Adamma - the unshakeable crown of a first daughter that refused to break…
Some women are born daughters but some are born pillars. Some come to the world to play but a few arrive carrying the weight of an entire family on their shoulders. When a family forgets the worth of their Ada, life has a way of reminding them.
This is the story of Adamma, the Ada they tried to break, the mother she became too early and the woman who refused to be erased from her own father’s house.
From the moment life placed the mantle on her head, Adamma had no choice.
She did not grow into responsibility, responsibility grew into her.
She was the first daughter, the Ada, the one whose name carried meaning.
Her parents had always called her “Adamma, onye ji ezi aha” (the one who carries a good name).
Childhood ended for her the day their mother died.
Other children played.
Other first daughters complained but Adamma became a mother in a child’s body, wiping little noses, cooking meals she didn’t even know how to spell, braiding hair while crying silently because she missed her own mother.
She nursed her younger ones with the tenderness she was denied.
She carried their hunger as her own.
She guarded their future with her sleepless nights.
As she grew, her shoulders grew too broad enough to hold a family, yet soft enough to comfort them.
Life was not yet done with her.
After years of trying to stand strong together, her father died too.
That day, everything around her fell like a broken wall.
Like a true Ada, she stood in the middle of the storm and said,
“If I fall, who will hold them?”
She finished secondary school and went straight into work, any work, every work just to keep her siblings alive, clothed, directed.
She fed them.
She protected them.
She prayed for them.
She mourned for them.
She carried them in her heart like a mother carries a newborn on her back.
She was the Ada they leaned on, until they no longer needed to lean.
When she married, she did not leave them.
She carried them into her marriage with the same loyalty, the same heart.
Something changed… painfully, slowly, brutally.
The love she gave so freely.
The sacrifices she made so silently.
The tears she shed so privately.
None of it was reciprocated.
Her siblings grew wings and suddenly forgot the nest she built with her bare hands.
They forgot the hands that held them up.
They forgot the sleepless nights she endured.
They forgot the advice she gave out of love.
They forgot the hunger she shared and the pain she swallowed.
Worse of all
They began to challenge her position as Ada.
As if the crown on her head was a mistake.
As if her sacrifices were voluntary charity.
As if being Ada was a title without responsibility.
Some families fight outsiders.
But Adamma?
Her own siblings turned against her.
They fought her physically.
They fought her spiritually.
They fought her mentally.
They used their tongues like knives.
They tried to strip her of her rightful place as a daughter of her father.
All because she and her husband had nothing at the time.
Her family rejected her.
Mocked her.
Spoke evil against her.
Tried to chase her away from the very land that birthed her.
A land where she planted love, sacrifice, sweat and years of service.
She stood tall and declared:
Unless I am not the Ada of this family, NOBODY can chase me from my father’s house.
I am not Ada by accident, God made me Ada with purpose.
An igbo adage says that :
“Ozu nwada adighi ato na mba" (The corpse of a first daughter is never abandoned in a strange or foreign land). This points to the deep-rooted connection the Ada (the first daughter of the household) has to her paternal home. It means that even if she moves far away, her final resting place is a matter of tradition and importance within her father's clan.
Her voice echoed like thunder.
Her ancestors heard her.
Heaven heard her.
The earth shook with the truth of her words. The Ada is the head of the home.
Where a person falls is where their God lifts them from. Adamma fell many times but she never stayed on the ground.
One day, when the insults were too much, when the ungratefulness became unbearable, she wiped her tears and said:
“make una carry una cross. I have carried una for too long.”
That moment wasn’t anger, it was liberation.
She decided to pray from a distance.
Help them only within her ability.
Love them without losing herself.
Even the strongest daughter deserves rest.
Her decision shocked them but it also forced them to think.
Sometimes, love must step back for peace to return.
They forgot that a family that does not honor their Ada invites generational consequences.
They forgot that one day, the same Ada they pushed aside would be the one Heaven lifts publicly.
They forgot that God sees everything done in secret.
They forgot that the same stone the builders rejected always becomes the cornerstone.
“When my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.” — Psalm 27:10
God has been the mother she lost.
The father she buried.
The comfort she prayed for.
The justice she deserves.
He will not fail her.
Adamma carried her siblings from childhood.
She sacrificed her youth for their survival.
She endured rejection and hatred from the same people she raised.
They tried to fight her spiritually and physically.
She refused to be pushed out of her father’s house.
She chose peace and prayer over pain.
She remains the Ada not by birth alone but by destiny.
Honor your Ada.
Respect first daughters.
Never forget who stood for you when you were nothing.
Choose peace where love is not reciprocated.
Set boundaries without bitterness.
Pray for unity without losing yourself.
Morals of the story
Not every first daughter is just a sibling, some are bridges between generations.
Some are angels in human form.
Some carry destinies that others cannot understand.
When you disrespect the Ada, you disrespect the grace God placed on her.
Honor her and honor will never leave your home.
Despise her and life will teach lessons no one wants to learn.
Adamma may have suffered but she did not break.
Her story is proof that God fights for those who fight for others.
The Bible reminds us that:
“No weapon formed against you shall prosper.” — Isaiah 54:17
© Elizabeth Akudo All Rights Reserved
Written in honor of every Ada carrying silent burdens. #AdaDiOraNdu #FirstDaughterStrength #NigerianStory #FamilyMatters #GraceKeepsUs #IgboAda #ResilienceStory #DivineJustice #FollowElizabethNamaste
Follow@Elizabeth Akudo for more stories that feel like home.
