Late Hajiya Halima Odapu: Another definition of piety

These had little or no connection with my life, but on this day the world changed and I was affected though it took days for me know this change.
 Unlike the events in Germany, Russia and South Africa, the incident of June 7th in Lafia was very personal to me and changed my perception of life. It was the day we lost our amiable, soft spoken, loving and hitherto indispensable mother, Hajiya Halima Muhammad Odapu.
For 11 years, I have attempted writing a tribute for the woman who carried me for nine months in her worm, breast fed me for months, washed my nappy for years (Diaper, (Pampas) weren’t available then), who taught me my first words on earth, she was, who I bit while sucking milk as a baby, puked and poop on her cloths, yet she was there for me for the 24 years.
Each time I begin to scribble something, I am overwhelmed with emotions, tears and my heart becomes too heavy for me to hold. It is not easy doing it now either.
How do I begin writing a piece about mothers, especially about my mother, the reason for life? How do I start it? The best way, methinks is “just do it” thus this piece.
Hajiya Halima Oyintaka Odapu was born to the family of Otaki and grew up in Keana. Mama relocated to Jos following her marriage to our dad, then Akwanga and finally to Lafia where she died.
For years, she took care of me and my elder siblings. Mama guided us from babies to toddlers and from adolescents to adults. She was a teacher of life, our first editor and the mirror to which we see life today, a colossus and a rear gem in her own class. We thank our father for choosing a great mother for us and Allah for making it all happened.
She was never in the public sphere but with the highest sense of humility, those who knew Hajiya Halima Odapu knew she was the meaning of trustee and motherhood. Though not lettered in the western way, she was better than some who went through the four walls of a western school as her Islamic background comes to the rescue here. She is a representation of a perfect mother, supporting her husband always.
I was a dirty pupil, yet I was appointed Health Prefect in my Primary School because Mama ensures that I am neat all week unlike other pupils whose uniform on Fridays is something else, with a sense of humility, I make bold to say that my Friday uniform is as neat as Monday’s and I was one of the neatest in the school. All credit goes to my mum. She is the definition of an ideal mother, wife, sister, and friend. I remember as a kid, Mama was always awake performing Kiyamul Laili (night prayers).
She was never in the public sphere but with the highest sense of humility, those who knew Hajiya Halima Odapu knew she was the meaning of trustee and motherhood. Though not lettered in the western way, she was better than some who went through the four walls of a western school as her Islamic background comes to the rescue here. She is a representation of a perfect mother, supporting her husband always.
Six days after my mother’s death, I had missed a continuous assessment test and had no convincing argument to present in order to participate in the makeup, so as we move for our 2pm lectures, a course mate suggested I lied to the lecturer that I lost a loved one. He asked was my mother alive? And my response was simply, “yes! She is alive. I went on, “how will life be without my mother?” I cannot imagine, little did I know that I may not be lying; I was certainly not saying the truth because my mother died almost a week ago. 
I felt like to hotfoot to Lafia but I will not be faster than a car. So I relaxed, patiently but anxiously boarded a car that passed through the Dogon Daji forest in Kano, experiencing the varied weathers of the temperate Kano through the cold Plateau then to Lafia.
And in the dead of that night, I sat down thinking of what I thought was not possible, not then. Within a second in a minute, I remembered almost everything we had with mama for over 18 years.
I will forever remember a woman, a mother and a home builder who shaped my life positively.  I am sure were Williams Shakespeare to be alive when Hajiya Halima Odapu lived, he probably would have written a heroic story of a mother modeled after Hajiya Halima. No doubt such piece will attract the eyes of English literature curriculum experts and mothers would have been nicknamed, Hajiya Halima.
It was Mama’s death that brought out my first poem, written not as a class work but written from my heart just as it flows. 11 days after her death, 3 days after I was informed I wrote this poem which I memorized:
Today, I am one of the cognoscenti of live and Death
My colossus is gone
I cogitate a million times a second
All that I “thought as like, as not, is not”
For the indispensable mum is today no more.
I thought that was the end of life, I could not imagine life without her, but today I have come to believe the Quranic verse that “ every soul shall test death” if you sight this article, please pray for Hajiya Halima for continuous peace, rest and Al jannatul Firdaus
Mama taught us to help strangers. Often times she pray for a young man, whom we all don’t know but who helped her with her luggage when she returned from Hajj, she will always say “ May God bless this fellow” and wished she can meet with the young man to thank him again. Thus she enjoined that we help for the sake of Allah, for the beneficiaries will always pray for us.
Today I am a public servant but can’t spend directly for Mama. Oh God, I wish she was around to spend my salary with me, to see my wedding and hold her grandchildren, the good about this sadness is that Allah knows why and Insha Allah she is happy where she is and we are prayerful that Allah joins us together at the favoured of final abodes, Al Jannatul Firdaus.
When the realities of today always attempt to push us off-track, the thoughts of mama, our dad and their teachings as well as our Deen’s has always been the guiding light of life for us. Hajiya Halima was a kind and wonderful mother that even at death, her thoughts have remained green in our hearts. We miss her today and always.
Odapu writes from Abacha Road, Mararaba, Nasarawa State