My mother was officially the same age as my father, but he used to say:
“Your mother is about five years younger than me.”
Everyone who has been blessed with a mother speaks of her in the best words. However, these words cannot fully express the greatness of a mother’s dignity and essence.
My mother’s name was Zebunniso. She was born in the Kaflondara village community and completed seven years of schooling there. She was well educated and wrote beautifully. When I was in the army, she wrote letters to me in a poetic manner, expressing her pain and longing, praying to see me alive again.
She had three siblings — an older brother and two sisters. Her father, Rahmonali, was a well-known wrestler and horseman.
After the fall of the Emir of Bukhara, the Basmachi movement emerged, and many bandits began looting villages, including Kaflondara and nearby areas.
Local men asked Rahmonali to lead a defense group, and he protected the community for nearly a year.
When the Bolsheviks approached, he decided to flee to Afghanistan, but his wife Bibifotima refused. Eventually, he left alone.
At that time, Zebunniso was four years old.
Her brother Bobonazar later went to war and wrote hopeful letters home, but in April 1945, just before victory, he was killed near Berlin.
Bibifotima lived with us for the rest of her life. She was modest, strong, honest, and hardworking.
She rarely spoke, but her behavior taught us everything. If we misbehaved, she would gently say:
“Think first, then act.”
She never complained about her life, but sometimes, in solitude, she would quietly cry, remembering her son.
Once, I saw her take out his photograph, hold it close, and speak to him in tears.
My mother resembled her — hardworking, resilient, and humble. She never feared hardship.
One day, working in the rain, she said:
“We are not afraid of heat or cold. We are not clay to melt, nor water to freeze.”
She always believed that kindness never goes unrewarded.
What I remember most about my mother is her honesty, humility, resilience, and gratitude.
(Excerpt from the book “Memoirs” by Saimumin Yatimov, Dushanbe, 2024)
