Many years ago, my mother who was the leader of the fishmongers here in the ancient capital (Oguaa) sat me down and told me this story about a conversation God had with one of his angels.
Kwadwo, she addressed me, “when the Good Lord was creating mothers, he was into His sixth day of "overtime" when the angel appeared and said.”You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one." 
And God said, "Have you read the specs on this order?" She has to be completely washable, but not plastic; have 180 moveable parts...all replaceable; run on black coffee and leftovers; have a lap that disappears when she stands up; a kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair and six pairs of hands." 

The angel shook her head slowly and said. "Six pairs of hands.... no way! What is she going to use that for?"  It's not the hands that are causing me problems," God remarked, "it's the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have." 
“That's on the standard model?" asked the angel. God nodded.  One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, 'What are you kids doing in there?' when she already knows. Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn't but what she has to know, and of course the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say. 'I understand and I love you' without so much as uttering a word." 
“God," said the angel touching his sleeve gently, "Get some rest tomorrow...." , “I can't," said God, "I'm so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick...can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger...and can get a nine year old to stand under a shower." 
The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. "It's too soft," she sighed.  But tough!" said God excitedly. "You can imagine what this mother can do or endure." 
“Can it think?"  Not only can it think, but it can reason and compromise," said the Creator. 
Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek.  There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model." 
“It's not a leak," said the Lord, "It's a tear."  “What's it for?"  It's for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride." 

“You are a genius, "said the angel.  Somberly, God said, "I didn't put it there.” 

As soon as the great fishmonger, my mother, represented this to me; I remembered vividly a conversation that also ensued between Uchendu and Okwonko in Chinua Achebe’s ‘Things Fall Apart’.

[Uchendu]: “Can you tell me, Okonkwo, why it is that one of the commonest names we give our children is Nneka, or ‘Mother is Supreme?’ We all know that a man is the head of the family and his wives do his bidding. A child belongs to its father and his family and not to its mother and her family. A man belongs to his fatherland and not to his motherland. And yet we say Nneka – ‘Mother is Supreme.’ Why is that?”
“I do not know the answer,” Okonkwo replied […].
“Then listen to me […]. It’s true that a child belongs to its father. But when a father beats his child, it seeks sympathy in its mother’s hut. A man belongs to his fatherland when things are good and life is sweet. But when there is sorrow and bitterness he finds refuge in his motherland. Your mother is there to protect you. She is buried there. And that is why we say that mother is supreme.”

My mother who told me the story is like your mother... she is beautiful, an epitome of a black beauty; softened at the edges and tempered with a spine of steel. I certainly would want my daughter to grow old and be like her, I murmured.

My mum continued, “take a deep breath and imagine the way, a twelve-year-old girl from our neighbouring fishing community of Elmina, looking into the mirror to count freckles reaches out toward herself and that reflection turns into that of a woman on her wedding day, righting her veil. And how, when that bride blinks, she reopens her eyes to see a frazzled young mother trying to get lipstick on straight for the parent/teacher conference that starts in three minutes. And how after that young woman bends down to retrieve the wild-haired doll her daughter has left on the bathroom floor, she rises up to a forty-seven-year-old, looking into the mirror to count age spots”.

She further taps my shoulder and eggs me, “Just imagine again when a destitute mother starts earning an income, her dreams of success invariably center around her children. A woman's second priority is the household. She wants to buy utensils, build a stronger roof, or find a bed for herself and her family. A man like me has an entirely different set of priorities. When a destitute father earns extra income, he focuses more attention on himself. Thus money entering a household through a woman brings more benefits to the family as a whole”. 

Her words and stories jolted me into going to listen and read from the media especially social media where messages of and about mothers kept flooding the platforms; people fixing their mothers’ pictures as their profile pictures; many touching messages that could even make a fish to voluntarily come out of the sea to be caught by fishermen with no effort.

What was and has been surprising is the zeal with which many a people who have for years  been denigrating their mothers and other mothers who are not their real mothers couch very beautiful messages to the rest of the world about their mothers on Facebook, twitter, whatsapp, pintrest et al.

So I asked the great fishmonger, why do some people abandon their mothers and only discover their voices and pens on mothers’ day.

She held me and said, Kwadwo, “Mothers are a bundle of emotions that sometimes defy reason. They still forgive their children when they err. But these people who abandon their mothers and mistreat other mothers do not remember that:

• all the mothers who have kept awake all night with their sick toddlers in their arms, constantly uttering those compassionate words, "It's OK , my baby, Mommy's here."
• those who show up at work with milk stains on their dress and diapers in their handbags.
• those mothers who cannot restrain tears from trickling down their cheeks when they hold their babies for the first time in their arms; and for the mothers who give birth to babies they'll never see.
• the mothers who gave homes to babies and gifted them a family.
• the mothers who yell at their kids who clamour for ice cream before dinner.
• the mothers who defy all odds just to watch her kid perform and repeat to themselves
  "That's my child!!"
• the mothers who taught their children to tie the shoelaces even before they started going to school. (the men will grin at this)
• the mothers who incontinently turn their heads when they hear the word "Mom",
  even though they know that their kids are nowhere around.
• the mothers who silently shed tears for their children who have gone astray.
•  all those mothers whose heart aches to watch her son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time.
•  all the mothers of the victims of all these school shootings, and the mothers of those who were involved in the shooting.
• the mothers of the Survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror, clinging to their child who just arrived from school safely.

Well, has my mum told me the truth about mothers? Your honest could  be very helpful .

 

The writer, Richard Kwadwo Nyarko, is a multimedia journalist. His email: quajo2009@gmail.com. Tweet:@quajo2009. Facebook: Richard Kwadwo Nyarko