Dr Freaks Journal - Aging Gracefully

I come from a family of teachers. Both parents were teachers; for the one, it was well thought out and arranged, whereas, for the other it was by accident. 

My father had after his sojourn at Christ's School Ado-Ekiti proceeded to St Andrew's College, Oyo to train as a teacher. My mother did not even have the privilege of tasting Western education until she had clocked 17 or thereabout.

 It was when the eldest brother returned from Burma or some strange land where he had gone to fight as a gallant soldier that he decided to enroll her in a "Standard" school in her hometown where she spent 3 years before proceeding to the Teachers' Training College. The rest they say, is history.

 Just before her foray into the Teachers' Training College she had taken some time off to raise her first set of children, twins. She told me the story of how she became an overnight seamstress. She, together with her young family was living in the house of one enterprising Akure man who later became a household name in Nigeria.

 The man under reference had an array of wives and I think about two or three of them were seamstresses. It was Christmas time and every woman and man was out to look her or his best for the occasion. The seamstresses, that is, wives of the landlord were by a stroke of luck not available and my ever daring and amiable mum "misrepresented" herself as a seamstress to the unsuspecting customers and was able to "divert" about two "briefs." 

She had never trained as a seamstress formally, but she assumed that having stayed long enough with the professionals, she too could try her hand at sewing. I forgot to state that she had without prior knowledge or experience in sewing acquired a sewing machine (Singer).

 As soon as the "clients" departed, Mama swung into action. She "sliced" and "sawed" the cloths and attempted to "cellotape" the pieces together. Few days to Christmas, the excited clients rushed to her "shop" to pick up their Christmas dresses and behold, they were a sight to behold! 

Were the customers angry? No, angry is an understatement. They were mad!

 Mama had mutilated their Christmas best. Guess what, the good women protected her. They raised money, went to the market, bought similar materials and replaced their dresses under few hours. They did not only replace, they also pacifed Mama's victims. Poor women. After the drama had passed, they counselled her and offered to train her, and that was how my mother trained as a seamstress just before going back to school to chase her dream.


Now, back to the meat of this write up.

Growing up, I think I was a little bit pampered. All I readily embraced and did willingly as a child was reading. Maybe occasional TV indulgence. Lest I forget, I loved toys and plasticine. My plasticine characters were my best friends! 

I still miss them.


Occasionally, Mama would interrupt my reading or play sessions by asking me to thread her needles. Then grudgingly, I would oblige her by taking a short break from the world that I had created for myself. I have always questioned everything though. I would then ask her: "Mama why do you always ask me to come and thread your needle everyday?" She would in her usual element smile and retort that "...someday, you will understand."


Fast forward, I got my first glasses in 1987 and ever since, I have been "renewing the contract" with my opticians. Recently, my mother's words resonated from the past when I was trying to thread my own needle this time. 

Guess what, I struggled with the process for almost 10 minutes until I had to give up. Then I called in the aid of my 12-year old son who grudgingly came to my rescue and my memory raced to some years back and for the very first time in recent times, it dawned on me that I was aging, albeit to the glory of God, gracefully.


May we all age gracefully.

Stay Safe.

Its Kunle