From her odd practices to trying to enforce them on us, that woman barely gave me breathing space while I was still with her.
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As far as Mama is concerned, sweeping your room at night means sweeping away your blessings — because she believes blessings come at night.
The first time I heard that from her was when I was eight and already handling some chores. After dinner that night, everyone retired to their rooms leaving me in our fairly spacious living room. I found a short broom and set to sweep as I hummed to the song playing on the TV.
Bending slightly, I began to sweep the rug. Immediately there came a scream that almost plugged out my heart. Before I could lift my head, Mama snatched the broom from my hand so that it almost pierced my palm. She stood, a scorn-filled face and warning eyes. I was taken aback. Did I offend her without knowing? Did I leave the pot of soup uncovered? What was wrong?
Mama bent, picked up the parker and spoke in an unusually harsh tone. “Never in your life should you sweep this house at night.”
With that, she disappeared through the door, leaving me dumbfounded. My elder sisters rushed in, their voices echoing through my ears.
“What happened?”
“What did you do?”
After explaining everything to them, my immediate elder sister first hissed. Another laughed. The rest of them slumped into different couches, laughing at me.
“You better start getting used to this mother of yours.” Our eldest sister spoke like someone who cared less about Mama's bizarre beliefs.
But it was a concern to me. Didn't they say cleanliness is next to godliness? What happens when I clean my home at night?
Mama would always insist we pick up papers and any crumbs. If not, early in the morning was the perfect time to begin the house chores.
Now that's just one. Growing up, I saw different versions of Mama I was almost forced to think she was under a spell. Or, how do you explain the relationship between pounding an empty mortar to one's destiny? You know, one could playfully or idly pound a mortar with a pestle. But not in Mama's kitchen. She wouldn't watch anyone ‘pound away their destinies’.
Mama's superstitious lifestyle continued, from the ‘no sweeping at night’ to ‘no flogging a child with a broom’.
I remember when my younger brother (the only male child) committed an offence. My eldest sister was so mad she couldn't lay hold of any whip other than the long broom at the corner of the door. Picking it, she was about to hit my brother when Mama suddenly appeared from nowhere, screaming at the top of her lungs. Guess her screaming words.
“Leave my son alone, Helen, leave him for me! Do you want to render my only boy impotent?”
Mama's timely intervention was my brother's saving grace that day.
There were days Mama would shout at us for not opening the cooked food before bringing it down from the fire. There were many cases where we had to stand up to tell her those beliefs were unreasonable. Those days were usually fruitless, as she would start to download the origin of those beliefs, and how they kept her ancestors.
“Mirrors are spiritual, and gazing at them in the night is like attracting spirits.” Mama would say on some nights.
“You don't call the names of dangerous animals like snakes and scorpions at night, or they'll come visiting.”
I could go on and on.
Too many beliefs. Too many things shaped how Mama lived and wanted us to live.
When the opportunity came for me to relocate to my aunt's, I jumped at it — not because I was tired of staying with Mama — but because I wanted to try a new environment. I was eighteen then, waiting for my immediate elder sister to get married before I relocated.
As is most of the Nigerian culture, the bride's mother would purchase some kitchen items and take them to her (the bride) after her wedding. That afternoon was the most hectic for me — filling up the trunk of the bus with my sister's boxes and the new kitchen utensils. When we lifted the mortar and pestle Mama had bought into the trunk, Mama instructed us to put some naira notes into the mortar. I turned to cast a questioning glance at her.
“No matter how small. Just put something into it to prevent us from having a road accident.”
That was the height of it. I found myself talking to Mama as if she were a child.
“Mama, what is the meaning of this?”
“Mortar and pestle are part of what we are transporting. These things are traditionally made and they have some spiritual implications. If we don't do this, we may get involved in an accident.”
I opened my mouth to argue further but no words came forth. I forced it shut and obeyed. Peace must reign.
Throughout the journey, only one thing drummed in my quiet mind: Mama's strange beliefs. Somehow, a realisation began to settle in me that though her beliefs may be irrational, she only wants the best for her children. And provided they do not harm us in any way, I should respect her cultural roots.
Well, till today, I don't ‘pound away my destiny’, nor do I gaze at the mirror at night. It's just a part of me and not due to any superstition.
