Today is exactly eight years since my mother died. She died on September 27, 2012.
I spoke with her on phone the morning she died, not knowing that it was the last time we would talk. But it was my brother, Abdulrahman Barau, who spoke last with her on phone and in less than an hour she had given up the ghost.
It was my niece, Badeeatu Bala Abdullahi Sayaya, who made the call that shattered the peace of my mind that morning. I was in Sokoto then and I immediately hit the road to Katsina. I had no recollection of the six hour drive from Sokoto to Katsina, going through Bakori first where I offered my condolence over the death of my uncle, Alhaji Muhammadu Ɗangwaggo Bakori, who had died two days earlier. As a matter of fact, I had no idea of the state of mind I was in at the time. I only remember reaching Katsina after she had been buried.
It was probably after my father's death that she developed the mortal sickness that finally took her life. She developed heart problems immediately after that. And to compound matters, her first daughter, my immediate elder sister, Hajiya Umma Bala Sayaya, died exactly one year one month after the death of my father. Although that too didn't make her cry, she was shattered...I was the only child she had left. From then on, she knew it was just a matter of time before she left us. She kept saying so at every opportunity.
The doctor at Katsina General Hospital, an Egyptian, that diagnosed the illness advised that we send her to either Egypt or India for the treatment. Although she couldn't understand English, she immediately - call it intuition - understood what he said. And she vehemently rejected the idea. She told me she wasn't going anywhere as it was a waste of time. She said she knew that her time had come.
And exactly 3 months, one day after the death of her daughter she also gave up the ghost. She died at the ripe age of nearly 82 years.
As a child while growing up, as far as I can remember, she taught me everything I needed to know about life and interaction with people. She was my first psychology teacher who made me become aware of human behavior and how to handle different kinds of people. She even taught me how to read and write in “Ajami” – using Arabic alphabet to write in Hausa and, indeed, how to read and write in Hausa using English alphabet!
Although she never went to school, she learned how to read and write from my uncles; late Alhaji Ahmadu Barau, after whom I was named and late Alhaji Ƙasimu Barau, both of whom were my father’s brothers.
My late mother was instrumental to my early marriage by first choosing a wife for me from amongst my cousins while I was still in secondary school! When that arrangement didn’t work out, I ended up getting married a little after one year of my working career upon the completion of NYSC. That was just two days to my 23rd birthday! She was a mother like no other…
Her grave was pointed at me years later when we buried someone at the same cemetery and I snapped the following pictures. I couldn't bring myself to see the grave before then.
May Allah have mercy on all of them and make it easy for us when our time comes . morning she died, not knowing that it was the last time we would talk. But it was my brother, Abdulrahman Barau, who spoke last with her on phone and in less than an hour she had given up the ghost.
I have never seen anyone who was prepared for death more than my mother. She expected it a long time ago. She had seen it all, having buried first her father when I was about 5 years old. And it was probably the only time I saw her cry over the death of someone - anyone. She had infinite faith and patience. A few years later on, her mother died in her arms. Nine years ago, my father died, her husband of about 68 years. And before then, her last child, my younger brother, Sanusi Abdulkadir, had been shot dead by armed robbers...