money from the bank to hasten the building projects. Mum agreed and when it seemed every thing was set in motion, Dad suddenly changed. He insisted mum was a witch due to his consultations with a spiritualist. That’s what led to separation. Dad played the con man. Mum defaulted in her loan repayment. Bank seized her own personal belongings like expensive jewelries, cars, cash at bank and whatever they could. News of her financial struggles reached her creditors at flour mills. They stopped giving her goods on credit. Mum was run to the ground. She left the Lagos island market out of shame to rebuild her life elsewhere. 

So you could imagine the bitterness that engulfed at her when dad’s relatives laid hold to all dad had left behind. She couldn’t deal with it. She broke down. She became hypertensive. And to add, she was also tested to be diabetic. My dad’s relatives lived large on dad’s properties. Most of their children who were around my age went to UK to study due to rent gotten from dad’s properties alone. Whereas I couldn’t even go to university here in Nigeria due to lack of funds. I had to do menial jobs to sustain myself. Relief came soon as my elder siblings began to gain employment. Mum’s financial burden was relieved to a large extent. I gained admission too and did my best to graduate with a good grade.

Mum did her best for all of us. But you see, when it was time to enjoy the fruits of her labour, she became critically ill and died in 2013. At her burial, when I was asked to give my tribute to her, I declared that mum was already a widow before her husband died. Many didn’t understand what that meant though. Before she died, while on the sick bed I asked her what her regrets in life would be. She looked at me and said it was the fact that her children didn’t enjoy the fruits of her struggle. It was then I realised she was still hurting from all dad and his relatives had deprived her of. I took it upon myself to help her out of that bitterness as I showed her the bright side to life from her ordeal. Little did I know she wouldn’t survive the sickness. So even in my lonely moments the urge to still mourn my mum’s regrets fill me but I know better now. 

That’s it, this is the story of Bami, a dad now. Which he said though I almost stopped half because of the pain, I am so relieved; apart from siblings we went through it. I never told anyone about this. As you can see, in the journey of widowhood as in women abuse; the children spend more time celebrating or struggling to see how to celebrate mum that they never pause to ask and seek to know the various things that made the journey treacherous; thus the vicious circle. She performed the burial rites but with the properties, the court threw it out by asking them to go settle out of the court because they did not do court registry. Bami your mom indeed got “Wounded before be Widowed” but remains Whole in you all’s love.