-Grace Eniola
Little did I know… that the words my mother poured into my ears—those strings of proverbs that sometimes sounded like jokes, exaggerations, or even lies—would one day become the compass of my life.

Many times, I thought them gibberish: the endless chatter of a mother who must always speak, a mother who refuses silence because she has children to mold.

And yet, hidden in her words was a fire, a wisdom wrapped in laughter, a truth I was too young to taste.

When she would say: “All lizards lie flat on their stomachs, yet it is hard to know which one has a stomachache,” I would laugh, wondering how such tiny creatures could also groan in secret pain.

But little did I know—a day would come when the proverb I rejected would rise as my cornerstone.

For indeed, “the dog that turned away from the bone will return to it when hunger bites.” And hunger—yes, hunger bites me today.

We live in a world turned upside down, a world where wrongs are celebrated, where shadows are mistaken for light. And so, I see the weight of her sayings— the urgency of her counsel.

I have chosen, like her, to be a mother and not a murderer.

And I must begin now—

for “little by little is how the pig’s nose enters the yard.”

I remember that Saturday morning.

I was in the kitchen, when my daughter walked up to me, her young eyes wide with wonder.

“Mummy, why does everyone on Instagram look so happy, so full of joy?”

I smiled, and I answered with my mother’s tongue:

“Not all that glitters is gold. The monkey sweats, but its fur hides the strain.”

Months later, my neighbor came in tears. Her son had been arrested for internet fraud. She asked how she might train him now that prison had left its mark.

I was astonished, because my mother once told me:

“Trim the branches of the iroko while it is young; for once it grows tall, it cannot be bent again.”

As soon as she left, I called my children close and said:

“Eating slowly does not kill.”

For I know the hunger of the youth—

their desperate chase for money.

But I reminded them too:

“Even the finest cooking pot will not bring forth food unless something is placed inside.”

I urged them to labor honestly, to sow seeds of patience, to wait for the harvest of their sweat. Because truth be told—

“Whosoever dares to play with a tiger’s cub must be ready to run.”

And then it struck me—

Little did I know that the proverbs my mother spoke, the sayings I dismissed as riddles, were not for me alone.

They were seeds planted deep, meant for my children, for my neighbor, for anyone whose path would cross mine.

Little did I know that proverbs do not grow old.

They do not wither.

They are like rivers—ever flowing, ever fresh, evolving with time, yet carrying the same eternal truth.

Little did I know… that the voice of my mother was the echo of generations, the keeper of wisdom, the guardian of life.