Do Sikaman Mothers deserve their day?

Sometimes children forget that while they were in the belly of Mummy, Daddy was paying the bills. So it isn’t Mummy alone who bore the child. Daddy contributed a seed and funded the bills till Mummy was sent to hospital to produce the baby.

When the baby is brought home bouncing, everyone congratulates Mummy, not Daddy. At this point in time Daddy doesn’t count. After all, what is the big deal about settling an­te-natal and maternity bills? And what is money compared to labour pains?

Certainly, a Mum’s woes do not end with the delivery of a kid. Breast-feeding, sleepless nights, sick baby, cry baby cry, too much stress handling a tiny human being. The man’s woes also do not end unless of course, the man is a cockroach.

And if he truly is, Mum will surely tell the kid when he grows up. “Your daddy isn’t a daddy,” she’d say. “He is a cockroach! When I gave birth to you, he saw another woman and followed her like a he-goat. The bastard didn’t look after you!”

SWEET

So it comes to Mother’s Day and the kid is forever grateful o Mama for making a human being out of the seed of an idiot. She prays for Mum! Sweet Mother!

Come Father’s Day and everyone wonders whether a day like that exists. Very little publicity on JOY FM. Fact is that JOY doesn’t particularly believe in the day, but offering some sponsored airtime to interview people about their daddies would just be fair.

And for the sake of honouring one’s father, no one ever said anything ugly about Daddy. I am still waiting to hear something like this.

“While I was lying in the belly of my Mama, my Daddy took off with the woman who is now my step-mom. My Mum is a wreck all because of my Daddy. He beat her, neglected her and finally divorced her. On this occasion of Father’s Day, I wish my father will roast in hell at the Second Coming of Jesus Christ!”

Fact is, it isn’t all fathers that deserve accommodation on hell’s bar­becue stand. Some fathers are really fathers – caring, supportive, groom­ing, educating and putting you on a firm academic ladder. Only about 20 per cent of men are irresponsible and warming up for hell if one exists.

And who says all mums are mums? In some communities, any woman who is lucky to hit 65 years is automatical­ly branded a witch, not because she is a witch, but because she is supposed to be one. If she isn’t a witch by 65, then what is the use of her old age?

So you’ll find very terrifying reports of grandmothers who are accused of causing accidents by re­mote-control, mothers making their sons-in-law impotent, or if they are lucky half-impotent, or removing the wombs of daughters-in-law.

Go to Gambaga and you’ll be wel­comed to a witch’s camp. When you clock 60 and your eyes get a little red, you are certified and gazetted a witch and banished to the camp where you’ll one day perish. Backwardness?

WINE

On Mother’s day last Sunday, I remembered my mum who is no more. Very noble lady who saw me through university when my Dad was on pen­sion. I took dark wine in honour of her and blessed her.

My kids asked me what the family would be doing on Mother’s Day, “I have no mother!” I replied. But they had a Mum and they wanted some­thing done for her. I got interested.

“Will you pound fufu for her?”

“Yes”, they said.

Okay! I also said for once, I’ll go to the kitchen and prepare the soup. I ordered a large whole chicken, assembled the garlic, peppers, spices, tomato (fresh), tomato (paste) and got to work.

I undertook surgery on the chick­en, washed it nicely and put my- self to the test. Generally I’m not a good cook. When I was in Legon, my girl­friend taught me how to cook sweet potato pottage using fish and palm oil, and I have not forgotten the skills. But preparing Mother’s Day chicken soup was quite a challenge.

I needed advance catering skills.

Half way through, I realised I was burnt in three places and decided that enough was enough. I wanted to give up, but wouldn’t that be untoward? I plodded on and mixed things together and fixed the cooker fire on ‘medium.’ I left the rest to God! He knows best!

When it was done, I plucked out a piece of chicken to sample. I en­joyed it! But I needed to get the nod from my kids! They will be doing the presentation to their Mum to honour her. If it was badly prepared, it would be dishonourable! “Over to you Edem, Emefa, Eyram and Elom” – the Four Es!

DESERVE

The question is do mothers really deserve Mothers’ Day? It was when I witnessed part of the delivery of my last-born child that I started respect­ing women.

I was at work when a call came “Your wife has been sent to clinic. She is in great pain.”

I was confused and just could not continue what I was writing. I tried to concentrate without success. I packed out and headed for the clinic. I want­ed to meet the new child and touch it. But nay!

My wife was lying on a bed groan­ing. “The doctor says the baby is not coming so he’d have to send me to the theatre if it doesn’t drop by 8:00 pm.” She was sweating like nobody’s business.

I went home, took a hurried bath and returned and witnessed the labour of my wife. It was frightening and horrifying. She couldn’t lie and couldn’t stand. She had been injected to induce labour and the baby just wouldn’t come. I regretted having made her pregnant.

Mothers really deserve their Day!

This article was first published on May 15, 2004

Merari Alomele’s

• A mother’s woes do not end with the delivery of a child

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