Mother, Did You Know? by Shalom Adéyemí Oluwafikayo, first runner-up, Adebisi Amori Literary Contest 3.0

Mother,

Do you remember the last time you took us to the beach? How I stood on the edge of a cliff, in the court of the setting sun? Do you recall how the sun’s rays glittered on my skin, just as they did on the ocean? How the turquoise sea stretched below the cliff, moaning in gentle pleasure?

Do you remember your words to me as you walked up the cliff to stand beside me? Your favourite inverted quote from Anikulapo: “The ocean, the sun, the wind, and everything of nature are gentle lovers whose touch washes away all fears in the hearts of those who embrace them.” You spoke those words so calmly.

Mother,

Did you know that standing on that cliff, my heart raced like an athlete competing for the trophy of comfort within me? As I stood there alone, watching Tobiloba and Inioluwa play in the ocean, my thoughts held a paintbrush, painting fear on the canvas of my mind, one careful stroke at a time.

Mother, did you know that on that cliff, I asked myself what would happen if I decided to swim but couldn’t float against its tides? I wondered what would happen if I dove in and struck a rock beneath the surface. I asked myself what life would look like—for you and for me—if that happened.

But the ocean, the sun, the wind, and everything of nature are gentle lovers whose touch washes away all fears in the hearts of those who embrace them. Unlike me, you understood this even then. You knew it wasn’t just about my fear of water. It was about a deeper fear—a fear of taking risks, of failing, and ultimately, of stepping outside the safe little shell the world had built for me and that I had accepted for myself as the first child.

I had been wired that way, and, Mother, you knew this all along. 

Because a year after that, I would find myself standing on a cliff again, waiting for my admission results to the University of Ibadan. Mother, you remember, don’t you? Since the day we left the beach, I had lived each day in the cell room of our tiny parlour, hunched over textbooks and past questions at the centre table. I sacrificed my sleep, preparing for UTME and UI’s Post-UTME, pouring my life and energy into those battles because my future depended on it.

These were battles, and I fought them with everything I had because I couldn’t afford to lose—to fail. To disappoint you and Daddy. To disappoint myself.

But little did I know that disappointment would come anyway. When the results were released, I saw that I had missed the cutoff to study Law by less than a single point. To this day, I still feel the weight of that disappointment, as heavy in my chest now as it was on the day it was born.

And so, once again, I found myself standing on a cliff, this time all alone, filled with fears and questions. But the ocean, the sun, the wind, and everything of nature are gentle lovers whose touch washes away all fears in the hearts of those who embrace them. These were your words to me as we sat in the parlour that Thursday afternoon, my eyes downcast from the result. You added nothing but, “You don’t have to prove anything, but you should know this—you’re stronger than this fear. You can take the leap, even if you’re scared.”

And that moment became a tipping point for me. Mother, did you know?

Did you know that your words would ignite something inside me? That they would remind me that courage isn’t the absence of fear but the choice to move forward in spite of it? That fear wouldn’t necessarily vanish, but it didn’t necessarily matter either? I’ve carried those words with me ever since.

Mother,

I remember the morning I was offered admission to study Sociology. I was sitting at our old wooden table, my hands trembling as I logged into the portal. Once again, I was on a cliff, filled with fear. But that fear fizzled out the moment I saw the word “Congratulations!” For a moment, I couldn’t move. I read that word again and again, struggling to convince myself it was real. Then the tears came—tears of relief, gratitude, and triumph. I remember dancing around the living room in my favourite black gown, Oluwatobiloba and Inioluwa chorusing “UI… UI!” with their tiny voices, their laughter filling the room.

I remember Daddy standing by the door, his face glowing with quiet pride, nodding as if to say, “I knew you could do it.” That joy wasn’t just mine—it was ours. It filled the house like sunlight—warm and all-encompassing. It was a shared celebration, a testament to the unwavering belief that had brought me to that moment.

Standing before the iconic grey pillars of the UI gate for the first time, I felt like I was on a cliff again—surreal and overwhelmed. Life hasn’t been easy in this new world I’ve found myself in. It’s been a rollercoaster of experiences. I’ve felt lonely on some days, just as much as I’ve felt loved by the friends I’ve made. I’ve been exhausted, yet there have been moments when I felt on top of the world. I’ve been courageous enough to try new things, but I’ve also withdrawn and let many opportunities slip through my hands out of fear of failing.

Yet, I will keep charting this horizon all the way to the very end, embracing the gift of the moment and the mother of life. Because the ocean, the sun, the wind, and everything of nature are gentle lovers whose touch washes away all fears in the hearts of those who embrace them.

Love,

Shalom.

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Shalom Adéyemí Oluwafikayo is a sociology student at the University of Ibadan. Passionate about exploring, Shalom enjoys contributing to discussions that bridge theory and real-world applications. In addition to academic pursuits, Shalom is an avid reader and writer who believes in the power of storytelling to inspire change.