Maami🤍

Today is my mummy’s birthday. And today, I choose to write, not because words are enough, but because silence would not be fair to all that she has carried.

My mummy has been a mother indeed.

When people say “mother,” they sometimes mean love, or care, or presence. But for me, “mother” means sacrifice that was never announced, strength that did not ask to be applauded, and endurance that did not wait for conditions to improve.

My mother lived motherhood fully, completely, and honestly.

She suffered. There were seasons of lack. Seasons when food was not guaranteed. Seasons when tomorrow was uncertain. Seasons when she had to choose between her own comfort and the survival of her children. And every single time, she chose us. Quietly. Without bitterness. Without complaint.

That is the Nigerian kind of mother. The kind who will eat last. The kind who will say I have eaten when she has not. The kind who will wear worry on her face but still tie wrapper, cook, pray, and show up. The kind who will kneel before God at night so her children can rise confidently in the morning.

My mother is strong.

Not because life was kind to her, but because she refused to let life break her. She carried responsibility early. She carried pain silently. She carried hope stubbornly. Even when everything around her suggested giving up, she pressed on.

She was our safety. Even when she herself was afraid, she made sure we were not.

Even when she had unanswered questions, she gave us reassurance.

Even when her heart was heavy, she made space for ours.

Maami, you taught us life without sitting us down to teach it. You taught us through action. Through consistency. Through faith. Through resilience. Through the way you trusted God when there was no physical evidence that things would improve.

There were days when prayer was the only currency we had. And you spent it generously. You prayed when food was low. You prayed when money was short. You prayed when sickness threatened. You prayed when fear tried to enter our home.

And somehow, we survived. Not because things were easy, but because God honored the prayers of a woman who refused to stop believing.

Today, I want to say thank you. Thank you for staying. Thank you for enduring. Thank you for choosing love even when you were tired. Thank you for choosing faith even when you were afraid. Thank you for being present even when you were overwhelmed. Thank you for being Iya Tosin 1 in the truest sense.

Today, I pray for you deeply. I pray that God will repay you for every sacrifice that went unnoticed. I pray that He will restore every season you spent pouring yourself out.

I pray that your body will be strengthened, your mind refreshed, and your heart continually at peace. I pray that joy will locate you intentionally.

That laughter will fill your days. That rest will finally embrace you. I pray that your nights will be peaceful and your mornings hopeful. That you will see the fruit of your labor clearly and abundantly.

That your children will continue to rise and call you blessed, not just with words, but with lives that reflect your values. I pray that God will surround you with honor. That your latter years will be sweeter than your former struggles. That you will walk in health, longevity, and fulfillment.

And by God’s grace, you will lead us into a future where fear has no dwelling.

A future where we are bold, grounded, and unafraid. A future built on the foundation of your prayers. A future that carries your strength, your faith, and your quiet resilience.

Happy Birthday, Maami.

Happy Birthday to the woman who held us together. Happy Birthday to the woman who made home feel safe. Happy Birthday to the woman whose prayers shaped our lives.

Mummy Engineer, I love you deeply.

Mummy Photographer, I honor you endlessly.

Mummy Geologist, I celebrate you shamelessly.

Mummy Artist, I thank God for you every day.

Happy Birthday, Iya Tosin 1. 🤍