Tribute To My Mother: Madam Rose Adafor Aduba (1942-2025)

By Mrs. Esther Eluemunor

Nnem… writing this still feels unreal. You were not just my mother; you were my everything, my friend, my strength, my prayer partner, and my comforter. You loved me like no one else could, and your love shaped every part of who I am today.

Suddenly, my world has changed. I used to enjoy my 8: AM video phone call with “Nnem Oma”, my Sweet Mother, which prepared me to face the day. “Nnem” (my mother) was my anchor in the sea of life. Her voice always caressed my soul, her prayers gave me succor and her advice was lamp to my feet.

Now, those morning calls with Nnem have stopped. Often I bury my face in my palms and cry as a difficult question buffet my soul; “will I never see my mother again in this life?” This question engulfed me since Sunday 19th October 2025 , when my world shattered at 11 p.m; Nnem passed on. A day before that, I drifted into a light sleep and you appeared in my dream; young, pretty, regally attired, smiling and waving at me. But you were walking away. I phoned when I woke up but you couldn’t talk. You only waved at me. Nobody told me it was Nnem’s goodbye to me.

Nnem, I will forever cherish the way you called me “Essy nwam, (Essy, my daughter). The tenderness in your voice whenever you mentioned that your short form for Esther melted my heart; the smile it came with was pure sunshine to me. It reminded me of how deep your love for me truly was; mega stuff!

Being your first child was an honour and a blessing. I watched you live a life of sacrifice, humility, and grace. You taught me what it means to love without limits and to give even when it costs much. You carried all your children in your heart, but somehow, you always made me feel special.

I remember one Saturday morning when I was about nine years old. Nnem was leaving early to join other women to sweep and mop the St. Marks Anglican Church, Ubulu-Uku, Aniocha LGA, Delta State. She pointed at a tuber of choice specie of yam, and instructed me to prepare it. I noted that she had called it “asukwulu sulu onweee” (rough translation: the yam that pounds itself – perhaps because it was easy to pound). So, I quickly boiled the yam
and placed it in a mortar and covered it up …for it to pound itself.

And I rushed outside to join other kids at play. When Nnem returned, the yam had stiffened. I saw a heavily pregnant Nnem huddled on a seat, weeping softly. She didn’t yell at me; she didn’t beat me. She just sat there and cried. Innocently, I asked over and over: “why are you crying?” She didn’t say a word. I returned to my playmates on the
sandy playground. Later, she called me in for breakfast; she had performed her magic and food appeared. Her face was serene, her eyes soft as she hugged me.

Nnem was a trader, and I learnt the art and science of business from her. She worked from sunrise to sunset. She taught her children the virtue of hard work and showed us the dignity in labour. I owe whatever I am today to Nnem – after God.

Yes, she cooked food for sale, especially to school children. I didn’t join her in that; I only joined her and Nne Ngozi, Mrs Blackie Enuanwa, her life-long friend in their trade, taking a bag of rice to retail at the Eke main market of Ubulu-Uku, Aniocha LGA, Delta state, and selling it all. Yes, they taught me more than what professors teach students at Harvard Business School about how to make a sale.

Sometimes, we would walk and walk and walk to an Idumu Osume quarters of Ubulu-Uku farmland curiously named “E jeke ojeli” (a walker would have his fill of walking – is the best way I can interpret that) to carry home the tubers of yams she had bought. Nnem would take just a little rest and would face other tasks.

Yes, growing up with Nnem wasn’t easy as she was always busy, struggling to provide for her children. But looking back, I thank God for her love and the example she gave me. Nnem depended on no one and didn’t beg for anything. She taught me that the helping hand I will ever need is there at the end of my arm. Hard work provided for her needs; she even fried akara and crowds gathered to buy it. She inculcated those lifestyles into her children, especially the girls, as though she was preparing them to be able to compete with, and even outpace, their male counterparts. Even now, my siblings joke that she petted the boys more than the girls.

