Up to the moment I was writing this piece, I was trying in all my strength to remember how my mother’s milk tasted like. Don’t you? I wonder how those fluids could have given so much life. Again I tried to recollect the formation of her smile as I sucked life from her. Was I gentle in the doing or otherwise? What were her reactions? How often did I poop within an hour that she had to leave her food to clean me up? These questions could be answered only if I would be stupid enough to ask her. Lol.
If you ask me, not that fathers aren’t involved in this life processions too, they only inject it and leave it for the likes who gave them life to carry their injections like theirs did for them and how they were inside the likes. So tell me, who’s the second Creator, the benevolence of life who in pains inflicted by a ballooned, once flat, tummy birthed her offsprings. And the offsprings still draw the source of life from her.
If one could and should worship a goddess, it should be our mothers, these beautiful creatures. Even those who were in the dilemma of keeping or uprooting the seed before germinating and finally took the painful part and breath taking side should also be saluted. They should still be addressed as the goddess of creation. It takes life to form life. It takes their love bask in pain to bolster us. She needs not an earthen pot dripping off palm oil neither yards of red attires knitted with cowries before she can accept your worships. All that she wants is your love, your success, your bringing home a good wife – another goddess – , a responsible man, a notable name, and the fruits of her labour while she’s in existence.