I was in University then. I had called my male best friend, sitting outside our house, right by the kitchen. I had almost cried. Or I did and through muffled words told him I think my mother prefers, and by my use of prefers I meant wants, one of my elder sisters to me. Of course, he had told me it couldn’t be true. He didn’t know my mother in person or through any personal relations. But he knew every mother wants her child she brought out of her own body. Mind you he had not said the exact words. These are the spirit behind the words. I had agreed and walked away happy. Even pacified. Like a god whose people have brought yams to reassure it it was still wanted, needed, feared, even loved. And I have never again found my mind bringing up the matter: of my mother’s absolute love for me, her wanting me.
I have however wondered about being wanted most of my life. It is not because people, by people I mean people I know as friends and even people in general, have ever made me feel highly unwanted most of my life. No. It is because I have always seen how different I am from everyone else. And while different is good and to be accepted and nurtured, for me different has wrongly been synonymous to unwanted.
One day, I had walked into church, been directed to a different seat than usual and I had overwhelmingly looked around and realized I am so different. It has always been a baby I’ve carried inside me for long. It was a thought I’ve stewed in my mind but never accepted for fear of its consequences. I had realized so stark-clear that I was a twi and krobo speaking Akyem and Krobo girl in a Ga church. And as a Krobo girl, my inability to crossover languages in the Ga-Adangbe group as most people could, showed to me. So, I never made anyone close enough to me in my church know this ‘disability’. I understand the Ga oh, most of the easy words, I’ll tell them, I just can’t speak it. I brought up that I speak Krobo to a selected few and even before them, I hardly spoke Krobo if ever. This amongst others showed me that the strong disease of difference equalling being unwanted in my opinion was strongly rooted in my ability to perform.
You see for me, performance meant having something to show for and having something to show for means people will have to see you as worthy and people having to see you as worthy means people will have to want you and people having to want you means you aren’t too different from them. Flawed thinking but I have thought this for years. If only I could do ______ well enough, I could be _______. And the thing about this is that the cycle continues. A mere comment becomes a tall tape measure to put myself against and see how far or how low I am on the line. Soon, it is clear, I can never really measure up and so I may as well see how wrongly different I am.
In January 2017, I wrote a poem that rang with an acceptance for uniqueness. We is Two was actually taking a moment to give myself that advice and hoping, praying she takes it. It has however been in some of my darkest moments and especially this year that I have been challenged to look into my mirror and not wonder how I’m going to make my body, my mind, my soul even my spirit fit in. Being a Christian, my performance syndrome spilled over into walking with God so much that being unable to pray how I thought I must through tough periods for me will spiral into a cycle of difference and unwantedness and unworthiness and wondering quite honestly who born me? The big identity crisis issue. Another topic entirely.
Despite all this wrong thinking, I’m beginning to learn the truth. I’m seeing that difference is not only good but ultimately God-glorifying when so nurtured for Him. And in irony, for someone like me who has experienced most of my moments of unwantedness clearly as a believer, it is this truth that has shone on my path a light to walk on; I am God’s poem, carefully crafted for very specific and boldy different things he has made me for.
Even if your mama truly born you, you don’t have to be your mama. Difference is good. Amen.
Happy Mothers Day To All Mothers. Keep feeding us your hearts.
PS. Don’t be in such a hurry to leave, check out the menu and have your fill😃
© Awo Twumwaah 2018
Afua Awo Twumwa 