Stories of My Mother- Saint Benedette…

Left behind?! Oh no!

My Mum had kept to her word and actually drove off to Church without us. Lol.

Mum & my brother Ifeanyi at Church

I can’t count the number of times this happened but as we got older, she stopped allowing us delay her and would drive off on Sunday mornings if we weren’t ready, leaving us to find our way to Church.

We grew up seeing our mother participate actively in Church.

Cleaning the Church was something the women did and it was allocated according to groups, my Mum rarely missed hers, except she was maybe under the weather.

She was an active part of the dance group and also sang in the choir for a long while before she finally stopped. She led in different capacities and mentored several younger Christian women.

She solemnly observed all the “no work” days and would make sure that we don’t cook with meat on the days the Church forbade eating of meat, telling us “Uka mabii anu taa”.

Like most Catholic Mothers, she ensured we were up to date on our sacraments and that we regularly attended the block rosary crusades. We never quite got around to attending the early morning masses but that was something she tried not to miss.

The Catholic Church was a big deal to her, she loved the ceremonial way the Mass was performed and actively contributed to Church administration as a lay member and they formed part of her community. After Mass, she would take time to greet her friends, exchanging short stories with some while smiling and waving at others, “ka anyi na nu”, she would say again and again, a kind of parting greeting indicating that she was heading home.

She couldn’t understand why we would leave the Catholic Church for “Uka warehouse” and “Uka Okpulu decking” (an unpopular way of referring to the Pentecostal Churches back in the 90s, when they didn’t have fancy Cathedrals or Church Venues like the Orthodox Churches).

She would lead us in praying the Rosary, something she did religiously, and also in reciting the prayers relevant for the time period. She had some songs that she would sing during such prayers;

Chukwu oma ka I bu,

Ife oma ka e ji malu gi.

Chukwu oma ka I bu,

Ife oma ka e ji malu gi, Chukwu o!

And we would sing after her, extolling the goodness of God and declaring that he was known for good things. Another one was like a chant;

Omelu ife nyilu mmadu omume,

Omelu ife nyilu mmadu omume…

Declaring that God did that which was impossible for man to do. I think it’s a song from the adoration ground in our village Uke, run by the popular Holy Ghost Priest; Ebube Muo Nso.

I remember it was during one of such prayer sessions that she found out I wasn’t a Catholic anymore. Her brilliant mind put two and two together when I didn’t say the “Hail Mary” after her or the other Catholic prayers.

I had just come back from University the previous day and she called for prayers that morning. She simply asked me after the prayers if I still attended the Catholic Church and I said “no”, not knowing what to expect. She was really disappointed as I had been a very devout Catholic and she blamed my elder sisters who had left before me.

I remember when she joined the Faith Alive prayer group, a group of women intercessors at the Basilica of the Most Holy Trinity. It was something she was excited about and we would often chorus their greetings; Faith Alive, I’m alive in the Lord! They referred to her as Sis. Bene.

My Mum is a huge reason my siblings and I are committed to the body of Christ, her unwavering devotion, which mirrored that of her father, was an outstanding example we just had to follow.

I remember coming back home on a Sunday morning and seeing her seated in her nightie, I immediately figured something was wrong because she always went to Church. When I asked her how come she didn’t go that morning, she waved aside my question, smiling and saying she would attend evening Mass. I would find out some moments later that her Mum, my grandma had gone to be with the Lord in the early hours of that Sunday morning.

It was a beauty to behold how the Church honored her after she passed. Her burial was beautiful with the array of Priests that celebrated the burial mass. Her beloved nephew, also a Revered Father, was one of them. We all talked about how happy she would have been and I could imagine her smiling and looking on proudly.

Cross section of Catholic Priests at my Mum’s burial

In Ever Loving Memory of my Mother,
Lady Benedette Ugwunwa Ezeanya
April 4,1959 – June 29,2019

The Storytela

My Mum- Nwa James Enechukwu

I write this with a smile.

A smile that must mirror that of my Mum when she talked about her Dad.

Now the smile gets even broader.

You see, I didn’t get to meet my GrandFather, Chief James Enechukwu, but I heard so much about him and ofcourse saw his pictures and if I must say, he was quite handsome and my Mum has some resemblance to him.

My GrandFather must have been a good man, not because he’s my GrandPa, no, not at all but like my Mum would say; 40 years and more after his death, his name was still opening doors for them.

We grew up hearing my Mum and her sisters refer to themselves as “Umu James Enechukwu”, they were proud to be his children, this is not withstanding the fact that he passed on quite early; when my Mum was about 12 years old.

