Hear me out, Mom

Mummy, Mom, Nne Oscar, Nnem…

There are so many names that I call my mother but each of them is immersed in unconditional love and that gives all of these many names exactly the same meaning.

I can never express enough gratitude that could be equal to or even come close to what my mother goes through , the sacrifices she makes to raise us, to bring us up to become decent people. My mother’s true undying love to us is not taken for granted and never will be.

Mom,

You led me a long way, from newborn to an adult, you fed and clothed me. I know I will never be a grownup in your books, but I would want us to have a grownup-like discussion right now. More like a confession from me for you to hear, and I’d like you to think of it like of an adult- to- adult discussion…

I have always been a good obedient child, from whence I could differentiate between left and right. But there was something that I have kept from you and never, till now, accepted the guilt or open up to why it was concurrent.

I know you can recall all these times I was unwell on weekends and holidays?

Here it comes…

Mom, I hate farming.

I can see your face in my mind, your tired eyes on me, trying to understand how serious I am about it.

Yes, I know, you are thinking, how your son, born into a farming family, can say something like this.

But hear me out, please…

I don’t mean to be a disobedient and lazy child but my nature is not of a farmer’s even if I couldn’t walk away freely from it considering the current situation in the family. Like for great many families in Nigeria the farm for us is our only source of provision and means for living. Still…

Farming is revolting to me, and going to farm seems like a jungle justice punishment to me and to every single living cell in me.

There are chances creeping creatures like snakes and spiders can bite and kill or cause a very serious health problem. It's my Resolute Belief. No, Mom, don't laugh. The fear for crawling creatures might be inherited through our biology, through our genes, some researchers think. Others say however, parents pass down that fear to children in the way of their own fearful reaction or in negative way they talk about spiders and snakes. Or is it the culture? And the fact that snakes and spiders are always associated with evil? I cannot explain my fear, but it is omnipresent every time I head out to farm.

Walking to farm in the rain drenches even before the work starts, and from the beginning to the end of the day I am in wet clothes, shivering. When it is sunny then it’s hot; and I work under this burning sun and look like an escapee from a refugee camp.

Let’s not forget the fact that all work is done manually, by bare hands, without any machines or any mechanical equipment for easy and effective farming. Who can afford those? Even after this much hard work done there’s no guarantee it will yield a good and profitable product. It might happen, the crop will be less than what have been put in. It is Africa after all, the droughts and flooding occur often enough. And if it does yield a good and profitable amount of produce there is no assurance that cattle hoarders wouldn’t see the farmland as a pasture for their cattle feeding.

Let’s not talk about the bandit attacks and kidnappings that happen almost every blessed day in the area where the farms are. To work on the farm is to be in constant fear. It takes huge mental tall on a person. There’s no hope for any police protection. In fact, no one even thinks of it. Everyone knows the farmers are on their own. A resistance or an attempt to protect what is theirs will result being killed.

I told you my mind, Mom. It took me a lot of courage to explain all of it.

The excuses I came up with so I wouldn’t go to farm, the lies…

I am sorry.

I love you, Mom.