The Audacity of a Sweet Mum: A Tribute to Maama JP at 80

They somehow believe they can take an ordinary child and convince him that he is destined for greatness. They look at a stubborn, noisy little boy and see a leader. They look at a dreamer and see a builder. They look at a child with endless questions and decide to feed those questions instead of silencing them.

That was my mother. That is Maama JP. The pain of motherhood is one thing. The audacity to believe your child can become more than his environment is another. My mother carried both with grace.

Long before motivational speakers became fashionable, she was already speaking life into me. One of the first poems she ever gave me read:
“No time is there to sleep at night,
For those who hope to reach the height…
No time for those who hope for fame,
To sleep and forget their aim”

I may not remember every line today, but I remember what she did with it.
She framed it. Yes, she actually framed the poem and pasted it on the wall of our house, as if to say, “Young man, every day you wake up, this is your assignment.”

Imagine trying to be lazy when your own mother has turned your living room into a motivational conference. Looking back, I realise that the poem was not decoration. It was destiny hanging on the wall.

My mother was my first leadership coach before I even knew what leadership meant. She was also my first literature teacher. While other children were chasing football all day, I did play football, though; my mother was introducing me to books that stretched my mind. The first autobiography she handed to me was “Zambia Must Be Free” by Kenneth Kaunda. That book did something to me. It taught me resilience. It taught me that freedom is never handed over cheaply. It taught me to hate injustice, question oppression, and never be afraid to speak the truth. I travelled through Zambia before I ever travelled outside Nigeria. I saw courage through words.
I learnt that history belongs to those willing to fight for a better future.

Then there were her stories.
Ah… the stories!
My mother would tell us how she represented her school in performances based on the works of William Shakespeare, and the story of Julius Caesar was frequent in my ears. She spoke about literature as though the characters were members of our extended family. She would also tell us about her grandmother’s role during the colonial struggles and the famous women’s protests led by Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti. Those weren’t powerful stories. Those were leadership seminars. Those stories planted something inside me.

So when you see me speak with passion…
When you see me challenge injustice…
When you see me stand my ground…
When you hear me tell stories…
When you see the humour…
When you witness the “no-nonsense” attitude…
Please don’t blame me.
Respectfully, report to Maama JP.
She started it.

As a child, I was reading Oliver Twist, Animal Farm, Shakespeare, poems and biographies. With that kind of intellectual diet, what exactly did you expect?

Average? Impossible. Failure? Never. Greatness was already under construction.

Beyond books, she built my capacity. She taught me discipline before I understood success. She taught me consistency before I understood achievement. She built creativity into me. She nurtured my imagination.

She sharpened my voice. Most importantly, she built my spirit. She taught me to pray before I learnt to perform. She introduced me to God before she introduced me to the world. She taught me that success without God is empty. The man I have become is not an accident. He is the product of a praying mother. A reading mother. A disciplined mother. A courageous mother. A humorous mother, but disciplined. A deeply loving mother.

Now that she is 80, I find myself becoming emotional at unexpected moments. Sometimes I remember that one day she will say goodbye to this world, and my heart trembles. Not because she has not lived well. She has.

Not because she has not fulfilled purpose. She has. But because no matter how old we become, we never truly outgrow needing our mother. Yet even in that thought, I find comfort. She has prepared me. She has built a warrior. She has built a leader. She has built a fighter. She has built a man of prayer.

She has built a man who loves God deeply. She has built a man who knows that words can change lives because hers changed mine.

Thank you, Maama JP. Thank you for every sacrifice I never saw. For every prayer I never heard. For every correction I once resisted but now appreciate.

For every book. For every story. For every lesson. For every laugh. For believing in me long before the world did.

Happy 80th Birthday to the sweetest, strongest and most audacious mother I know. May God continue to strengthen you. May your days be filled with peace, joy and laughter. May your legacy continue through generations.

And as for me…

I will love you for as long as God allows me to have you here, and when He eventually calls you home, I will keep honouring you by living the life you so intentionally built.

Happy Birthday, Maama JP.

I love you beyond words.