Nnem taught me to be independent, to stand strong, never to cheat or lie. She was popular, she was beloved, especially by the children and she loved them in return. She left us no enemies but countless admirers.

Oh yes, my friends say they never saw me exchange words or blows with anyone. I learnt that from Nnem, the most peaceful person I have ever known; soft-spoken, easy-going, yet utterly confident and unflinching in her beliefs and totally supportive of friends and relations. To her, family was everything and was worth every sacrifice.

Everyone who knew Nnem has wondered why I shed tears at her passing at age 83. They asked that I celebrate her because she was compassionate yet strong, gentle but firm, and that her heart overflowed with understanding and empathy for others. They said that she handled life’s struggles with courage, resilience, and grace that left a lasting mark on everyone who knew her and that her kindness, patience, and understanding were extraordinary, and her integrity was solid.

That is fine, but simple love is all my woe. How do I accept that I can’t see Nnem again or hear her angelic voice calling me “Essy” (for Esther)? I will see her face in the sunrise and sunset and even in the rainbow because she was truly gorgeous. I will hear her placid voice when the gentle breeze blows.

Now, my life can never be the same. My siblings have made matters worse; saying I am their mother, now. Can my feet ever fill my mum’s shoes? I doubt it because she was as deep as the ocean as strong as Mount Kilimanjaro, as gentle as a mother’s kiss, as comforting as a mother’s embrace, as soothing as a mother’s prayer. What will never
change are the memories of her in my heart; Nnem calling her Essy to come to her, the aroma of Nnem’s food cooking in the kitchen, the touch of her hands on my shoulders, her smiling face, blessing me again and again. Yes, I will carry my mother in my heart wherever I go.

I was blessed to have had a mother and a home that fully prepared me for the battle of life, and still keep warm me with their fond memories, and challenge me with their examples to be the best I can be and remember God in all I do.

Ah, a simple love is all my woe; the love that binds me with Nnem, Nne Nkwa (Nkwa’s mum as people popularly called after my immediate younger sister), my Sweet, sweet mother, with a chain that can never be broken. You are in my heart, in my love. Always. I still cry because I miss you. Oh, but it is not out of weakness or a lack of faith. No, crying and heartbreak is the price of love when a loved one is no more. Yet, a million tear drops can’t bring you back. I know that to be true because I have cried them.

Nnem, with pride I call your name and thank God for His love and mercies to you because our people have always prayed for the evening of our lives to be better than the morning. The evening of your life was better than the morning for you enjoyed the fruits of your labour. That comforts me, and I glorify God for heaping His blessings upon you.

Yes, I was there at your interment on Thursday November 20th 2025, but I have not accepted the thought that you are totally and completely gone from me. And if this dream that you will never come back to me becomes a reality, then, Nnem, you will be the most beautiful memory I have carefully locked in my heart as I trust in that beautiful Bible passage (Mathew 5:4) – “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted”. And as “Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall see the face of God”, I know you have gone to a much better place to rest in
heavenly bliss.

I will miss our long talks, your laughter, your stories, and your prayers that always lifted my spirit. You were my covering, my strength, and my peace. Losing you has left a space no one can ever fill, but I take comfort knowing you are resting in the Lord.

An American journalist, Grantland Rice, wrote that “When the One Great Scorer comes, To mark against your name, He writes – not that you won or lost – But HOW you played the Game”. Sleep well, Nnem; in the game of life, you showered God’s love on all that came across you. You ran your race beautifully. You loved deeply and lived a life that
reflected God’s goodness. You were simply amazing – especially towards me, your Essy.

I love you deeply, Nnem, always. Your legacy and your love will live on in me…all lifelong. NNEM OMA! YOU ARE IN MY HEART, IN MY LOVE. ALWAYS. ALWAYS. YES, ALWAYS.

Mrs. Eluemunor, a business lady, lives in London