A MOTHER’S LOVE (Ifunanyanne)

 If only I had been a good mother and listened to my daughter, then she would still be alive. No amount of regret could ever bring her back. My daughter's name was Ifunanyanne, ironic isn't it. I couldn’t even give her that love. Yes my story is a sad one but i have no one to blame but myself.

 I was born into a very wealthy home and pampered all my life. While others had a silver spoon, mine was a diamond spoon. The household was filled with helpers who saw to my every need. I didn't even know how to cook and wasn’t even bothered to learn. To ensure this lifestyle my family made sure I was married to a wealthy man. Their daughter was not about to suffer any hardships whatsoever.

Twelve years into the marriage and a child later, my parents and husband passed away in a car accident on their way back from an event leaving myself and my eleven years old daughter the sole inheritors of a massive fortune. Their deaths were mourned and life continued. Having no management skills, I squandered the whole fortune in the space of ten years. I was more interested in spending money than making it. I had spent my days as a widow going on luxurious trips and having the best time of my life. It didn't seem like the money flow would seize but it did eventually.

At this point in time, my daughter Naya as I would call her in short form was twenty-one and was getting suitors. I had grown up with the ideologies that a woman shouldn’t stress herself and ought to find herself a man who could take care of her needs. From my daughter’s suitors, I selected the richest one, a US based businessman named Ebuka. My daughter didn’t like him but I wasn’t having it. To me love wasn’t important, money was, besides love could come later. I had found a means to fund my lifestyle. Having tasted the finer things in life, I wasn’t letting it go.

The marriage was quickly settled and Naya and her husband stayed abroad while I received hefty weekly allowances for myself. I knew Naya was unhappy with me but I had believed she would come around with time. Soon after came grandchildren and I would go over to visit. I never noticed during those visits that she was unhappy and not her usual self. I didn't know she was being brutality beaten by her husband.

The first time she opened up to me, I didn’t take my daughter’s side instead I told her she must have done something wrong. I can never forget the look of disbelief on her face. She asked me what was wrong with trying to work. I took Ebuka’s side because I believed that a woman’s place was in the home. The complaints and calls from Naya became more frequent with her crying in every one of them. The last call I got from her, she told me she wanted a divorce. I wasn’t having it. Not only would my finances be cut off, what would I tell our people coupled with the shame of having a divorced daughter. I sternly told her to remain with her husband. That was the last time I heard from Naya.

The calls and allowance stopped coming from Naya and Ebuka . Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. I finally picked up the courage and went to visit them and got the most heartbreaking news. Naya was dead, beaten to death by her husband in their own home. I felt my world shatter. If only I had put my selfish needs aside and been there for my daughter. With a heavy heart, I picked up my grandchildren from social services where they had been sent to after their father had been arrested and went back home.