THE SENATORS MOTHER. But Anthonys lapses was my Pain. So up goes I the Windy way to the Mountains Top. In search of old Otifa the Citys Sage, And in his Presence I cried, Greetings to you Voice-of-my-ancestors! To your Tent Ive come, Gifts in my Hands, Yearnings in my heart. For the Hardship and Deprivations of Nature on me, could I not have been here. Nor my Abandonment by him that Ive Loved. Yes, for without Good Cause and a Good bye was Wife and Son Littered. Adventurous Oliver! Just for the Love of the Seas, the Skirts and the Bottles. Fun over Family was your Choice Oliver, not mine. All these Great Otifa Bleeds not my Heart that much. But the Future which awaits my dear Little Anthony does. For, to myself and to my Maker have I vowed, That this very son, this Child of my Abandonment, Must I Labour to give Love and Learning. Would I diminish that he can Appear. Would I be Strong that he can Lean. Would I Sacrifice all that he can Become. But how can a New Entrant to this Great City locate St. Theresa without the Guidance of him that knows? How can I make a Name out for my Little Boy in the Cities when I dont Know how? The Desire and Courage to this I have, But by Education, my Opportunity was but a Quarter. So the Wrong way to this I fear, Oh Otifa, The wasted Efforts and Repercussions, my Sorrow Tomorrow. But he was not Saddened by my Presence. His Peace of Mind never was Disturbed. With Smiles on the Face and some Pity on me Old Otifa spoke this words. From me to you and a Gift for him is this and only this. The first is a Goal, the second a Plan and Discipline just the third. Hold a Goal, have a Plan, stick to a Regime of Discipline. With Songs on my Lips and a Grateful Heart Nora was bound for Home. On these I Slept. On these I Worked. On these to Heavens Prayed. Great Tools to Work, Otifas Words. Great kid to Teach, a Willing Son, my Joy knew no Bounds. As Nights to Days and Year other Years the Supportive Stage was an Era. And now for me is a Son Refined, the Pride of every Mother. And now for me is a Man whose Hands are Skilled, the Joy of every Nation. And now for us is a Man whose Eyes are trained, Whose Tongue but Wisdom speaks. G.C Nwankwoala
Posted on: Mon, 10 Nov 2014 08:44:24 +0000
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