Love Me Mama: The Unfavored Child

By kirthi Jayakumar and Elsie Reed

This book is a story of an unfavoured child called Victoria. Vicky suffered because of the favouritism her mother showed among her four children, discriminating against Vicky. The difficulties of life led Vicky to build a wall of defense around her. Vickys difficult life led her to master the art of escaping the pains of rejection by becoming a high achiever. She thought she was fine and doing all right until the day when her mother died. At that moment, Vicky realized that she never had a mother who loved her. She never would because life cheated her out of a mother and now death had too. The book takes you through the trials and tribulations that Vicky faced before she emerged successful.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479786107

kirthi Jayakumar

Authors Bio Elsie Ijorogu-Reed is the Founder/CEO of Delta Women NGO and a business intelligence consultant; she grew up in Nigeria and currently lives in Houston, Texas. Kirthi Jayakumar is a volunteer with Delta Women. She is a lawyer and writer based out of Chennai, India.

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Copyright © 2013 by Elsie Reed.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2013901552

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4797-8609-1

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4797-8608-4

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4797-8610-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Contents

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This book

is dedicated to every unfavoured

child across the world.

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I would like to acknowledge my daughter Gabby, for her patient and unconditional support. Extending my gratitude to my sister and my good friends would never be enough to show them how thankful I really am to them—Lillian, Amie, Angela, Roli, Helen, Kenny, Florence and Lango, Thank You for everything!

     1     

The sun was setting, painting a blood red picture over the stretched sky above. All of Sapele, the little spot in Delta State, Nigeria, was blissful. Yet an air of melancholy dusted the air with its presence. Ringlets of clouds dotted the sky as the odd bird made its way home. As the sun set, a life was being laid to rest. An eternity, a long-winding journey, had come to an end. Everyone at the funeral had reason to mourn, but it was harshest on Vicky. The family stood by in the house. They were mourning the passing of Caro—Vicky’s mother. She was buried in a room inside one of her houses as was the culture of her people. Except for a few who had visited their home in Jos in the past, two uncles, friends and family came from all over Nigeria, including people from Jos, where they lived. Vicky’s uncle, the one whom she had asked to help co-ordinate the burial, was there too. Her father, though, was not allowed to come—custom dictated that a man does not attend his wife’s funeral. Customary Urhobo women were taken back to the father’s hometown for the funeral, and since Vicky’s mother was an Urhobo, she was taken home to her father’s land for the funeral, from Jos, where she died.

Vicky’s mother was laid in state before being laid in the ground that evening. Her coffin was placed under a green and white canopy, dulcet colours in mourning.

All of fifty, Vicky had a tough time throughout. Life had dealt her the toughest of cards.

Vicky sat on the side, in a chair kept outside the canopy, for her, and watched. Vicky was given a fan and was asked to fan her mother’s coffin as was the tradition. There were musicians who sang songs, calling each child’s name as they walked by. The ceremony was outside the house; the family had canopies and chairs outside for guests. The laying to rest was to be held inside the house. The coffin was laid in state under the canopy outside.

Vicky’s eyes blurred with tears. Some competed to make it to the front. Some refused to leave her choked throat. Emotions ran through her numbed frame, her mother’s passing threatening to open a floodgate that had accumulated through years of pain.

It felt like she was looking out from a chasm so deep within her that it engulfed her very existence. All she wanted was love, the love of her mother. And was that too much to ask? She looked down at her hands as she gulped—something was caught in her throat. It refused to go down no matter how much she swallowed. Her fingernails had dug half-moons into her palm. The angry red welts stared back at her. Good, she thought. That should keep the pain inside for a while.

The wind rustled in the trees above with quiet dignity. Vicky did not exactly long for her mother. Vicky was an anomaly in her family, the black sheep, the rose that grew in a bush of thorns. Her mother had done nothing to acknowledge the relationship between them.

Vicky looked through the wispy lace that hung over her black hat. Funny how life worked. All along, she had looked at her life, her childhood and her days as a child, through the miasma of detachment and despondency that her mother painted for her. And now, her mother could not move on to the world after without Vicky’s presence.

The monsoon season was on them—the time of year was crying in its own way, with Vicky. Rain would have spoiled the funeral; the villagers normally called a native rain stopper to funerals. But Vicky’s family had not done so, being Christians. They had hired trumpeters who played in front of the coffin carriers.

Vicky lived in the United States of America and had to travel to Sapele for the funeral. She filled her days with work—helping young people get over difficult times, helping troubled youth find some relief from their problems, besides also working as an Information Technology Officer. When she heard about her mother’s passing, Vicky had been in church praying. Ella’s husband, Vicky’s brother in law, called her on the house phone to tell her that her mother was dead. Somehow, that morning, Vicky had sensed something had happened. There was a sense of foreboding that kept clouding her mind. When she returned from church, she saw the missed call and called Michael back. What happened? she asked without even saying hello to her sister’s husband.

She fell ill and died on reaching the hospital—a heart attack, Michael told her. In the heart of the Delta State, in Sapele, Vicky’s mother had passed on. Vicky had talked to her mother just three days ago. Shocked, she called her