November 4, 1983. It all began with the early morning sun slowly gracing the sky with its dark golden rays. The picturesque scene was set against the backdrop of towering baobab and shea trees in our humble village. My mother, heavy with pregnancy but brimming with strength, was determined to fetch water from the borehole. She knew that if she didn’t get there early, the queue would be long, and she was already feeling the first pangs of pain. With a gourd atop her head, she briskly made her way to the borehole. Along the path, she joined her friends and fellow villagers, each hurrying for their own reasons, discussing the challenges of tilling the November farm soil. It was a difficult task, but my mother, a teacher, had a different focus that day. Amid the chatter, my mother’s keen eye didn’t miss a moment. She cautioned one woman about her daughter’s grooming, showing her commitment to the well-being of our community’s children. And then, she spotted a young man, unsteady on his feet, attempting to evade her approach. With her eagle eyes and unwavering spirit, she confronted him. “Hey Awudu,” she called out, “don’t run away. You haven’t paid your children’s fees, but you can buy alcohol, eh?” My journey would be one of resilience, determination, strong family bonds, and a passion for breaking barriers, mirroring the story of my biblical namesake. “ 5 The Birthday Journal
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