Growing up with mum was, well, rather interesting. We did so many house chores we could not but wonder why, given that we had domestic help. Sweeping… - Beatrice Aboyade

My parents encouraged us to read, read, read. Books, Encyclopaedia, comics, magazines, you name it. We got our love of literature, poetry and history from them, especially mum. English Literature was one of my favourite subjects, as was History, no surprises. From Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night to The Iliad and The Odyssey to Soyinka’s The Man Died to Achebe’s No Longer at Ease/Things Fall Apart, to poetry The Journey of the Magi, to The Renaissance, she broke it down effortlessly for me.

If mum asked you to clean her bathroom, you were best advised to go over it with a fine toothcomb. Her eagle eyes would unfailingly spot that area that you’d carelessly – or perhaps lazily – overlooked and she’d make you clean it to perfection. I got my eye for detail from her. We would grumble under our breath and wonder why she was nit-picking. Today, I’m grateful.

Mum was a disciplinarian though not in the physical sense – as to the latter at best she might use her slippers, but the truth was she was no dab hand and couldn’t beat anyone to save her life! We would usually just pretend to cry so she could let us go, whilst we ran off to have a good laugh.