Before I ever dreamed aloud, the women before me dreamed through action; creating a legacy that lives on through me.

Independence grows on the Udara trees of Nigeria.

It flows from a woman’s hand through the beats of her udu drum. 

Courage blossoms in her heart as she presses her passport to her chest,

seated by the airplane window for a trip that seems like a forever goodbye.

Goodbye to the land that raised her,

To the three hopeful young daughters she leaves behind, carrying the silent promise that all she does is for their futures.

Now in the West, where her feet stand firm, her persistence carries her forward into a new life,

On this foreign soil, she’s committed to making home. 

Determination resides behind her gaze, 

even as her hands grow calloused sorting through factory goods to teaching part-time in preschools. 

Her faith is sustenance. 

Feeding her on the loneliest nights when her children’s voices reached her only through static, brief minutes stretched across months, aging between calls, yet radiating with love. 

The same love that steadies them through the boarding school corridors, 

More often than not, isolated from one another. 

They strive to care for themselves, 

cook their own food, 

comfort their own wounds, 

discipline their own actions, 

holding hope for the day they’ll see their mother’s face gleam with pride and joy finally meeting again.

It lives in me.
Independence; the seeds of the udara tree. Now in a new soil, forever nourished by the roots of a distant homeland. 

They don’t know yet, 

of the smile already radiating on their mother’s face carved into the tireless days and sleepless nights, driven by the belief she’ll create more memories with her children who still remember her face.

A single mother, but not alone in spirit,

withstanding all obstacles with an ambition that burns in her heart. 

That same fire courses through the veins of her daughters, each branching her own path,

A path that soon uncovers the roots of the tree, 

planted afresh in new soil, marking the dawn of a new beginning. 

Now reunited, a home embraces three hearts in the warmth of one, 

They begin again in a new land,

awaiting the opportunities forged by their mother’s determination for something greater.

They too start their own journeys,

Ones that encounter struggle, loss, success, laughter, joy, and heartbreak. 

Yet, the seeds of the Udara tree remain,

rooted deep within their hearts, 

nurturing the drive to move forward each on their own, just as their mother once did.

It lives in me.

Independence; the seeds of the udara tree. Now in a new soil, forever nourished by the roots of a distant homeland. 

In the stories passed down amidst pots stirring in the kitchen and fingers weaving through hair.

Wrapped in vernacular and switching tongues,

Woven into tunes only we understand,

Filling the air at every family gathering, holding the hearts of those who endured.

Process

This piece stems from both the importance of my heritage and the women in my family who sacrificed so much for me to be here today. Initially written for a separate Girls Write Now Mother’s Day Contest, I keep coming back to the importance of this story. It ties central pieces of my Nigerian heritage to the overarching theme and connection to the women in this piece.