Bongolistically,
In this photo taken in 2015 in Accra, Ghana, I stand beside my mother. She is a woman whose strength, prayers, and love are deep in the foundation of everything I’ve become.
She was en route to Sierra Leone from Australia, where she now lives as a citizen. I was then working in Accra. That day, as we posed for this photograph outside my house, dressed in our simple but meaningful African attire, the photographer undoubtedly captured us very well. You can see history, sacrifice and transformation. Indeed on that day, in that quiet and unassuming moment, we were merely a mother and son, sharing the blessings of a long and extraordinary journey.
For me, the moment was filled with gratitude. I looked at this woman who had raised me in Warima, where futures seemed limited by geography and means. She raised me with dignity and discipline; with firmness and love; and with the patience of a woman who had learnt to wait on God.
I had become a man who could travel and lead, who could sit at tables of policy and global partnerships. Now here we were. Yet in her presence, I was still her son—the one she once worried about.
And for her? Perhaps she was quietly proud, but still very much the humble woman of Warima. The same woman who had carried bundles of firewood on her head. Maybe she thought of that market woman in Warima who had sincerely once asked her what would become of her two boys. And now, here she stood in Ghana, beside her son, who had defied those expectations.
This photo is a mirror reflecting how far we have come—from the soil of Warima to the pathways of the world. And though time and distance have shifted our realities, the bond between mother and son, forged in hardship and nurtured by faith, remains unshaken.
And whenever I look at this photograph, I’m reminded: this is about her. Well, it also is about us.
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It’s a Saturday; you deserve to enjoy your weekend.
Mallam O
