Exploring the mystery of motherhood–now a mother myself
There is something sacred about an African mother. As a child, I only saw strength. I did not see the cost of it. I remember my mother waking before dawn, tying her wrapper in the darkness while the rest of the house slept peacefully, while morning had already begun for her. Before the first cockcrow, […] The post Exploring the mystery of motherhood–now a mother myself first appeared on The African Magazine.
Black News 
There is something sacred about an African mother.
As a child, I only saw strength.
I did not see the cost of it.
I remember my mother waking before dawn, tying her wrapper in the darkness while the rest of the house slept peacefully, while morning had already begun for her.
Before the first cockcrow, water was boiling, stew was simmering, uniforms were being ironed with tired hands that never seemed to rest.
Back then, I thought motherhood was ordinary.
Now that I am a mother too, I know better.
I know that strength has a sound.
It is the sound of firewood cracking at sunrise.
Of buckets dragged across cement floors.
Of whispered prayers rising from kitchens heavy with heat and sacrifice.
African mothers do not mother from abundance.
They mother from faith.
From pots that somehow never run dry.
From market money stretched like elastic.
From bodies that are tired but still rise when a child calls, “Mama.”
And somehow, they make it look easy.
I remember watching my mother eat last.
Not because she was full, but because she wanted to be sure we were.
I remember her laughter during difficult seasons, the kind that covered pain so her children could sleep without fear.
We rarely noticed her sacrifices because she carried them quietly.
They bury their dreams gently inside responsibility.
They become roof, shield, nurse, teacher, prayer warrior and provider all at once.
And they do it without applause.
Now, older, I look at my mother differently.
I see the young woman she once was before life handed her so many people to carry.
I see the exhaustion she hid behind discipline.
I see love in every warning she gave, every sacrifice she never mentioned, every prayer whispered over our heads while we slept.
And perhaps that is the mystery of motherhood:
we spend our childhood being loved by a woman we do not fully understand until life finally makes women of us, too.
Today, I honor African mothers.
The women who turned scarcity into dignity.
Who carried entire families on hopeful shoulders.
Who stood in doorways at sunset calling children home with voices that sounded like safety itself.
___________
Dr. Amara C. Ezediniru is a workforce optimization strategist, educator, and thought leader whose work sits at the intersection of people, purpose, and performance. Her writing is shaped by a deep curiosity about how systems influence behavior and outcomes, particularly within African contexts. She is committed to advancing conversations that move organizations and societies from intention to meaningful results.
The post Exploring the mystery of motherhood–now a mother myself first appeared on The African Magazine.
