Never forget the hands that held and raised you

Fadzayi Maposah Correspondent

My mother, Mavis Maposah, of the Ncube, Soko, Mukanya tribe wears her colours proudly for me, my siblings, her grandchildren and her great grandson.

She has this invisible award that she wears and she wears it with pride and honour.

I look at her and cannot but introspect on how she has aged gracefully.

My mother has a stubborn streak.

When at one time she was told by the doctor to slow down, she said she did not know how!

Where I have written my mother`s name replace it with your mother`s name or whoever the person that played and maybe still plays the motherly role in your life.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day and not just on Mother`s Day should we celebrate these excellent women, but they should be celebrated every day.

What they have done, deposited in our lives cannot just be celebrated in 24hours.

They are all mothers yet they are different in so many ways. They have used differently the stones life has thrown at them.

While others have built walls around themselves, others have opted to build bridges and cross over to the other side.

Other mothers have taken the stones and built monuments learning from our heritage, the Great Zimbabwe Ruins and allowed their stones to tell a story of what they faced and how they overcame.

Others simply painted the stones and made them a work of art.

Whatever they used the stones for, who are we to judge? Maybe in the same situations we could have done the same or even worse. . .

I was born in February, on the 8th to be precise. Chaka, my brother who comes after me was born on the 7th of June the following year.

I was a day away from turning 16 months when my brother was born.

Now that we are all grown up, it is not so easy to tell that we are 16 months apart in terms of age.

My mother was pregnant when I was only a baby and she had to deal with a baby and a pregnancy with its demands.

So imagine a crawling baby and a pregnant mother working around the clock, while being alert to ensure the child’s safety.

One baby could be kicking while the other also wanted attention.

My mother has pictures of my siblings and I from our childhood years, but there is not much record of the baby years.

That is part of the missing jigsaw puzzle pieces.

I remember growing up surrounded by chubby babies. Because everyone used to tell me how chubby I was while growing up, I would ask my mother, MaNcube if the baby resembled me during my formative years.

My mother never told me that I was like the baby I would be asking about or not, she would usually say ‘almost’ or ‘not exactly, but you were chubby.’

I stopped asking relatives how chubby I had been when one relative said I was so chubby that a visiting small girl once asked if I had eyes!

I was just not prepared for answers that seemed to dent my self-esteem. My cousin stayed with my parents, when my brother was born.  I am sure she was there to assist my mother.

I was being fed on milk formula at some point, although my mother says she does not remember which month it was exactly.

She remembers the brand of the formula though. My father would buy tins to ensure there was no disruption in milk supply.

Whoever fed me used a small cup.

I can picture myself being fed.

I assume my mother would assist my cousin to make the formula or make it herself and while the milk cooled, she made Chaka comfortable, gave him to my cousin to hold and then proceeded to feed me. With time, I would hold the baby cup myself take quick gulps through the holes and when done, slam the cup on the floor (I have seen babies do this).

I am so certain I was seated on a reed mat for all feeding. My mother loved mats for meal times.

Back then there were no disposable diapers. My mother had two babies that needed napkins.

Add to that frequent clothes change for Fadzi walking and crawling as she felt.

How about potty training Fadzi with Chaka on her back?

How can I ever forget the hands that held and raised me? I am sure my father supported my mother in his own way, entertaining me while my mother finished getting supper ready.

Even after my other siblings were born, what I remember was that everyone would have taken a bath by the time my father came home.

We would be neat and ‘orderly’ seated on the reed mat when small and graduating to the sofa as we got older!

I suppose booking Chaka’s pregnancy was not easy, especially if one had children less than two years apart.

The clinic would take note. What about the neighbours and relatives who would have cautioned my mother about “kuyamwira”, that I could be affected by drinking breast milk from a pregnant woman?

What about those who had come with unsolicited information about child spacing?

How were her reproductive health needs attended to? What was the visit to the baby clinic like?  Celebrate your mother!

The hands may be wrinkled now but they were firm and soft when they held you.

Even if you struggle today, they will still hold you and encourage you.

Ignore the wrinkles, celebrate the love and commitment.

Our mothers went through different situations, holding and raising us. If your mother did not raise you, try to fit into her shoes, it could have been circumstantial.

Hugs!  Never forget the hands that held and raised you!

Happy Mother`s Day!