...Nostalgia or just a Momma's boy?!

I don't know if I told anyone this before, but I last saw my mother on a warm humid night in 2001. She had hugged me and cried and told me to be careful. I kissed her and held her tighter than I ever did before. When I finally let go, I smiled uneasily and told her I loved her and turned towards the Airport ticket checking tunnel. It was at Douala International Airport, Cameroon. June 24th.

As I went through the final check point, I could hear her sobbing away. I felt weak and wanted to run back to her and tell her how much more I loved her. How much I will miss her. But I had to make this flight. It was the last one leaving Douala that week. Had no choice but to board and off to the Seattle, WA I went.

I talk to my mother at least twice a week and most times, it is like we were sitting at a table together and reveling in the sweet munificience of Yaounde's warm and humid weather. The nostalgia I feel usually is more than I can handle. Some nights I barely sleep just wondering what she may be doing at the time, since because of the 6-7(depending on Daylight Savings) hour difference it would be day in Yaounde, where she teaches Secondary school kids some French.

Most people talk about the things their moms do and no matter how heroic they may sound, my mother is my rock and foundation. Oh and she cooks better than your mom and can beat her too!

I have been told that early on a Sunday morning in September, about two score and three years ago, my mother was 15, lying in a hospital bed at Hopitale De La Caisse, sweating profusely and screaming at the top of her voice, while listening to instructions from some Morrocan lady in a white overall to push me out. And after about four hours, emerged my large head, immediately followed by a skinny body covered in what many English adjectives fall short to aptly depict. 11lbs 19inches were my measurements. Little Fatso!

Amidst this, my mom had to return to school to finish up her education. It wasn't until I was in High School and after four more trips to the hospital delivery ward that my mom was finally able to go to the University, where she earned advanced degrees in the Queen's and Molliere's languages and then shipped off to Advanced Teacher training School.

My mom had been bethrothed to my dad at a very tender age-true African traditional style. When she had me, I doubt she knew how to enjoy the process of making babies yet. Nonetheless, my mom stood tall at a very young age and took care of us like no other.

A month after my 16th bday, and 4 days after my mom's 31st bday, my dad died. Her world was shattered to pieces and I knew my world had come to a screechingly abhorrent halt. I grew even closer to my mom. We were all heartbroken and I knew I had to take over the batton and be the family man, just like my dad had done or at least my mom told me to. Not long after that, my mom lost her own dad and her elder brother, leaving her alone to fend for not only her own children, but for her siblings.

Life had dealt her a rough hand, she had attempted to bluff but the flop didn't bring good news either. She was already all in and was hoping that the turn or river would fix her up a little. NO! it didn't! She has since then been struggling with all of us and me coming over to the US was great relief. Like in most African homes, having a child abroad means that at least, some of your problems were readily taken care of. Through my mom's endless fight, my sister earned a visa to go study in London, one of the two or maybe three good things that had happened to her in half a decade.

I write this story for a reason. Although I cannot get into details of what exactly my mom has gone through, I thought this was a pretty good implication of the tribulations she underwent when she lost her husband, the only man she had grown to love and count on. I respect my mother and above all trust her with every ounce of my existence.

For what she has been through for my siblings and myself and for lots more. Call me a momma's boy but my world revolves around my mother. LOVE MOMMY and LOVE HER LOTS!