“A Golden smile from a Golden Girl of the games.”

That’s a quote from a 1965 news article about my mom. It features a fresh-faced, grinning photo of her and goes on to talk about her winning the gold medal in Brazzaville, the Republic of the Congo.

My mom won medal after medal throwing the javelin back then and even qualified for Nigeria’s Olympic Team. In her memoir, she wrote about hiding from the paparazzi. What a time. The Golden Girl with the Golden Smile. My brother Emezie even wrote a song inspired by it called “Golden Girl”.

It was the perfect description. She was a valedictorian, an athletic champion, proud, beautiful, super smart, confident, so so extroverted, she loved people. So many people knew and loved my mother.

She cast a long shadow. She was a lot to live up to. When I had my daughter at the beginning of my PhD program, when I was teaching two classes, taking a full load of classes, and basically raising my daughter Anya as a single parent, I looked at my mother and knew I couldn’t complain.

She had my dad’s support, but she had Ife, Ngozi and me…THREE infants to care for while working on her PhD in hospital and health administration.

Me only having one? Please. That was basic.

Yes, my mother was a lot to live up to, but that only made my siblings and me stronger.

Her example of how to be a powerful and driven mother who could do it all proved to me that I could be fine and even excel in my own situation. And I was and I did. My mom was the amazing woman I aspired to be. What a privilege it was to have such an example to follow.

…Even if that example was a lot of pressure.

I grew up hearing my mother talk about being born and raised in Jos. She talked about fighting with baboons, swirling around in dust devils , being a bit of a wild kid who was the apple of her father’s eye because she was so smart, sweet and plucky. The Jos she spoke of sounded magical, fun and peaceful.

I remember, while on a trip to Nigeria, my mom started speaking Hausa to this man selling pineapples. She hadn’t spoken it in a long time and she wasn’t sure if she could. She wanted the pineapple so badly that she just started speaking to the man!

The delight on her face when she realized she still could was so sweet. She bargained hard for that giant pineapple and then held it up like a trophy. That pineapple, to this day, was the most delicious pineapple I’ve ever tasted.

My mom was very Nigerian American. She refused to lose her accent because it was a part of her identity. She and my father also made sure all of us had Igbo first and middle names, something we’d each be thankful for as we grew older. Those names would help us to solidify our identities as Nigeran Americans.

My mother also embraced what it was to be American. She and my father taught us that while this country was full of problems, it was also a land of great opportunity. You had to simply be willing to work hard for it, be smart about the way you navigated it and move with both confidence and kindness.

The day I was most proud of my mother, the day that she became a super hero in my eyes, was during a trip to Nigeria. We were on our way back to the Port Harcourt Airport. It had been a perilous drive because at the time, there were strikes and many students had nothing to do. They were restless. In this case, many of them were up to no good.

During the drive from the village to the airport, we kept getting stopped by students posing as police. They’d demand bribes. By the time we got near the airport, both my parents were one edge, exhausted, and just plain angry. That’s when yet another group of students stopped our car.

My mother had had enough.

My father tried to hold her back, but she wasn’t having it. She jumped out of the car and began yelling at the students. Telling them that they should have been ashamed of themselves

…that she was disgusted with them

…that they were further crippling the entire country

…that while they should have been in school

…that the country had infected them with its corruption and that was sad sad SAD

…and also to shut up and get out of the way.

She didn’t fear them at ALL. I remember sitting and staring at her as she faced that group of guys. There were several of them. Where they had tried to appear intimidating in their fake uniforms, they instead looked terrified and afraid…of my mother. They got out of the way. We drove off.

It was magnificent. I remember that my dad was smiling.

My siblings and I were so proud.

My mom’s health began to decline with lockdown in 2020. When lockdown was enforced, my mom was playing tennis three times a week with her group. When that stopped, everything suffered. You can't stop the rain from falling. Here we are.

She was that colorful matriarch who made sure everyone was at their best. She had energy for everyone. Oftentimes, she’d know what someone needed well before that person knew or had decided they needed it.

I’m a testament to that. My mom knew it was best for me to get my PhD, when I was tired of school after earning two master’s. I literally went on to earn my PhD solely because she and my father insisted that I do it. And it was one of the best things I could have done. I’m glad I knew to just listen, as opposed to resist. I’m just one example of many.

My mom was an athlete. Long after her javelin days, she continued to center sports in her life. Mainly as a tennis player. She loved tennis so much. It was her social circle and it fed the athlete in her. Even when the Alzheimer’s began to take hold, my mother still insisted on watching tennis. If my mother was a symbol it would be a golden tennis racket.

My mom was my father’s best friend, confidant and wife. When my father was at his height, boy, were they a powerful team. And when my father was sick, she held and stood for him.

I’ll never forget the day that my father had to be flown by helicopter to the hospital. The pilot of the helicopter told my sister Ifeoma that he’d never seen a woman love her husband so much. He thought it was beautiful.

She was that proud woman who was like sunshine entering the room. Stylish, full of joy, a confident intensity. Well-put-together. She would always make you feel special and unique. You became better after being around her.

My mother was a force of nature. My siblings and I had a perfect mother. Zero complaints and a thousand compliments. Dr. Helen Ijeoma Okorafor made us who were where while she danced in life.

I think all of us here today will agree that there was nothing like being touched by my mother’s golden light. The Golden Girl with the Golden Smile, that news article from so long ago had it so right.