Some women are born daughters but some are born pillars. Some come to the world to play but a few arrive carrying the weight of an entire family on their shoulders. When a family forgets the worth of their Ada, life has a way of reminding them.
This is the story of Adamma, the Ada they tried to break, the mother she became too early and the woman who refused to be erased from her own father’s house.
From the moment life placed the mantle on her head, Adamma had no choice.
She did not grow into responsibility, responsibility grew into her.
She was the first daughter, the Ada, the one whose name carried meaning.
Her parents had always called her “Adamma, onye ji ezi aha” (the one who carries a good name).
Childhood ended for her the day their mother died.
Other children played.
Other first daughters complained but Adamma became a mother in a child’s body, wiping little noses, cooking meals she didn’t even know how to spell, braiding hair while crying silently because she missed her own mother.
She nursed her younger ones with the tenderness she was denied.
She carried their hunger as her own.
She guarded their future with her sleepless nights.
As she grew, her shoulders grew too broad enough to hold a family, yet soft enough to comfort them.
Life was not yet done with her.
After years of trying to stand strong together, her father died too.
That day, everything around her fell like a broken wall.
Like a true Ada, she stood in the middle of the storm and said,
“If I fall, who will hold them?”
She finished secondary school and went straight into work, any work, every work just to keep her siblings alive, clothed, directed.
She fed them.
She protected them.
She prayed for them.
She mourned for them.
She carried them in her heart like a mother carries a newborn on her back.
She was the Ada they leaned on, until they no longer needed to lean.
When she married, she did not leave them.
She carried them into her marriage with the same loyalty, the same heart.
Something changed… painfully, slowly, brutally.
The love she gave so freely.
The sacrifices she made so silently.
The tears she shed so privately.
None of it was reciprocated.
Her siblings grew wings and suddenly forgot the nest she built with her bare hands.
They forgot the hands that held them up.
They forgot the sleepless nights she endured.
They forgot the advice she gave out of love.
They forgot the hunger she shared and the pain she swallowed.
Worse of all
They began to challenge her position as Ada.
As if the crown on her head was a mistake.
As if her sacrifices were voluntary charity.
As if being Ada was a title without responsibility.
Some families fight outsiders.
But Adamma?
Her own siblings turned against her.
They fought her physically.
They fought her spiritually.
They fought her mentally.
They used their tongues like knives.
They tried to strip her of her rightful place as a daughter of her father.
All because she and her husband had nothing at the time.
Her family rejected her.
Mocked her.
Spoke evil against her.
Tried to chase her away from the very land that birthed her.
A land where she planted love, sacrifice, sweat and years of service.
She stood tall and declared:
Unless I am not the Ada of this family, NOBODY can chase me from my father’s house.
I am not Ada by accident, God made me Ada with purpose.
An igbo adage says that :
“Ozu nwada adighi ato na mba" (The corpse of a first daughter is never abandoned in a strange or foreign land). This points to the deep-rooted connection the Ada (the first daughter of the household) has to her paternal home. It means that even if she moves far away, her final resting place is a matter of tradition and importance within her father's clan.
Her voice echoed like thunder.
Her ancestors heard her.
Heaven heard her.
The earth shook with the truth of her words. The Ada is the head of the home.
Where a person falls is where their God lifts them from. Adamma fell many times but she never stayed on the ground.
One day, when the insults were too much, when the ungratefulness became unbearable, she wiped her tears and said:
“make una carry una cross. I have carried una for too long.”
That moment wasn’t anger, it was liberation.
She decided to pray from a distance.
Help them only within her ability.
Love them without losing herself.
Even the strongest daughter deserves rest.
Her decision shocked them but it also forced them to think.
Sometimes, love must step back for peace to return.
They forgot that a family that does not honor their Ada invites generational consequences.
They forgot that one day, the same Ada they pushed aside would be the one Heaven lifts publicly.
They forgot that God sees everything done in secret.
They forgot that the same stone the builders rejected always becomes the cornerstone.
“When my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.” — Psalm 27:10
God has been the mother she lost.
The father she buried.
The comfort she prayed for.
The justice she deserves.
He will not fail her.
Adamma carried her siblings from childhood.
She sacrificed her youth for their survival.
She endured rejection and hatred from the same people she raised.
They tried to fight her spiritually and physically.
She refused to be pushed out of her father’s house.
She chose peace and prayer over pain.
She remains the Ada not by birth alone but by destiny.
Honor your Ada.
Respect first daughters.
Never forget who stood for you when you were nothing.
Choose peace where love is not reciprocated.
Set boundaries without bitterness.
Pray for unity without losing yourself.
Morals of the story
Not every first daughter is just a sibling, some are bridges between generations.
Some are angels in human form.
Some carry destinies that others cannot understand.
When you disrespect the Ada, you disrespect the grace God placed on her.
Honor her and honor will never leave your home.
Despise her and life will teach lessons no one wants to learn.
Adamma may have suffered but she did not break.
Her story is proof that God fights for those who fight for others.
The Bible reminds us that:
“No weapon formed against you shall prosper.” — Isaiah 54:17
© Elizabeth Akudo All Rights Reserved
Written in honor of every Ada carrying silent burdens. #AdaDiOraNdu #FirstDaughterStrength #NigerianStory #FamilyMatters #GraceKeepsUs #IgboAda #ResilienceStory #DivineJustice #FollowElizabethNamaste
Follow@Elizabeth Akudo for more stories that feel like home.
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