A Story of Faith, Loss, Strength, and Purpose
Chapter One
Where My Story Began
My story did not begin with struggle.
It began with abundance, laughter, and the rhythm of a large family living under one roof.
I was born in the 1960s into a vibrant Yoruba polygamous household. My father was a respected and affluent man in our community a man whose success meant that our home was always full of people, activity, and opportunity. In those days, wealth was not only measured by money, but by the size of your household, the respect you commanded, and the lives you were able to uplift.
By those standards, my father was truly blessed.
My mother was his fourth wife, and she was remarkably young and beautiful. In fact, she was almost the same age as my eldest sister (my half sister from the father’s first wife). That unusual dynamic never created distance in our home. Instead, it created a family full of energy, humour, and companionship.
We were a happy, well-rounded family.
There were always voices in the courtyard, meals shared together, stories told in the evening, and the comforting presence of siblings and relatives moving constantly through the house. I grew up surrounded by people who shaped my understanding of community, belonging, and resilience.
But even within that lively household, my mother saw something in me very early.
She recognised that I was different.
From a young age, she noticed my curiosity, my love for learning, and the way I seemed to grasp things quickly. I asked many questions sometimes too many but she never discouraged me. Instead, she nurtured it.
She often told people,
“This one… she is very clever.”
But what made our relationship special was not just her pride in my intelligence.
It was the trust she placed in me.
Even as a child, my mother would consult me about things happening in her life. She would ask my opinion about family matters, business decisions, and everyday situations. To others it may have seemed unusual for a mother to seek advice from her young daughter.
But to her, I was not just a child.
I was someone whose voice mattered.
Looking back now, I realise what a powerful gift that was. Without knowing it, she was building my confidence, teaching me that my thoughts had value, and planting the earliest seeds of leadership within me.
Those moments shaped me in ways I could not understand at the time.
They made me believe I could think, decide, and contribute.
They made me believe I mattered.
Our bond was deep and warm, the kind of connection that forms quietly through everyday conversations, shared laughter, and the feeling of being truly seen by someone who loves you.
But life has a way of changing everything without warning.
Just as my world was beginning to open up, tragedy arrived.
My mother died during childbirth.
She was only 39 years old.
I was still very young when it happened, standing at the edge of adulthood and preparing to enter University, a time when a girl needs her mother the most.
In a single moment, the person who had believed in me the most was gone.
Her absence created a silence that could not easily be filled.
The house that once felt warm with her presence suddenly felt different. Life continued as it always does but something essential had been lost.
Yet even in her absence, the lessons she planted inside me did not disappear.
Her belief in me remained.
Her voice remained.
Her confidence in my ability remained.
And though I could not yet see it clearly, those early seeds would one day shape the woman I would become.
Because sometimes the people who leave us too early still continue to guide our lives in ways we only understand many years later.
My journey, the journey of becoming me had only just begun.
Thank you for reading the first chapter of my story.
Chapter 2 will be published tomorrow as I continue the journey of becoming me.
Leave a Reply