I had a godmother, she was elegant to look at, her skin was fair and pure, her fingers long and tapering; Maami called her Aunty, I simply called her mummy. Mummy stood out in the little community we lived, she was an American returnee and knew more than every other mummies (that could be my perception though), somehow she loved me and I became her handbag every weekend and holidays. I’d pack a bag on Friday and join her in her home after school to return home after church service on Sunday.
Mummy taught me many things; “Bimbola, chew your food with your mouth closed”, it was initially hard, a 5 year old wants to talk and chew and chew loudly, Mummy would not have that and we sat together to eat most times, she made sure I adapted her many table manners. I would watch her teach her biological child girl who was a teen then how to properly wear a bra and an underskirt, how to powder her face properly, how to sit like a girl…how to pray…how to relate with the guys…Mummy was my living ‘how to..book’ ; she had the knowledge about how to do everything.
She bought me my ‘first’ of many things, my first jumpsuits, my first jeans, my first chemise and brought me to Lagos for the first time. But Mummy would not stay around here to see her small lil girl become a teen; she had her own battle, a raging one with cancer, she’s had a mastectomy once, she wore a pad to fill up one of the breasts, Maami said she’s had cancer of the womb before then, I remember visiting her in LUTH on her sick bed, she smiled at me and held my hands. She asked me about my school; the one she recommended for me. I liked the place and told her so.
I was 10 or 11 when she gave in to cancer eventually. I was in the hostel in the school she recommended, then I had a weird dream that gave me an hint my godmother was gone. Maami had to come tell me that “your big mummy is really sick”…I knew it wasn’t completely true, my big mummy was gone. Her daughter came to see me in school and told me to expect big changes when school term was over. No one would tell me my oyinbo mummy was gone.
But she would, she would come into my dreams and we would talk and laugh about our ways. We would continue our lovey-dovey mommy-child thing. Sometimes, her husband would be there with us in the dreams, and I was contented to have her again, though only in dreams.
I lightly told my mom during one of the holidays that Big Mummy was in my dreams, she panicked. “It’s not good to see the dead in the dreams”, “why?” I asked, “because they are dead, and only the dead should talk to the dead”. Well, it changed nothing but created a bit of resistant that followed me into the dream place, I became resistant in my dreams to go out with her and I wasn’t engaging freely like I would. After a while, Maami asked “I hope you don’t eat in your dreams with her”…so the next time she cooked moin-moin in my dreams, I didn’t eat, she was sad and devastated, “how could I cook for you and not eat, would I harm you?” she asked, but I wouldn’t eat because Maami said not to.
I kept seeing her in my dreams until she came and said to come with her. We got to a riverside and said I should watch her cross but not with her, “oh mummy, we go everywhere together’, “not this time darling, just me, you have to go back after I cross”. So my beautiful Big Mummy crossed, waved at me for the last time and left me an instruction to go back home. That was it, since then, almost 20 years now, she’s gone from my dreams.
Was all of these my imaginations? No! And they aren’t hallucinations either. Are spirits real? I don’t know. I know Big Mummy was in my dreams till the time she chose to say her goodbyes and I tell you, I don’t need any spiritual cleansing or deliverance.
Kunle Afolayan said of how he sees his dad in his dreams and they talk about many things; that brought me memories of Big Mummy and I. This is my conclusion, life isn’t white and black and there are many things on this side of the divide we may never understand until we drop our mortal bodies. So I’m here, living it out, one day at a time and not bothering myself of mysteries no one has a definite answer to.
Rest in Peace, Big Mummy Caroline Togun, I’m sure you know your baby girl is now all grown up.