My mother’s own dedication to parenthood has always floored me, but I realised I hadn’t understood where it came fromTo me, my mother is Mummy and Mum; the fount of all knowledge and the source of love; the keeper of the rulebook and the holder of the cheerleader’s pompoms. She’s all of those things, but she is also a madwoman, who on her first night out in England from Zimbabwe was shocked by how cold it was after leaving her flat in a short skirt and heels, no jacket. She was pushed into hockey, literally, by her friend, who shoved her out of the line when the coach asked for a volunteer. I am named after that friend. My mother is both a protester and a nurturer; she has been teargassed at least twice (that I know of) while protesting in the name of human rights. Her life is a series of near misses and question marks, which I enjoy learning about and am sometimes horrified by.Given the obvious richness of her experience, I have asked her many times why she decided to have children...