"I am tired of mommy always telling us what to do..clean your room, pick-up your clothes, do your homework...I can't take this any more!"  Me, Ihekweaba (4th born and ten years old), and my younger sister, Ngozi (5th born and 7 years old), vented to each other about our mother and her insistence on learning the basics of organizing one's life and living space.  Too young to properly understand that our mother Agnes was merely preparing us for life skills that will lay the foundation for a successful future, we concocted a plan to run away from home and "NEVER RETURN."   Early the next morning, my sister and I climbed out out our bedroom window in our house in Kaduna during the Harmattan season (dry season).  Not having any real plan of where to run-away-to, we decided to head to a local church about a mile from the house.  We spent the next 6 to 7 hours idling away at the church, eating sugar cane, off a neighbor's farm, and hating every second of this self-imposed exile.  Eventually, we ran out of stolen sugar cane, energy, patience and stubbornness, and decided to go back home.  Although my mom was extremely worried, angry (and other things not worth mentioning in this story), she smiled and told us to go take a shower and get ready for dinner.

I will never forget the caning/lashing she gave me and my sister right before dinner. However, the interesting point of this story is the way in which my mother delivered the lashing. It was done without anger or malice, but with love and affection.

My mother never acted out of anger or panic, even when dealing with extreme stress.  She was an organized zen master that never met a challenge she couldn't handle. She did not fear death, because she knew that she lived every day with efficiency and grace; as though it was her last. 

Thank you mommy for your sacrifices and for always being there. My appreciation is complete, and I will love and cherish your memory forever. 

Your Eternally Grateful Son,

Ihekweaba ("Baz")