For My Grandmother, Mrs. Elizabeth Ibilola Agaja

My grandmother raised me. When I was a child, people used to call her Mama Shalewa.

I was the Shalewa.

For the longest time, I actually thought she was my mother. I lived with her from when I was just a few months old until I was old enough to start primary school, and in those years, she became the center of my little world.

She was beautiful; the kind of beauty that had nothing to do with age or fashion. She was strong, disciplined, yet full of love.

She had many names: Mama Matron, because she was one of the earliest matrons and oversaw one of the first orphanages in the ECWA community; Mama Agaja, as she was known in church, where she led the Women’s Fellowship of the ECWA Church in Egbe. Mama Ogba Oyinbo because she was known as the woman from the missionary compound. But to me, she was simply Mama — my safe place, my teacher, my first example of what it means to be a woman of purpose.

She built an entire generation; raising her own children, other people’s children, and anyone who crossed her path. She loved deeply, gave freely, and never stopped serving. Mama’s Bible was always close to her. She taught me how to read Yoruba with that Bible, and every verse we read together carried both her voice and her values.

One of the greatest gifts Mama gave me was the gift of music. When I was as young as four years old, she was the head of the women’s choir at ECWA Church in Egbe, and she would take me along to choir practice. I would sit there, wide-eyed, watching her lead the women as they lifted their voices in harmony. Sometimes, she would let me sing with them — my small voice trying to keep up with the grown women. Her old Iwe Orin hymn book became a permanent fixture in our home; I can still picture her holding it, her voice steady and sure as she sang those timeless hymns. I would sit beside her and sing along, not always knowing the words, but learning the melodies and the spirit behind them.

She told stories too — stories about her life with the early missionaries, her years as a matron in the missionary school, her experiences as a community leader. Through those stories, she taught me about resilience, generosity, and faith.

Growing up with her, I learned so much more than words can hold. I watched her make Iru, kuli-kuli, and groundnut oil from scratch. I learned how to make gari, how to cook, how to work with my hands and my heart. Her egusi soup was the best I’ve ever tasted, and Christmas mornings with her — with pounded yam at 6am and laughter in the air; are memories I will treasure forever.

Mama Agaja & One of her namesake granddaughters; Elizabeth Agaja

She was the bridge between my mother and me as I grew older; the gentle peacekeeper who loved us both in her quiet, steady way. She valued family, community, education, and above all, God.

Everyone who passed through her care left better than they came. That was her gift — the power to build and nurture lives.

Mama Agaja & her community of adopted grandkids

Even now, so many of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren are named after her. That says everything about who she was; a woman whose life was too powerful to end with her passing. Her values live on in us. Her love continues to shape us.

Iya Shalewa; Mrs. Elizabeth Ibilola Agaja was not just my grandmother. She was my foundation, my first home, my lifelong teacher. Her love was generous, her faith unshakeable, and her legacy eternal.