Memoirs of a Mum: My 16-Year Experience With School Run – Chinwe Kalu

I have heard many women try to describe motherhood.  They sum it up by saying, ‘Being a mother is not easy.’  A slight digression: I saw a picture of a set of twin sisters in their late forties recently. They both got married about the same time. However, one had children almost immediately and the other did not. The picture was taken after a long while in marriage for two of them. The sister with children looked a lot older than her sister who had not had any.

So, when we say, ‘motherhood is not easy,’ it does not do justice to trying to say what motherhood is. We have been called drivers, teachers, counsellor, cheer leaders, cooks, maids, …, please fill in the gaps. No matter what you may choose to say our job description is, you can never really say what it feels like to all mothers. We could all say a million and one different things besides the obvious. It is a unique experience for each of us for each of our children.

One of my chores as a mum is ‘school runs’ and I had a love-hate feeling about it. I started it when my son began kindergarten, where he wore play clothes and played all day.  At the time he started, I was still pregnant for his sister. It felt good to start that process.

Then he transferred to proper school where he wore uniforms and all, and it was still nice. It was just him. After a while his sisters joined him one after the other. Until I had four children, I would drive to school and back every day. Along the line, I also had protégées who joined us on the daily trips, either to or from school. I eventually got a bus to do the runs.

It would usually be a party. We created traditions. We did our Bible Study and praying in the car on our way to school. The journey was long enough to achieve that. We would play loud music in the car and have a sing-along party as we drove home from school. We resolved family issues. Every Friday, we stopped over for a bowl of ice cream along with some snacks. Sometimes, it was boiled corn from the woman in the corner with coconuts. They were eaten by all the kids who drove in my car. Whenever I got to school late, my peace offering would be ice cream and something. It was understood and the kids loved it.

After eight years, my son left the crew, then my first daughter. At this time, we moved out of the country and things changed because we lived near school. The kids could walk to school. However, the younger two always wanted that experience of mummy dropping them off at school.

As God would have it, the kids all came on the stint to Tanzania, and at some point we resumed the daily rides to school, the four of them. My car was smaller, they were bigger but we had our rituals anyway. There was just something about the rides.

Then we got back home, and three of my four kids were off to school. Only baby girl was home. It became our private party – a much more quiet private party. We talked about everything in the car. I encouraged her to work hard for her common entrance exams. She had piles and piles of homework. We finished quite a number as we drove to school. Sometimes, I would need to pack so she could finish.

Then, the exams were over and I switched to telling her stories of the women in the Bible. We talked about puberty and boys and life. We just loved being together, just the two of us. She had looked forward to the time it would be just the two of us. She loved it and so did I.

An amazing love-hate experience it was. I loved it when I would see them all in the car but would agonise to wake up to take them to school and break away from everything to bring them back home. My life was centred around the hours of 7 a.m. and 4 p.m. every school day, whether I liked it or not. I am one of those mums who refused to delegate that duty. It was too much sacred time to delegate to other people except occasionally.

I did this for sixteen years, a lifetime, if you ask me. But I appreciate every minute of it. My older children have such warm memories of it that I thank God for giving me those times we drove to school.

Soon, my last child was off to boarding school and that marked the end of school run for me. I miss those times I have had with my children. There is something about bonding in the car with the children (all the Mummies agree, I am sure). However, every good thing must come to an end.

I remember announcing my exit from school run to a couple of women at a women’s meeting then. One of them had said she saved herself from school run a long time ago. How? She got her nanny to learn how to drive, got her a little car and she drops and picks the kids for her. I thought that was a brilliant alternative. However, I would not exchange what I had with my children for it.

I truly believe that the school run experience is part of the process that helps us bond with, monitor and groom our children. I realize that some Mums cannot get into the routine because of their work schedule. This is not to make them feel bad. However, I celebrate those sixteen years of beautiful memories with my children as we commuted to and from school.