What can a mother do for her children? What can a mother do for those she loves? I kid you not, I think mothers are the most selfless being there is.
“Awww, that is a beautiful doll you got there! What is her name?”
“She is not a doll; she is my baby girl and her name is Dorothy”
“Oooh I see; well, you are taking good care of Dorothy, her hair is well brushed, and her little dress is so cute. You are a good little mommy”
These conversations from my childhood still resonate in me as if they happened yesterday.
Most of us have been groomed into being mothers since we were very young, and even though some little girls preferred playing ball with the boys outside, they will still be pulled into so many expectations steered by our society’s gender expectations.
Women are taught to take care of others, tutored to be the home keeper and the one who makes sure that everyone else is doing alright, that everyone else has been tucked in for bed, that everyone else has enough on their dinner plate.
I have witnessed women giving up dreams, sacrificing who they thought they were supposed to be for the wellbeing of their families. For Dorothy’s sake, mothers have for centuries paused themselves to show up for others. I have seen mothers make some hard choices. I have seen mothers make some heart choices.
As a mother today, I make sure that I am giving the best to my children, that I am positioning them for success by cultivating their character with love, tolerance, discipline, and most of all, my presence.
With years, I have understood and seen that our presence is as crucial, if not more, as our words.
I cannot imagine being separated from my children, I cannot phantom the pain of being away, the pain of missing some of their milestones. But again, I have seen mothers make some hard choices. I have seen mothers make some heart choices.
Mine did.
My childhood was filled with laughter, sweets, back-truck riding, and some good old-fashioned spanking (lol boy, I drove my mom nuts)
Growing up in the city of Kinshasa in the eighties was pretty memorable. Kinshasa is the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo, then called Zaïre. My family and I were fortunate enough to have means that allowed us to enjoy what our beautiful city could offer.
From the warmth of the morning breeze to the star-filled dark night skies;
From the kayak excursions to the fresh pineapple juices or the amazing sweet papayas, I enjoyed every bit of it.
My house was never empty, we always had either visitors or extended family members staying over. I grew up in a home with uncles, aunties, cousins, and step-siblings.
I was born during the equatorial spring of the 15th of April 1981 and my mom was only 20.
She was going to school to be a nurse but that dream yielded to my father’s charm and great ambition. She decided to be a stay at home mom and take care of her 4 girls. I remember looking at my mom and admiring her natural beauty, especially when she would wear what we call in my native language “Libaya” which is a custom-made outfit sewed with some African print fabric, almost wrapped like the famous Indian Sari. My Mom was such a gorgeous young woman, her inside and out splendor has remained evident until today.
She was shy and welcoming, gentle and strict, gracious, and such a wonderful soul. Though most women in my country then, and still now, had the luxury of having nannies and maids, I remember my mom always being present: whether she will be seating outside in our front yard talking to her siblings or friends, who would often come to visit, or she will be so elegantly smoking her Philip Morris while watching her French movies. She loved Ornella Muti, Romy Schneider, and Alain Delon, who did not? I still remember Sissi, the empress’ smile in Romy Schneider’s epic performance.
I remember mom telling me that I almost got called “Astride” but that my father finally gave in to her request to name me “Naïké” after the Italian actress Ornella Muti’s daughter.
In the early nineties, things started to go sideways in our country and though I am no expert in our country’s political history, I am pretty sure it probably started way before that.
Massive looting started happening around the city and people who were well-off or had some type of political affiliation with the government in power then were targets. I remember many times, we had to hide at my uncle’s house as he lived in a different neighborhood, in fear of our house being plundered or worst, us getting hurt.
It coincided that I was in my last year of elementary school, and my father had often talked about the possibility of me pursuing my education in Belgium. In that summer of 1992, that talk became concrete and my dad announced that I was being sent to Brussels to start Highschool.
I remember mom being quiet as dad was expressing how exciting life will be for me in Brussels and how I will have a better opportunity in life by pursuing my education there and he mentioned his own experience while pursuing his bachelor’s there in Leuven.
As a mother myself, I can only imagine how terrifying my mom must have been. Though this story is not unique to the world as there has been and will continue to be countless mothers throughout history who would make hard choices for the well-being of their children or loved ones. However, this is my story, mine to tell.
Sacrificing the assurance of having your children by your side, for a better chance in life, I think is one of the most selfless acts a mother can make; especially with your firstborn because it surely means that this is the first time you are doing such a thing.
Will she be ok? Will she be well treated? Will she have everything she needs? Those are the few questions that I am pretty sure were haunting her.
I remember spending all my milestones without her. Often, you do not know what you are missing until someone points it out. It is when I would hear my friends complain about their mothers being in their business, choosing their clothes or again, warning them about the boys they liked; that I would realize that something was missing for me. Someone was missing.
I cannot even imagine what it would mean for me to miss every one of my daughter’s milestones: not being there when she first start Highschool, when she first fall in love, when she first realized she had become a woman, not being able to dream with her about what her life can be or again, being there to wipe the tears caused by a first heartbreak or a friend’s betrayal.
What hard choice mothers have had to make for their children. I have read about mothers who, in patriarchal cultures, have had to let their teenage girls get married to fulfill a custom or the need of the family; others stayed in abusive relationships because they were not sure what their children would become if they left. I have seen widows deciding not to remarry to take care of their children. What is it that a mother wouldn’t do to protect her children? I will say nothing really.
When I was about 20, I decided to have a conversation with my dear mother about certain of her life choices and among them was the decision to let me go. I still remember exactly where I was while popping those questions to her, I was sitting in my bedroom in the house that me and 2 of my sisters owned and I couldn’t stop thinking about how my life would have been if she had to hold on to me. I must admit that I never understood her choices, at least from my vantage point, they never made sense.
I still remember the silent couple seconds that followed when I finally asked her why she sent me away? How could she let me live far from her? Especially that young. I left in 1992. Do the math. I asked her how could it be so easy for her to let me go? As difficult and uncomfortable those questions were, I felt then that they were indispensable.
I still remember the scene of my departure, the last time I saw my sisters, my house, my country. My dad somehow convinced my mom to stay home while He took me alone to the airport. I do recall being so excited to travel that I said bye in such a nonchalant way; I guess I was so certain that I would come back during the holidays so what is the point of big and tight hugs, little that I knew that I would not see “home” again for almost 30 years.
My dad walked me to the feet of the plane and physically handed me over to the flight attendant, like a father giving away her daughter in marriage, sending her off to meet her destiny, her purpose, alone facing the unknown.
Mom paused and she quietly responded that it was the hardest thing she had ever done. Many times, she asked my dad to send me back because she couldn’t bear me being away, but dad kept on encouraging her to stand strong because this was for me, to give me the chance of a better life.
She continued by explaining that she had to constantly fight her nature and put what was best for me ahead of her pain, and one of the best ways to cope with it, was to hope for the best and continue to take care of my other siblings who remained with her.
When my youngest sister was born, mom called me and asked what I would like my sister’s name to be…I felt so close to them again just for having the opportunity to name my sister.
Now, a mother myself, my admiration for her strength and noble choice has surpassed any judgment or uncertainties that previously came with her decision. Yes, being away so early, so young, so innocent was very hard and it shaped me for the rest of my life but that is a story for another day.
Many are the mothers who had to overcome their fears, insecurities, and discomfort to allow their children to thrive. Many are the mothers, though talented, smart with a promising future, decided to pause their dreams to allow us to dream, many are the mothers who made some hard choices, many are the mothers who made some heart choices.
Is it fair? Absolutely not! But again, heroes are carved in the depth of unfairness.
Naïké…
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