By Donu Kogbara
MY friend, Daniel Iworiso-Markson, is the Chief Press Secretary to Seriake Dickson, the Bayelsa State Governor. Daniel’s mother recently passed away and will be buried this weekend; and I want to share the moving tribute he sent me.

 It takes a special mother to deserve the accolade of matriarch. A matriarch has nurturing instincts, wisdom, and the patience to be mother to all, embracing more than just her immediate offspring.

Mrs. Salome Oginasisi Iworiso-Markson

My sweet, adorable, irreplaceable mother, Sisi – as she was fondly called  – was a force of nature. And we who had the privilege of being close to her and being moulded by her principles will never cease to miss her laughter and cheerfulness.

She could be so charming and kind. I can still hear her voice as she called me “Nyen Nyen”, a pet name she coined from my native name, Azibanyenami.

But there were times when she became a stern matriarch and had no qualms about cracking the whip. Sometimes, we felt that she went overboard. But, looking back, we completely understand why she never spared the rod.

Understanding the logic

Someday, when my children are old enough to understand the logic that motivates a good parent, I will tell them what the indefatigable “Sisi” told me:

 “I loved you enough to ask where you were going, with whom and what time you would be back home…I loved you enough to let you assume responsibility for your actions, even when the penalties were so harsh that they broke my heart. But most of all, I loved you enough to say “no”, when I knew you would hate me for it. Those were the most difficult battles of all and I’m glad I won them because, in the end, you’ve won too.”

She always insisted on us telling the truth, the whole truth – with nothing held back – and nothing but the truth. By the time we were teenagers, she could literally read our minds and seemed to have eyes at the back of her head. Such were her powers of perception. Sisi was that much of a disciplinarian and life to us then seemed tough!

 We missed out on lots of activities other kids experienced; and for the fear of Sisi, none of us would be caught up in any issues that could bring disgrace to the family name.

We were lucky to have Sisi as our mother. She consciously defined our path to a sane life, even amidst the chaos of the city where we grew up.  When we finally grew up and left her, we had developed into educated, honest adults with an understanding of why she expressed her love the way she did.

 Sisi was a petite woman, but hers was a giant legacy; and such was the enduring impact she had on others that today, I am full of gratitude.  Sisi, I am rarely one to easily express emotions, but I feel so deeply about memories I shared with you that words are not enough to express them.

You were a mother who laboured to see your children excel. You were a other whose greatest fear was to see your children fail. And I’m glad you lived to see the results of your labour and know that you are proud of us all.

Mrs Salome Oginasisi Iworiso-Markson, epitomized the best of womanhood; and her cherished virtues and values will live on forever through her children.  Though she herself was not highly educated, she possessed a forensic intelligence, made sacrifices to ensure that we were properly educated, encouraged me to study hard and made me realise that education was a ticket to a productive life.

 I remember the first time she heard my voice on radio when I was a news anchor at Radio Nigeria in Lagos. She was so excited that she raucously called on our neighbours to tune in to the station. And while she admired my zest for writing she often wondered whether I could not write without littering the house with papers.

 My mother often told us in pidgin language that “hard work no dey kill”. Growing up in Ajegunle, my brother and I hawked bread on the streets to augment the family income…while my mother ran a roadside canteen and would wake up at 4am to prepare meals for the construction and council workers who eagerly queued up every morning to buy food from her because she was such a good cook.

Mama and my dad shared opposite traits: She was temperamental and he was quiet; and I loved both of them almost equally (next month, it will be 18 years since dad passed away but mama).

 My mother also taught me integrity, respect for humanity and how to pray. We never missed church service. We worshipped at the Apostolic Church at Boundary in Ajegunle. She believed in the faithfulness of the Almighty, who is able to make all things beautiful even in the toughest of times. We the children are consoled and inspired by her faith in God; and we are committed to following in her footsteps.

This tribute will be incomplete if I don’t mention the first time we visited our village in the 1970s. We had been born in Lagos, but our parents wanted to familiarise us with our roots in the area that is now known as Bayelsa.

We first drove to Port Harcourt on long and winding roads in my father’s brand new Passat car, then spent a couple of days at a relation’s house.

 When it was time to proceed to the village, I noticed that my father left the car behind and got us into a bus heading to Yenagoa. Only when we arrived at Yenagoa waterside and got on a big wooden boat that was almost the size of a house did I realize why dad left the car in Port Harcourt. My village in Opume could not be accessed by road back then. And when we arrived, there was no electricity.

 I remember complaining bitterly about the fact that I couldn’t watch my favourite TV shows because of the lack of electricity. And I remember my mother accusing me of behaving like a spoiled child, then distracting me by teaching me to swim.

The situation has now changed. My village is now accessible by road and is just 20 minutes drive from Yenagoa (in the old days, the boat journey took a whole day). I am also glad to announce that Opume – like most Bayelsa  communities – is now a proud  beneficiary of Governor Dickson’s “Operation Light up Bayelsa Project”.

God looked around his garden, and found an empty space. He looked down upon this earth, and saw your tired face. He put his arms around you, and lifted you to rest.

 Adieu.