My mother is my real definition of a full woman.
She is the woman who left work every day at lunch time so she could breast feed each and every one of her children. She is also the one who held the fort down when my father was away for one scientific escapade or the other, in one country or another. She is the one who, when asked what he could bring her each time he was away, always answered with either a certain set of saucepans or a particular brand of cutlery. I personally would have asked for shoes or something... My mother is the woman who supported my father when he was running some crazy experiment in one of the bedrooms, she supported him even when she didn’t get it. My mother is the woman who still believes in true love.
My mother is the woman who smuggled a pack of sausages for us in her handbag during school visitation days when home-cooked food was not allowed. She is the same person who always called relatives to tell them of an abrupt plan that needed me to return to Kampala whenever I was upcountry visiting, felt home sick and needed an excuse to end the visit so abruptly. She is the one who made me throw away my first black nail polish. She is also the one who told me my name was from the first woman professor in the world just to inspire me (I googled it, big lie).
My mother contacted our long lost baby sitter over twenty years later just because the baby sitter had the right type of popcorn seeds she wanted to plant in our backyard, just so we could have home grown popcorn. My mother makes her own jam. She also forced us to learn how to cook everything, and I mean everything, whether you ate it or not. She bathed me when I was too weak. I mean being bathed by your mother as a child is one thing, but try it when you’re over twenty, conscious and sober!! She is the kind that shows up to watch me in my adult pantomimes, even if she has to stifle some yawns. My mother turned our house into a home.
My mother is the woman who oozes strength. I have never seen her beg, never seen her give up, and never seen her defeated. She is the one who still sees the world in black and white, a clear line between right and wrong. She is a hard worker, who can’t stay home for more than a day doing nothing; she would rather start digging or something. She is the woman who will give away her last coin. She is the one who has taught us to learn huge life lessons from things as small as a burnt cookie to those as big as death. She is the kind that will physically dodge the bullets while watching a 3D movie in the cinema. She will also drink a full glass of wine even though she knows all she needs is two sips to get her drunk. She is also the kind that made up new ways for us to cram the periodic table in chemistry and spell really long complicated words.
My mother is a believer. She gave us the privilege of growing up in a spiritual environment; gave me the greatest gift anyone could give; salvation. She is a philosopher; her psychological mind games are second to none. My mother loves us; you can see it in the way she smiles to herself when she imitates one of us. She is also the only one who can call me fat, or tell me I’ve put on more than enough kilos and still get away with it. I would say when I grow up I want to be like her, but I’m already grown. I don’t have any children yet so I can’t expertly talk about being a mother and all, but as my mother always says about my father, I have known true love.
My mother is my hero.
Happy birthday mum.