27/05/2025
OUR MOTHER’S DAY WINNING STORY
ENDURING LOVE
By Audrey Naki Amanor
The bell rang, signalling the end of the school night. As we packed our belongings to head for our various homes, the English teacher reminded us again of the assignment due next week.
“I know most of you have responsibilities outside this class, but this assignment takes up 30% of your final grade. I need you all to work diligently at it, and submit it on time.”
We all mumbled tired responses as we shuffled out of the makeshift classroom at the community centre. Upon reaching home, I walked straight to my room and sat behind my desk. Taking a sheet of paper, I contemplated how to begin the letter.
“Does heaven have a mailing address?” I wondered whimsically. We were supposed to write letters to our mothers because of the upcoming Mother’s Day Celebration. How do I write a letter to my long-gone mother? Finally, I decided to settle on just the greeting since I would keep it anyway. I began,
“Dear Maame,
How’re you doing? How is heaven? I still think you left too soon. Had you been here, I’d be handing this letter to you. Since you’ve been away, we have much catching up to do. I guess everything happens for a reason. However, sometimes, I struggle to determine your reason for leaving. Mother’s Day is just around the corner. Our teacher says we should write a letter to our mother, telling her everything we love
about her and appreciating her for all the investments she made in our lives. Since you’ve not been around for so long, I thought I’d tell you about what I’ve been up to in your absence.
Maame, do you remember? You passed when I was only five. It’s already been twenty-five years. I couldn’t wait to read and write fluently– to write you lovely poems and read you stories I wrote. You always urged me gently, “Araba, learn hard for me, my sweet girl.” Then, one day, you were just gone. I had to drop out of school because nobody could sponsor my education. Father was too devastated after your demise. I know he never really recovered. Father’s sister, Aunty Bea, took me in, but she already had her plate full with her three children. I had to sell pure water to earn a living. Five years later, I asked Aunty Bea, “Could you please help me pay to learn sewing? I have been selling water all this while. Now I want to
learn a vocation.” Aunty Bea said I was still too young to learn a vocation. “Ask again in five years,” she said.
By the time I turned fifteen, I was an expert drinks hawker. I had saved up some money from what Aunty Bea used to give me. I bought my own pan and sourced my soft drinks from a wholesale shop. In two years, I was able to save enough to learn sewing. Maame, the Lord has been really good to me! I’m glad you introduced me to Jesus before you went to be with Him. He helped me survive the toughest nights and harshest days. He comforted me when I missed you the most. Aunty Bea barely had time for me outside work, but that taught me to be independent. At age seventeen, I was a certified seamstress. I worked with the woman I studied under until I opened my shop three years later. This journey, Maame, is a testament to the resilience you instilled in me.
At this point, I paused. I sat for quite some time, debating how to proceed. To think that after all this time, the matter is still too difficult to talk about, even to my dead mother. Tears blurred my vision as I attempted to continue the letter. I tried holding them back but to no avail. Two drops landed on my writing paper, and I swiftly dabbed it with my handkerchief. What started as a gentle stream turned into nerve-wracking sobs in a matter of minutes.
After what seemed like forever, I was able to pull myself together and continue the letter.
“Maame, another three years went by as my sewing business flourished. I never forgot about my drinks. I bought a display fridge and mounted it in my shop. I stocked it with water and soft drinks so my customers could purchase from me whenever they came around. After all these years, I still longed for formal education, so you can imagine my delight when I discovered that evening school was held for mature students at the community centre where I lived. I enrolled not long after my twenty-fourth birthday. Maame, these subsequent events are hard to recount but must be written.
One fateful day, as I walked home from the evening class, a man suddenly appeared before me and cornered me. He had his way with me, Maame. He took what wasn’t his to take. I tried to scream for help, but his hand was firmly clamped over my mouth. That night, something was stolen from me–something I could never get back. For months after, I couldn’t go to class. I had no one to turn to and no one to talk to.
Oh! Maame, if only you were here! Maybe I could talk to you. I knew something was off by the following month when I didn’t see my period. When I went to the hospital, they ran some tests, and I was told that I was pregnant. I couldn’t hold back the tears. I wept every day till I had no more tears. I used to question God. How could he let such a thing happen to me when I was keeping myself till marriage? What did I ever do wrong? Why me? Looking back, I thank God I never stopped going to church because it was during one church service that I decided to keep the baby. The Pastor read from Romans 8:27–28 in The Passion Translation: [27] God, the searcher of the heart, knows our longings fully, yet he also understands the desires of the
Spirit, because the Holy Spirit passionately pleads before God for us, his holy ones, in perfect harmony with God’s plan and our destiny. [28] So we are convinced that every detail of our lives is continually woven together for good, for we are his lovers who have been called to fulfil his designed purpose.
When I saw the scripture, I was encouraged and decided to protect my baby no matter the cost!
It’s been five years since that incident. Maame, I named my daughter after you– Ewuraba Oforiwaa. She was also born on a Thursday, like you. Ewuraba has been such a blessing to me and a pillar of strength even at her young age. I don’t know what I would have done without her. I’m motivated to work harder and learn even harder because of her. I ensure I’m always there for her so she can confide in me about anything. Oh, how she resembles you! She makes me miss you more each day!
Maame, Happy Mother’s Day! Thank you for being an example to me for the five short years I had with you. Because of you, I am who I am today, and I pray that I continue to make you proud! Till we meet again, Maame, keep resting.
Your beloved daughter,
Araba.”
I read through it once and gently tucked it into my clear bag. I felt light-hearted after writing the letter.
Who knew all I needed was to talk to my mother? I quietly went to my daughter’s room across from mine and peeked through. When I was sure she was asleep, I walked to her bedside, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “I love you, sweetheart.”
She sleepily responded, “I love you too, mummy.”
My heart was bursting at the seams with joy! A thought crossed my mind that even surprised me, “Why not me?”
I knew then that the wounds were healing.
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