Written by: Maiyaki Abubakar Damilare

It seems an easy task until you have an encounter with a woman in labour. After several months of agonies to nurture a ‘would be’ super hero or heroine, the pains at the labour room is one that any mother would like to forget. But the fruit of the labour is always a precious memory for everyone.

The fruit is always celebrated by all and sundry. But when the egg turns a cock, all would want to benefit. However perhaps !

We should go back in memory lanes : When the going got tough and all alternatives were blocked.
When all chips were down !
But there was an echo of hope.

We should remember the shadow of the woman that provided us with a shade from the sun.
We should never forget how her scarf would suddenly turn an umbrella to protect us from the rain, a countless number of time !
Her back was our favourite bed space and her shoulder, a soft pillow.

We should remember a soul that loved us unconditionally, still loving us and would not hesitate even when the whole world castigates us.
Remember those times when people told you no, but she would always whisper to your ears, YES!

Would you forget the soul that carried you, cleaned your mess and would always do everything to make you smile ?

Looking inward to see the tears of a caring soul ; a soul that suffers during the day and labours at night just, to protect her own.
A soul that risks all to save one. This soul would cry for meals so that a naive infant could be fed through the very milk of her breasts.

Should we then forget our mothers ?
Whether dead or alive !

This is dedicated to the real mothers.

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