{"id":1258,"date":"2025-11-25T22:55:15","date_gmt":"2025-11-25T22:55:15","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/oluabikoye.com\/blog\/?p=1258"},"modified":"2025-11-25T23:07:48","modified_gmt":"2025-11-25T23:07:48","slug":"remembering-alice-ebhodaghe-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/oluabikoye.com\/blog\/remembering-alice-ebhodaghe-2\/","title":{"rendered":"DAY 2 \u2014 When Mama Told Me to Walk"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

I was in my freshman year at the university \u2014 technically \u201cYear 2,\u201d because I came in through Direct Entry after completing my diploma. That evening, I was drained. I had just finished my Law of Contract test \u2014 the unforgettable rite of passage for every second-year student. I was still on the phone with my grandmother, telling her how intense it was, how my head was filled with Carlill v Carbolic Smoke Ball Company<\/em> and every rule of Consideration known to mankind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I approached the hostel, I realised something was off.
Girls were gathered in small groups, whispering urgently.
Some looked frightened, some confused, some curious \u2014 exactly the kind of atmosphere you find among teenagers when a rumour spreads faster than common sense.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMama, something is happening in the hostel,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her reply came without hesitation \u2014 calm, steady, familiar:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt is none of your business. Walk.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before I could say more, a girl tugged my hand and whispered:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere\u2019s a girl who fainted\u2026 they\u2019re saying strange things.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Teenagers can turn anything unfamiliar into something dramatic.
Mama heard the tension in my silence and repeated, gently but firmly:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWalk, my daughter.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her voice didn\u2019t waver.
Mine did.
But when Mama tells you to walk, you walk \u2014 because her voice had been my GPS long before I knew what fear even was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I held the phone to my ear and moved forward. And strangely \u2014 or maybe not strangely \u2014 people stepped aside.
Left, right \u2014 the path simply opened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It reminded me of 2 Samuel 23:16<\/strong>, where David\u2019s men \u201cbroke through the crowd\u201d with single-minded focus. I wasn\u2019t brave. I wasn\u2019t heroic. I wasn\u2019t even thinking. I was just obeying the voice that had guided me since childhood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLight and darkness do not mix,\u201d Mama said softly.
\u201cYou are light. Keep walking.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The noise around me was chaotic \u2014 fear often makes everything feel louder \u2014 but inside me, something settled. It only happens when someone who loves you speaks into your fear with unquestionable conviction. I was familiar with the finality of it, because I had heard it almost every day of my life. Mass updates, stories, prayers, laughter\u2026 she was the voice that shaped my evenings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I passed the cluster of girls \u2014 some anxious, some emotional, some praying loudly in their own way. I didn\u2019t stop to analyse anything. Not because I was bold, but because Mama had already given me my instruction:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Walk.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I reached my room, the wing felt unusually empty. Some girls chose to sleep in other rooms that night. Others gathered outside, still discussing what had happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Me?
I bathed.
I ate.
I got back on the phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMama, are you sure I\u2019m safe?\u201d I whispered \u2014 that quiet question you ask when you don\u2019t want people to know you are afraid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She let out a small laugh \u2014 the kind that always made me feel like I had exaggerated my own worries.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPsalm 91. Say it.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And she began:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

\u201cHe who dwells in the secret place of the Most High
shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty\u2026\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

I repeated each verse \u2014 half-tired from studying, half-distracted by the earlier commotion \u2014 but she knew every verse from memory. She always did. Psalm 91. Psalm 121. Psalm 23. All from that tiny blue Bible she had carried for decades, its corners frayed like a book that lived inside her heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She didn\u2019t just recite Scripture.
She spoke it into me \u2014 word by word \u2014 until my breathing slowed\u2026
until my shoulders relaxed\u2026
until sleep came quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The night passed peacefully.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No shadows.
No fear.
Just the stillness of a university hostel after a long day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the morning, as I brushed my teeth, a girl whispered:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2026 slept in your room? You weren\u2019t worried?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I rinsed and replied, almost casually:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy grandmother said it\u2019s none of my business.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because truly \u2014 it wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mama never raised us on fear.
We didn\u2019t grow up hearing about darkness, danger, or superstition.
She shielded our minds from anything that would make the world feel frightening.
She filled us with God.
Peace.
Angels.
Psalms.
A confidence that wasn\u2019t loud, but steady.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That night, I relied entirely on her faith \u2014 100%.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And it held me.
It calmed me.
It guided me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because Mama had said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWalk.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I\u2019m still walking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yours with love and memory,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

If you didn’t read Day 1, find it here https:\/\/oluabikoye.com\/blog\/remembering-alice-ebhodaghe\/ <\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I was in my freshman year at the university \u2014 technically \u201cYear 2,\u201d because I came in through Direct Entry after completing my diploma. That evening, I was drained. I had just finished my Law of Contract test \u2014 the unforgettable rite of passage for every second-year student. I was still on the phone with…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[78],"tags":[79,80,81,82,83],"class_list":["post-1258","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-remembering-alice-ebhodaghe","tag-aliceebhodaghe","tag-alicethematriarch","tag-rememberingaliceebhodaghe","tag-sacredheart","tag-sacredheartofjesus"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/oluabikoye.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1258","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/oluabikoye.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/oluabikoye.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oluabikoye.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oluabikoye.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1258"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/oluabikoye.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1258\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1262,"href":"https:\/\/oluabikoye.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1258\/revisions\/1262"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/oluabikoye.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1258"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oluabikoye.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1258"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oluabikoye.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1258"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}