When I was a kid, life had its little joys. One of them was when visitors came around. After the greetings and pleasantries, many of them would call me over with a smile and slip some money into my hand. It could be ₦50, ₦100, sometimes even ₦500—back then, that was big money for a child.
But there was one problem. My mom.
The moment she spotted the cash, she would stretch out her hand with that gentle but firm motherly command:
“Bring it, let me keep it for you.”
And like every obedient child, I surrendered my treasure. She always promised: “Don’t worry, when you grow up, I’ll give it back to you.”
Fast-forward to today. I’m no longer that little boy—I’m a man. And recently, I reminded my mom about her long-standing “safe-keeping service.” I told her:
“Mummy, I want to marry the girl you’ve been disturbing me about. So please, refund all the visitor money you’ve been keeping for me since childhood. That’s my bride price savings, and it’s time to cash out!”
Her reaction? She burst into uncontrollable laughter, almost rolling on the floor. Then she asked me if I knew how much a bag of rice cost back in those days, or how many times that money helped to buy soap, salt, or cooking oil when things were tight.
I just shook my head. In my heart, I knew the truth: my “visitor money” had long been converted into family projects. But still, I couldn’t help imagining how much I would have if she really kept every single naira untouched. By now, I might not just afford bride price—I could probably buy a piece of land too!
At the end of the day, I realize something: those little gifts were never just mine. They were a part of family survival, and maybe that was Mama’s way of teaching me responsibility before I even understood what it meant.
Still, I keep teasing her about the “refund.” Who knows? Maybe one day she’ll surprise me with a small envelope and say, “Here’s part of your childhood savings. Now go and marry.”
And that day, trust me, I won’t argue.