In a rigidly patriarchal society the position of the first born daughter is held in high esteem. She becomes a mother way too early and learns everything there is to know about running a home before puberty. She goes from being a tourist in her mother’s kitchen to being the tour guide. Adanne knows where the mortar is, what mortar should be used  and definitely knows how much ede thickens the soup. When you see an Adanne, you will know. She may come in Adaora, Adanna, Adaoma, Adaobi but her wise eyes never fail; it always tells her story. The story of a first born daughter.

She is stern yet loving just like our mothers, she’s adorned with her father’s love and entrusted with her mother’s worries. Her face wide with smile and her heart heavy with love. There is no better music to her ears than the belly laughs of her siblings after a bowl of Ofe Oha.

“Is there more Ada” Gozie, the youngest would ask and she would bribe him with a piece of stock fish so his protruding belly wouldn’t burst.

Adanne doesn’t only belong to the kitchen she is also her mother’s right hand man, her mother’s companion, her mother’s advisor. She is an Adanne. While other Children grow up as children, Ada grows up as her mother’s best friend forming an intangible bond with her mother one that she passes on to her own Adanne.

Ada is our capeless hero, carrying the weight of the family on her back. She is our assistant parent; parenting when our parents are unable to. Her maternal instincts arrive like a placenta forever connecting us to her. She lifts us when we fall and feeds us when we are hungry; she ruffles our head and gives us forehead kisses. Where there is a first born daughter there is a second mother. Watch her dance to the ogene till her feet gives way, listen to her lullabies till you fall asleep and when you weep know that she will wipe your tears.

Ada n’eri ukwu anu. Daalu