Have You Ever Been Betrayed By Your Mum? Mine Shocked Me Too, By Anayo M. Nwosu

I should have noticed it much earlier but I was too trusting. How would I ever think that my mum would descend that low?

I thought I had it wrapped up but was mistaken when I saw how determined  my mum was to undo me.

After my wife took a risk of marrying a struggling me as a husband, we decided to work harder and to avoid being sacked at our work places and to rake up enough income to live the kind of life we dreamt of.

Child bearing couldn't wait hence my wife and I needed to have them in quick succession to harvest the very best of the remaining seeds before it would become too difficult for madam to conceive having married in our 30s.

It was my desire too to ensure that my children speak Igbo and possibly with my town's intonation. I have it and I was determined to transmit same to my kids.

Right from university days, I have been an ardent follower of Prof. Wande Abimbola of University of Ibadan who told the whole world that it was better to raise a child in the parents' mother tongue and that a child could comfortably learn nine languages at the same time.

It was a dream come true when I was able to convince my mother to come live with us in the city. By so doing and by interactions with her, my children would learn and speak Igbo.

It was not easy to uproot an old woman from the village leaving her domestic animals, church engagements, her shop at Nkwoedo market, to come live at the mercy of a daughter-in-law in far away Lagos.

But mama did what my wife and I deemed a great sacrifice by agreeing to come stay with us in Lagos; a sacrifice that was not without a huge cost.

I had discussed my plan with my mum and the role she was to play. "Mama, please speak only Igbo to this children, I want them to speak our language", I begged her.

My mum was fluent in Pidgin English being a daughter of a retired but late police man. She grew up in the barracks.

As a rule, my wife and I consciously spoke Igbo to the kids with full confidence that mama was doing her own bit when we were at work and when the children returned from school.

I could not believe my ear and eyes when I returned from work one day to find my daughter and my son taking turns to teach my mother English language.

They  were so engaged in their lesson not to notice when I entered the house from the kitchen door. I had  returned home much earlier than expected.

"Mama, it is not 'piss', it is called 'urinating'", my mum was being taught. And I could hear her request, "talk am again, I no hear as una talk am before".

I tiptoed and then stood still to convince myself that I was not hearing voices from the TV.

Reality set in when I heard my five year-old son warn, "Mama, if I repeat it again and you don't get, I will give you a knock on the head!"

I had to announce my presence to bring the class to an end and not to witness my son giving my mother a knock on the head.

I didn't know whether to laugh, to get annoyed or to reprimand my mother.

That was how the native doctor I had hired to help me chase away demon was being pursued around by the same demon she was supposed to exorcise.

How could I demotivate or disuade anxious grand children from working so hard to teach their grandmother the better use of English?

My mum was being migrated from Pidgin English to Queen's English by her grandchildren.

I had to resort to teaching my kids my language myself as my mum was more interested in being taught good English.

It appeared that Mama was determined not to leave Lagos without learning how to speak English as Lagos people.

Who would blame my mother when for so many years, the Lagos based women would return to the village every Christmas with their children  to "wound" their village-based counterparts with English language?

It was a few weeks to December 25 and my mother would intermittently ask me, "when are we traveling home for Christmas?"