Chief James Enechukwu was not only a devout Christian and a wealthy businessman, he also had the renowned position of being the Treasurer of St. Dominic’s Catholic Church in my hometown; Uke, Idemili North Local Government Area, Anambra State.

I remember one day, in a conversation with my husband in our sitting room, my Mum would talk about how good their Dad was to their Mum, his godly attitude and she would add with this proud look on her face; i makwa na Papa m bu treasurer? Did you know my Father was the Church treasurer?

Being a treasurer these days would mainly be a book keeping role as monies are expected to be deposited in the bank but this was not so in the 60’s. This meant that my GrandDad had access to Church funds and must have kept such a good account of it that he earned quite a reputation.

Moreso, he was a key player in the construction of the Church building in my hometown. About 50 years after his passing, as the Church dedicated it’s renovated building, Pa James Enechukwu’s name was listed in the Church brochure for his exemplary role. My Aunty, Mrs. Virginia Obi narrated this with mixed feelings as this was shortly after my Mum’s passing.

Back in the days, when there were no well written books on how to be a good Dad, my GrandPa chose to live right and modeled same to his children; those who were old enough to understand. This goes to say that being a good parent is more in the way you live your life, how you treat people, including your spouse and ofcourse your children.

A good man, out of the good treasures of his heart, brings forth good things… Luke 6:45a NKJV

Today, in telling my Mum’s story, I choose to honour her father, my GrandFather; Chief James Obumneme Enechukwu.

The Storytela

#LadyBeneLivesOn

#InEverLovingMemory

My Mum- Christmas Stories-Pt. 2

“1-2-3- Go! B***** Onye Ohi!!!!” We would scream, as we approached our compound in the villa.

Finally we were home and the excitement for Christmas was gradually getting to it’s peak.

Well, we only had that priviledge to shout if we were riding in my Mum’s car. Those who rode with my Dad usually sat all nice and pretty until they arrived the villa and disembarked.

My Dad is a chronic builder. He was either always building or renovating a built house and this showed in compound in the villa. everytime we came home, something new had been added or remodelled. As kids, we didn’t mind, we had enough rooms to play in and enough places to run around in, until, well, we grew older and became part of the cleaning team.

A few days before we travelled for Christmas, Mum would usually arrange to have the house cleaned out. Sometimes, they would lay clean bedsheets on all the beds and all we did would just be arrive and unpack. As we grew older though, we became of the dusting, scrubbing, cleaning and bed dressing team and ofcourse, I started to wonder if we really needed all that space. Talk about knowing where the shoe pinches.

We would barely settle in when the visitors would start arriving to greet my Mum. One look at your face and they would go ‘o nke a bu…‘ ‘is it this one that…’ and my Mum would fill in the gap with the appropriate story while they mocked a frown if the person didn’t remember them.

I can never forget my Mum’s long explanation of who was who. I can’t claim to ever remember.

“Mummy keduzi onye bu ife a?” We would ask, wanting her to help explain who a relative was. And she would go like; “Mama onye a, na Mama m, mu nwadiana na Nkwelle” meaning “This person’s mother and my mother are cousins from Nkwelle”, or she would say “o ro nna m ochie” and I would nod without understanding. So some of these people turned up for her burial and I didn’t know who they were…

As soon as we settled in, my Mum would insert the Boney M Christmas Carol in the Radio player. She always had one for every Christmas, an orange cassette back then. The deep bass belting “May your days be merry and bright…” and many other Christmas songs helped set the tone for the celebrations. She would later on start adding Christmas lights, strung on the Christmas trees pine trees already growing in the compound.

On Christmas day, we all got dressed and drove to St. Dominics Catholic Church, Uke, a Church her father served in diligently as the treasurer and helped build before his demise. We flocked around her after service and greeted her friends before heading into the cars and heading home.

The rest of the Christmas was generally spent entertaining guests, and when we were younger, visiting our Grand Mum and Great-Grand Mother. We were allowed to indulge in soft drinks, Mum would say, “rapu fa, oo Christmas ka a na-agba”, asking whomever to let us be, we were celebrating Christmas. Lol.

Going back to Onitsha was usually a drag, Mum loved it in the village. She would postpone our journey until we absolutely had to go back and then the packing started again, but this time around with less enthusiasm and vigour.

Laid to rest in this compound where she provided so much warmth, her grave would forever be a reminder that once upon a time, Lady Bene was here.

The Storytela

#LadyBeneLivesOn

#InEverLovingMemory