Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un — To Allah we belong, and to Him shall we return.
There are moments in life that change everything — moments when time seems to pause, and words fall short of the depth of our sorrow. Losing a mother is one of those moments. It is like watching the sun set on the most beautiful part of your world, knowing it will never rise in quite the same way again.”
With a heart weighed down by grief and gratitude, I write this tribute to my beloved mother, Hajiya Hafsat Yusuf Alajawa, fondly known as Hajiya Gwaggo.
Indeed, the light of my life has dimmed.
Every time I looked at Hajiya Gwaggo, I saw love — pure, unconditional, and endless. Her presence radiated warmth and compassion. Whenever I called her, she would tenderly respond, “Iro ne?” — words that filled me with comfort, belonging, and peace.
She was the one who always accepted my excuses before I could even explain them. She found reasons to justify my shortcomings and always made room for understanding, especially when life placed me at a disadvantage.
My siblings often teased that I was her favorite — her “best choice.” Perhaps they were right. She treated me with a tenderness beyond description. Yet her love for all her children was deep, equal, and sincere. She would often say: “Sannu Iro, yadda ku ke min, kuma Allah ya sa yayanku su yi muku.” (Well done, Iro. The way you treat me, may your children treat you the same.)
Those words now live in my heart as a timeless prayer — a mother’s blessing that will never fade.
Hajiya Gwaggo was more than a mother; she was my confidant, my comfort, and my protector. Her wisdom guided my path, her prayers shielded me from harm, and her faith in Allah strengthened my own. She lived a life of patience, humility, and grace — embodying the finest virtues of womanhood and motherhood.
She gave birth to thirteen children, and by Allah’s will, eleven of us remain to carry forward her legacy of love, discipline, honesty, and compassion. Though she left us with little in material wealth, she blessed us with abundance in wisdom, good character, and the fear of Allah.
Her passing has left a void no one can fill, yet her spirit continues to dwell among us — in our hearts, our prayers, and our memories.
One source of comfort is knowing that she left this world fully pleased with her children. From our final conversations at her sickbed, I am certain that nothing was left unsaid and that we did everything humanly possible to make her happy.
Now, the voice that once said “Iro ne?” has grown silent. The gentle hands that blessed me have returned to their Creator. But even in her absence, her love remains — unseen, yet deeply felt.
It has been exactly seven days — the darkest seven days of my life.
Allah Ya sa kina Aljanna, Hajiya Gwaggo. Sai mun zo.
May Almighty Allah forgive her shortcomings, expand her grave, illuminate it with His eternal light, and grant her Aljannatul Firdaus.
Amin.
Indeed, the light of my life has dimmed — but her prayers will forever shine upon my path.