Looking Glass
Old African WomanImage: iStock Photos Ma Pwamoreno knelt to pray. The cracking sound in her spine told her it would be an uphill task getting up from this position. ‘She might as well take her time’, she thought. She couldn’t possible cause any more harm to her 70 year-old body. She went into a flurry of thanksgiving prayers. As she bowed in obeisance to GOD, her mind began to drift. Aspects of her life flashed through her mind until she was completely lost in thought. *** Pwapradi Zadok remembered the family she had been born into. She was born to a progressive family that believed in the white man’s education. Her father had worked for a white family who introduced Christianity and formal education to him. In his view, white people could do no wrong. Her father was a good Christian man. He treated her mother right. He ensured that they always had food and good clothes; which was a far cry from what her neighbors had to contend with. He encouraged them to read books and study the Bible. Her mother was the perfect match for her father. She was such a good woman! She couldn’t remember if her parents ever fought. She only remembered that they were a much disciplined family and though her parents never told them they loved them, they could tell that they did. By ‘they’, she meant her eight brothers and sisters; her parents had seven boys and two girls. Though it was a large family, there were always extended family members in the house at any given time. It was a testament to her father that he raised good children who were all stellar citizens in their community. As the last child, Pwapradi was called “Mummy’s carbon copy”. She had the same mannerisms and even looked almost exactly like her mother. Their similarity was so much that when she cooked, her father couldn’t tell if it was his wife or his daughter. When it was time to get married, her father worked extra hard to get a very good man for her. He picked the choir master of the church who was a young and promising teacher in the village primary school. Pwapradi remembered how her mother prepared her for marriage, her expectations as a wife, her duties and her reward. Pwapradi flushed under her skin when her mother told her to just lie down and accept her husband’s overtures because ‘men have been cursed with huge desire for sex’. Pwapradi’s marriage to Cletus Pwamoreno had been a simple affair, after which she settled into her role as wife. Cletus didn’t want her to work. He wanted her to be a house wife. Like her mother taught her, she obeyed him completely. He also didn’t want any other person cooking his meals. So she had been cooking for him for 58 years. She woke up early, cooked his breakfast and lunch and then took his bath water to the bathroom. She would wake him up and then set about sweeping the house. As he bathed, she would do other house chores to reduce her workload. When he was done, she would serve his meal and send him off with a ‘Have a good day‘ pat on the back. When he got back home, he would arrive to the aroma of steaming Bamta or Kwaa Bawei soup. Though he would always rush to the kitchen, she would get him to bathe first before eating his meal. After his meal, she would massage his feet and back as he read a newspaper or studied the Bible. Even as they got older and her bones got weaker, she continued her routine every single day of the week. When the children came, there was more work for Pwapradi but she took it in her stride; after all, Bachama women were known for their strength. She gave birth to five children before GOD decided it was enough. She remembered how she never raised her voice when talking to her husband. They had been married for 58 years and she never shouted at her husband. When they quarreled, he did all the talking while she stared at the floor. When he was done, she would say, ‘I am sorry Sir. It would not repeat itself.’ He thought she was acting in the first few years of their marriage but he later realized that she was made that way. Soon, quarrels became nonexistent in their marriage. Her mother taught her that her husband’s word was law and she obeyed him to a fault. As he became more prominent, their marriage became the poster child for perfection. People wanted to emulate them. Couples came to them for advice. They were both co-opted into the church counseling unit. She heard that her husband always said, ‘My wife never raises her voice at me. She never disobeys me. She does everything I say and that is why we are so happy.’ He would always end by saying, ‘Get your wife to be like mine and you have the perfect home.’She on the other hand would say to wives, ‘Your husband is the head of your house. If you want him to treat you right, respect him, obey him and be a good wife to him.’ She remembered her children. They were all married now. She had a flurry of grandkids she only saw during the holidays. None of her kids lived close to her. They were spread in Kaduna, Lagos, Port Harcourt, and Abuja. No one wanted to live in Numan; a glorified village. So she got to see them once every year when they came for Christmas. She thanked GOD for her life. She had lived a good life. That thought had not finished forming when another came into her mind. Had she really lived? Was her life worth thanking GOD for? Though foreign, she pondered on the thought some more. She had always wanted to teach. She wanted to impart knowledge just as her father had done. She was lucky to have been formally
