By: Chioma Madonna Ndukwu
Africa’s Talking Drum: Many Children Called Her Mother
In Nambala Village, people believed a woman’s worth could be heard before it was seen. At sunset, compounds filled with children laughing were admired, while quiet homes attracted whispers. By that measure, Abeni was a woman people pitied.
She had been married to Kato for many years, but no child had ever been born into their home. In the beginning, neighbours comforted her.
“It will happen,” the older women often assured her. “The spirits are sometimes slow, but they are never forgetful.”
Abeni believed them. Every new season arrived carrying fresh hope, and every season left with another silent disappointment.
As the years passed, the comforting words slowly disappeared. They were replaced by sympathetic glances, and eventually, even those faded into careless mockery.
One morning at the stream, Abeni arrived just as a group of women were filling their calabashes.
“I wonder what a house sounds like when no child has ever cried inside it,” one woman remarked.
Another laughed softly. “Perhaps it is peaceful.”
“Or perhaps,” a third replied, “it is simply empty.”
The women laughed together.
Abeni heard every word. She lowered her eyes, filled her water pot and quietly walked home.
Kato noticed the sadness she carried.
“You cannot stop people from speaking,” he told her gently that evening.
“I know,” Abeni replied. “But sometimes their words follow me home.”
Kato reached for her hand.
“Then let our home be kinder than their mouths.”
His words comforted her, but they did not erase the loneliness she carried.
Instead of allowing sorrow to consume her, Abeni began giving her time to the children around her.
Whenever a widow had to work in distant farms, it was Abeni who watched over her little ones.
If a child returned from school with torn clothes, she patiently stitched them before the next morning.
When children gathered beneath the old mango tree after chores, they always asked her for stories.
“Mama Abeni,” they would shout from the path, “tell us another one about the clever tortoise.”
She would laugh.
“Only if all of you promise not to become as stubborn as the tortoise.”
“We promise!” they answered, though everyone knew they rarely kept that promise.
Her compound slowly became the happiest place in the village. Children wandered in whenever they were hungry, frightened or simply lonely. No one was turned away.
One afternoon, little Sifa fell from a guava tree while trying to impress her friends. The frightened children carried her to Abeni’s compound.
“My leg hurts,” Sifa sobbed.
“It will hurt less in a moment,” Abeni said calmly as she washed the cuts with warm water.
She wrapped the wounds carefully before placing a bowl of porridge in front of the little girl.
Sifa smiled through her tears.
“Thank you, Mama.”
The word came so naturally that neither of them paused to think about it.
Only old Mama Nali, who had been passing outside the compound, heard it. She smiled quietly and continued on her way without saying anything.
Months later, heavy rains settled over Nambala. Not long after, a fierce fever spread through the village. Strong men became weak. Busy mothers could barely rise from their sleeping mats.
Children wandered frightened from one house to another looking for someone to comfort them. Abeni did not wait to be asked for help. She opened her compound to every child who needed care.
From sunrise until deep into the night she cooked meals, bathed children whose parents were too ill to stand, washed clothes, prepared herbal remedies and sat beside sleeping mats wiping hot foreheads with cool cloths.
Sometimes frightened children woke crying for their mothers.
Abeni gathered them into her arms.
“Your mother loves you,” she whispered. “She is only too weak today. Rest now. Tomorrow will be kinder.”
Many nights she never slept at all. When the fever finally passed, families slowly returned to their homes with grateful hearts.
Not long afterward, the village elders called everyone to a meeting beneath the ancient baobab tree.
The oldest elder stood before the gathering.
“We have come together,” he announced, “to honour those whose kindness carried this village through its darkest days.”
Several names were mentioned.
Then he looked toward Abeni.
“My daughter, please come forward.”
She looked around in surprise.
“Surely there are others more deserving than I am.”
The elder smiled.
“If you still believe that, then you deserve this honour even more.”
She stepped into the centre of the gathering.
The old man faced the villagers.
“For many years,” he said, “we judged this woman by the child she never carried.”
He paused before continuing.
“Yet while we were busy counting the children she did not have, we failed to notice the children she never stopped loving.”
Silence settled across the square. Before anyone could speak, little Sifa stood up. She walked to Abeni and slipped her small hand into hers.Another child followed. Then another.
Within moments, dozens of children surrounded her. One little boy hugged her waist. Another rested his head against her shoulder.
Sifa looked up at the elders.
“She has always been our mother.”
No one laughed. Several women lowered their heads in shame.
One of those who had mocked Abeni at the river stepped forward.
“We spoke carelessly,” she admitted. “Forgive us. We thought motherhood lived only in the womb.”
Abeni looked at the children surrounding her.Some smiled at her. Some held tightly to her hands. Others simply wanted to stand close.
Tears filled her eyes, not because she had finally received praise, but because she realised she had never truly been childless.
Love had quietly built a family around her while the village had been looking elsewhere.
From that day on, no one in Nambala corrected a child who called Abeni “Mama.”
The village had finally learned what the children had understood long before, that a woman becomes a mother not only by giving birth, but by giving herself.
Moral:
A woman’s motherhood is not measured only by the children she bears, but by the love, care and hope she pours into every child whose life she touches.
Comment Hook:
Have you ever known someone who never gave birth but became a mother to countless lives through love alone?
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