My mother clocked 50 recently. She gave birth to six of us. I may not have talked about her in the past because my parents weren't much in my picture, but I would be changing the narrative by including her and giving room for conversations.

The first time I wrote about my mother, it sparked both pity and condemnations. The reaction was not what I expected, but I am glad that I laid the foundation for an honest conversation. My mother's mental illness made me understand the reasoning and plight of those who have families fighting these illnesses.

One might say that the mentally derailed people roaming around were neglected by their families, used by ritualists, or are serving a punishment for a wrong they did in the past. It is faulty to think that way, and such can be said to be prejudiced and to be a total disregard of the imminent poverty and the system we run.

From the few times we have been able to solicit and get medical assistance for my mum(through seemingly begging and willingness of well-wishers), it has been clear to me that being unwell in this country is like being doomed. Falling ill in Nigeria is dangerous to your health. It would be a combination of misery and confusion, as the poor health services are very expensive and not even for the common man. Run a survey of those who go to hospitals for check-ups against those who go when they are critically ill, and you would find the latter to be around 90%, if not, in the majority.

To blame this delinquency on the socioeconomic element of the country alone is an impartial judgment. We are deficient in empathy, goodwill, and critical thoughts, we're lacking in feeling and compassion. We are very selfish and not ready to stand against the status quo.. that is us. If you have ever passed through an accident scene, all you would see are people taking pictures of people who are in pain, trapped, unconscious, or dead. And those who assist these persons would be ripped off, victimized, and made to regret their act of altruism.

As the first child of my mother, gossip has made me popular and my German shepherd kind of ear has heard whispers of things that should break my heart, but I am lucky that I don't care. Some of the friends I had before the time her condition began fled. Recent beloveds find it hard to say so much truth about me when questioned by their family.

I am not left alone in the blame game. Ah! I am impatient, most of the time not-understanding, too aggressive, too passive, and when unnecessary - too apathetic. Sometimes I hurt myself when I think of times I shout at her to stop talking, slam the door at her for her non-stop chatter, even one of the days I violently dragged her and flung her in when all these started.

I remember when my mum was carrying her last-child, Glory, the 6th of us. The pregnancy was a mysterious one, as we didn't know who her father was. Her stories whenever she was asked about the paternity wasn't always the same. Obviously, someone took advantage of her condition. And each of those she mentioned was approached. Ridicule, denial, and betrayal were the result. She had just lost her husband about a year to the time. Her illness had begun before the death of her husband, I need to note. When I discovered that she was pregnant, I wanted her to abort it, but it was already advanced.

I always thought of how my step father's family would take it. It worried me. During the vividness of her pregnancy and birth, I discovered that I wasn't totally wrong. Our society is lagging in vital enlightenment and advocacy. And it is going to require a lot from us to get better, if we want to get better. The ridicule, shame and insensitivity is simply on another level.

That I am discussing it openly doesn't mean that it is a light issue. It is a pain in the corner of the heart of my siblings that would come out after the effect of every hilarious prank of mine wears out. They would want a release from the pain. They would wish they had a wand that would take it all away. They, my grandmother and my aunt arethose I pity the most. They shouldn't go through such mental torture, neither the young nor old. It stains the memory with bitter and sorry moments. It is lethargic and sad.

I am not happy my mother has such a condition, due to proximity and these cruel occurrences, but I noticed that I have begun to love her.. After my initial frustrations, resentment and anger. I read so much innocence in the face of hers that looks like mine. I see that she could never have wished to have a psychotic illness by herself. And just like a baby who babbles, plays, defecates, and cries when hungry, she doesn't know what she is doing. Mental illness affects our thinking, emotions and behaviour.. Such that she simply does not know what she is doing or the implications. This is simply the case. They suffer, and they share the suffering with their families. The people around them receive most of the pain through worry, shame, stigma and ignorance about what to do or where to go. All sorts of advice will come in at this time, further adding to the confusion.

I know no bad story about my mother other than her liability to be sometimes violent, stubborn, and jealous. News from home and the diaspora has always been that she is a lovely woman and a blessing to many. If so, I will find it impossible to stop loving her. I celebrate this blessed fighter. She has an amazing son in me and fantastic beings in healthy and brainy five others. She is just one among many that you have never heard of their stories. And this story is just a single fraction from the whole of her being and existence. Not everything.

As I have once said, this is for my mother because of the innocence and peace I see in her face whenever she behaves frustratingly; my five siblings and Grandma who also keep a tranquil countenance, smile, and almost never talked about it bothering them; for they laden me with the fear that they are sick, despondent, jaded, worn-out and sad inside. And every delirious soul out there in the mosquito, rain, and sun that has no clean food, water, shelter, and that are not part of the concerns of the society.

My story and that of my mother has changed positively. I became an Asido Foundation Member, and was linked to Dr Abdulmalik, though another doctor. My mother sought treatment in UCH Ibadan. She did very well and improved significantly and we were all happy, relieved and proud.

It is an ongoing battle however, as she sometimes refuses to take her medications. But now we have hope again, there is a renewed bounce to our steps and we now know that she can be well and she can interact normally with treatment.

Thanks to Asido Foundation and all the Mental Health Advocates out there... We need this information out there. That help is available, and that you dont need to suffer in silence. Seek for help at the nearest facility close to you and if you have difficulties or need information, reach out to Asido Foundation via 0902 8080 416 (Asido Foundation Helpline).

My mother and our family are happier today for reaching out and receiving help. Its not over but we now see light at the end of the tunnel. WE ARE NOT HELPLESS. Neither are you.

Òníòroró Oladele Orepo

Ibadan, Nigeria