My Childhood in the early nineties was full of fun and adventures while growing up in our family home at Gombe road – a suburban area in downtown Kaduna metropolis in the midst of uncles, cousins and other family members who had become part of the larger extended family by virtue of having ties of kinship from residing in the same compound spanning decades.
Standing at her graveside while the gravedigger expanded the length to fit her remains, I was consumed in grief and anguish as my thoughts further flew into a wild flight of fancy recalling my different childish misadventures and escapades – causing mayhem; troubling people at home but “Mommy B” as she was fondly nicknamed was the only person whose reprimand and strokes of cane were capable of taming my troubling self and other kids. She was a strict disciplinarian who didn’t spare the rod.
However, upon graduating from childhood into boyhood, my fears gradually began to fade into admiration, she became my favourite granny as I began to realise growth from childhood to adulthood, I observed the special attention and treatment she accored me. Her scornfulness eventually transformed into humorous jokes as she became so cheerful that she had a sobriquet for for every boy and girl in the compound, mine was “Mai gida na” for having the same name with her late husband; Alhaji Garba Biu – a Nigerian civil war veteran who died in 1995. She regularly gave me cookies as she constantly admonished me to study hard to make her proud.
Having lost his biological mother at a very tender age, my father unsurprisingly, found a mother in her as she constantly guided him in most of his decisions that required the intervention of a mother figure, providing him succour and a shoulder to lean on. She perfectly filled the vacuum and accommodates all members of the family solving minor disputes when the need arose. She was a powerful woman full of life and merriment, and addressed whoever wronged her in a cheerful mood there without holding any grudge. She was so honest and lived a life of utmost simplicity.
During festivities of Eid, when I was a young boy she would have a special perfume reserved for all the kids but mine was always special and topped with other goodies because I was her favourite “Mai gida”. Remembering all these memories I couldn’t hold back tears rolling from my eyes. The last time we spoke was barely two weeks ago when she looked me straight in the eyes and said “Make sure you take very good care of your parents, your father especially, for he has toiled day and night to get you a befitting education”, she spoke sounding like someone who was bidding farewell. Unbeknownst to me, it was the last conversation we would have.
The story of my childhood, boyhood and adulthood will definitely be incomplete without that of Mommy B. She died at the Kaduna Polytechnic hospital. Until her death she worked and retired as a Hostel Admin Officer at Kaduna Polytechnic. She died leaving behind four children among them is the reteran radio journalist; Ramatu Garba ‘Danlami and Bala Garba, a staff of Kaduna Polytechnic.
I pray Allah forgives her misgivings, admit her into paradise and provide us succour in this trying time.
Abubakar ‘Danjuma Yaro writes from A2 Gombe Road, Kaduna.
