While I was growing up, up till about 15, I could swear that I had the wrong mother and could give all I had as a gift to anyone who could tell me the ‘truth’. I just couldn’t believe that she was truly my mother. At a point, I thought to myself, maybe I was adopted or misplaced at the hospital. there were times that I thought of packing a bag and running away

runaway child

Seems kinda stupid, don’t you think? Considering some of our similar features like the nose shape, free with everyone character and the way we kinda bond now.
Now, why did I think all that? ‘Cuz’ my mum’s ass whooping skills ARE out of this world. Mum has beaten me at the market, in the school compound, in the kitchen, near the gutter…practically anywhere, and she flogged with whatever her hand could reach at that particular time; omo orogun (Eba turning stick), slippers, slaps (igbarun, iforun, ifoti, iladi and many others), cain…whatever! I just couldn’t comprehend why mothers gave their children so much torture and termed it as home training.
Anyways, the story I’m about to share with you today is my GREATEST ass whooping story: emphasis on GREATEST. Why? I got a combination of ass whooping from dad and mum. It was an epic one.
I can’t quite remember how old I was at the time but I don’t think I was more than 12. Mum had warned us-the children not to go to one of her friend’s house-Mama N (real names withheld before I get my ass whooped again, you’re never too old for beating in an African house lol), except she sent us there herself. We were friends with this woman’s children too so I really never understood the reason why we were told not to go there, even till now.
So, on this day, or would i say, unfortunate day, I wanted to make my hair and Mama N’s daughter had described a place where I could make such pretty nice cornrows which Nigerians call ‘all back’, ‘didi’ or weaving. I followed the description and got to the place and in no time, was done looking so pretty, I was excited. Just then, the clouds decided to adopt a brewing dark hue and it dawned on me that it was gonna rain donkeys and camels today unlike cats and dogs as we were told in primary school. I didn’t know what to do as I didn’t want rain to beat my new huuur.
I must believe that Satan wore iro and buba and pushed this woman’s daughter at that particular time. She came around just in time with an umbrella and remembering the warning begged her to follow me to my mum’s boutique which wasn’t far from Mama N’s house. She refused despite all I said to beg her and just because of my hair, I followed her home.
The rains falling these days might send a thunder to my lips if I lie to you that Mama N wasn’t hospitable. She changed my clothes, got me comfortable and I soon began to play with her children, forgetting mum’s warning. The rains didn’t stop of course. This was about two or three in the afternoon.
At about 7pm, i was playing with the children in the compound when I felt a stingy slap at the back of my neck as I turned to see mum’s face maroon with anger. Cheii! Ever seen a black woman go maroon? Not red o. I said MAROON!
‘Your dad said you would be here but I argued that i had already warned you not to go there again. I have searched everywhere for you today and just said let me even check iya kinni’s house and I …in fact… *pooow*’another slap landed on my face.
Apparently, mum had searched everywhere possible for me and Mama N’s house was the last resort. She would have probably fainted if she got there and didn’t find me.
To cut the long story short, mum beat me from Mama N’s house to her shop which was about three streets away under a fair drizzle (the rain was calming down) and my slippers is still in their house. Haaa! I was barefooted as mum was beating me.
Dad was quiet in the car till we got home and as soon as he entered and came out…behold! The finest snake skin made into a thick correct belt was set on the dinning chair. I knew then that it was all over.
Dad whooped my ass plus my back as we both ran in the middle of the sitting room because dad was holding me so i couldn’t run. He beat me till my grandma said in Ekiti dialect: ‘o ko ti to, in jare, emi ni we lu baaa’ meaning ‘it’s okay ooo, it’s me you’re beating o’.
Then I went over to her, still crying. There, I got epistle talks on why I should obey my parents from grandma.



I must confess, I can never forget that day but I’m glad it happened because it’s a reminder that I should always obey my mum…except in bad instructions, of course.
Love your mother mehnnn…she always got you covered.
I’m sure we’ve all gotten our asses whooped. Why don’t you share with us one of your greatest ass whooping stories. It will be a delight to hear from you.


Do you remember some ass whooping stories from your childhood? Please share some below, I’d like to hear them…


Deuces xoxo

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