بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْم
Being an Adult: Part Two
Are you a mama’s boy? Well, is your mama a lioness? Has she been through so many fights that you don’t even feel like fighting anymore? Graceful under pressure—does she belong to the family of lights? No? Well, sorry if I say I’m a mama’s boy. Don’t compare yourself to my mama; it has a different connotation. Maybe that’s why some people get upset when I say, “I’m just a mama’s boy.” But you don’t know my mama. Maybe your mama is different, and that’s okay.
So, let’s get into some stories for perspective.
My mom lived a tough life. She had a tough upbringing because she was born to a father who passed away before she even had the chance to know him. She was an orphan and, at the same time, was immediately given tough love.
Tough love for orphans is what I recommend—but what kind of tough love?
Well, in the Somali community, there’s a responsibility for the brother to step in, get married, and take on the role of the father. You make an offer—it’s a tradition. I think they call it dumali, but I’m not sure. I’m a Chicano, so I can’t tell you all the details. There’s a big cultural gap here.
Anyway, your uncle steps in right away. You just had a baby; you don’t know what’s happening. You’re grieving because the love of your life—someone full of light, incredible, the love of your life—is gone. But you have his baby now. What are you supposed to do? Go back to your mama’s house? Poor grandmother.
Anyway, she accepts the deal hesitantly because the family doesn’t want the baby to leave. The child belongs to the other family now. So, what does she do? Does she marry the brother? What if he’s not attractive? Why is there such a big fight?
You see, this story gets complicated. Maybe she didn’t want to marry him. Maybe she was still grieving. Maybe she wanted something different. So, she put up a fight, took her child—my mom—and left.
Now, here’s where it gets interesting. My grandmother married a police officer—a tough man. He wanted his boots shined, his house in order, and things done a certain way. He was disciplined, no-nonsense. But here comes my dad. Handsome, brave, and determined.
Let me tell you, if you’re a black dude from Sudan and you see a blond beauty, you know she’s not going to come easy. Maybe she’s worth a fortune to her family—she’s that beautiful. But my dad, being brave, didn’t care about limits. In fact, if you told him something was off-limits, it only made him more determined.
So, according to classified information, it was his smile and his eloquence that did the trick. They ran away together and consummated the marriage. Imagine the chaos—a whole tribe, bounty hunters, planes, horses, elephants—all searching for the bride. Ten million dollars is no joke. But it didn’t matter. My dad’s bravery broke every wall.
From an Islamic perspective, once you’re an adult, you don’t need your parents’ permission—especially if they’re manipulative or trying to sell you off for your beauty. (Let’s hope that doesn’t happen to me!)
So, my mom—excessively brave, excessively independent, and incredibly unique.
Why am I telling you this? Because you’re an adult, and you should know your parents’ stories. Who they are, where they’re from, what they went through—it all matters. It shapes who you are and gives you perspective.
End of Part
Two. Stand by for Part Three.