There are stories that are written with ink,
and there are stories that are written with tears, memory, and love.
This book is the second.

I did not write this as an author trying to impress the world —
I wrote it as a son trying to preserve a life that shaped mine.

Mummy Teneng Doris was not only my mother.
She was my first protector, my first teacher,
my first example of sacrifice,
my first understanding of strength,
and my greatest earthly blessing.

Her life was not loud,
but it was powerful.
She did not leave behind wealth, fame, or buildings —
she left something much greater:

a legacy of character
a legacy of love
a legacy of resilience
a legacy of Godliness
and a legacy of prophetic wisdom for generations.

These pages hold her footsteps — from the dusty paths of Kongfune, to the hospital wards where she served, to the community gatherings she helped unite, to the quiet sacrifices she made so her son could have a future.

Writing this book was not easy.
Every chapter brought memories — some painful, some inspiring, all unforgettable.
But I knew this was not just my responsibility — it was my honor.

I wanted future generations to know her name.
I wanted her grandchildren and great-grandchildren — even those not yet born — to know the kind of foundation they came from.
I wanted the world to understand that greatness is not always found in titles, but in humility, persistence, and quiet strength.

This book is my offering to her memory.
It is also my offering to anyone who has ever loved deeply, lost deeply, and still found the courage to rise.

You will meet a woman who lived through hardship without bitterness,
who fought battles without violence,
who healed wounds without boasting,
and who carried her family with dignity.

Her life is a reminder that:

You do not need to be famous to be impactful.
You do not need to be wealthy to be generous.
You do not need to be loud to be powerful.
You only need a good heart —
and she had the best of them.

If this book teaches you anything, let it be this:

Love outlives death.
Character outlives suffering.
Legacy outlives time.

Thank you for opening these pages.
Thank you for letting me share her with you.
And thank you, Mummy Teneng Doris, for giving me a story worthy of writing.

This book is for you.
This love is forever.

This book stands as a monument of love, memory, and gratitude — a reflection of a life beautifully lived and a mother whose impact will echo across generations. Though the pages speak of Mummy Teneng Doris, the strength behind this work comes from all who walked beside her, loved her, and helped preserve her story.

To God Almighty,
whose grace carried her through every season of life and whose mercy now gives her eternal peace —we give all glory and thanks.

To the entire Teneng Family,
your unity, support, and shared memories made this tribute possible.
Each of you carries a piece of her heart and together, you keep her legacy alive.

To her sisters and brothers,
who stood with her in joy and in difficulty,
your voices have enriched these pages with authenticity and pride.

To her parents, Pa Teneng John and Ma Teneng Esther,
thank you for raising a daughter whose character became a blessing to the world.

To every person who shared a story, a moment, a whisper of remembrance —
your contributions shaped this book into a living portrait of who she truly was.

And finally,
to every reader who opens this book,
may the life of Mummy Teneng Doris inspire you, strengthen you, and remind you that true greatness is found in humility, service, and love.

This acknowledgment is more than a list —it is a collective heartbeat,
a united voice saying:

“Thank you, Mummy Teneng Doris, for blessing this world with your life.”

A powerful and emotional set of guiding questions that the book explores

1. What makes a mother’s sacrifice the most powerful force in the world?

2. How did a young girl from a small village grow into an extraordinary woman?

3. What shaped her childhood and the strength she carried into adulthood?

4. How did she rise academically despite poverty and hardship?

5. What struggles did she silently carry as a single mother?

6. What burdens did she bear that no one saw — physically, emotionally, and spiritually?

7. How did stress, overwork, and malnutrition slowly destroy her health?

8. What truly happened during her final months in the hospital?

9. What values did she leave behind that continue to guide her son and inspire others?

10. How does a community shape a woman, and how does a woman shape a community?

11. How do poverty, hope, and survival define the journeys of many African women?

12. Why is her story not just personal, but universal — a reflection of countless mothers around the world?

13. How can a child’s memory preserve a legacy that the world must never forget?

14. How does the cycle of life unfold: Origin → Growth → Struggle → Sacrifice → Decline → Legacy?

15. Why must this story be preserved for future generations?

Some stories can be told easily, in a few sentences, as though they are simple tales. But the story of my mother, Teneng Doris Awa, is not one of simplicity. It is a story of love so deep it hurts, of sacrifices so heavy they leave invisible scars, and of strength that quietly defies imagination. Writing her story is like holding onto a piece of my heart and letting it bleed onto the page.

I was her only son, and she was my world. My father was far away, unable to hold me, unable to walk with me through the small victories and the quiet heartbreaks of childhood. But he did what he could — sending money, trying to provide from a distance. Still, it was my mother who gave me life, nurtured me, and carried me through every challenge. Every day, every night, every little moment was shaped by her love and her unwavering dedication.

I remember her as I remember no one else. I remember the warmth of her hands as she dressed me for school, the care in the way she combed my hair, and the pride in her eyes when others complimented me. I remember going to church with her, and how she would cry quietly during the sermon. Not out of weakness, but because her heart felt everything so deeply — every word, every prayer, every story of life, loss, and hope. And I, a small boy sitting beside her, would begin to cry too. Not because I understood fully, but because I felt her pain and her love all at once.

And then there were the nights we spent together, late into the night, sorting dry fish for sale. I remember pleading with her: “Mummy, let’s go and sleep. Please, it’s late.” She would shake her head softly and say: “Go sleep, so you can be ready for school tomorrow.” But I could not leave her alone. I sat with her, watching her hands work tirelessly, her back bent, her face tired yet determined. I did not know then how much weight she carried — not just the physical weight of the fish, but the weight of our lives, the burden of providing for me, the burden of survival in a world that demanded everything from her and gave little in return. By the time she finished and we finally went inside, the clock would show 2 a.m., yet the next morning, school still awaited me, and she still had her work of arranging fish for sale. And through it all, I began to understand what it meant to truly sacrifice for someone else.

Her life was not defined by moments of rest. She carried responsibilities that most adults could barely imagine — running a pharmacy, managing a small shop, transporting dry fish late into the night, and yet always prioritizing me over herself. She carried these burdens silently, never complaining, always smiling, always loving. And in her quiet, tireless struggle, she taught me the first and most important lesson: love is not a feeling, it is an action, and it often comes at great personal cost.

This book is built from memory. It is stitched together from the stories of my grandmother, my mother’s siblings, her friends, and the community she touched with her life. But above all, it comes from my own memories — the ones I cannot forget, the ones that haunt me with both sorrow and gratitude. Writing it, I cry, because I realize how much she gave, how much she endured, and how much she loved without expecting anything in return.

She was brilliant, more intelligent than many could comprehend. She was determined, never satisfied with mediocrity. She was kind, not because it was easy, but because her heart would not allow her to be otherwise. And she was a mother, in the truest sense, giving every part of herself to shape me, her only son, into someone she believed could carry forward her dreams, her values, and her love.

But her story is not just mine. It is a story of countless mothers who work quietly, who give tirelessly, who cry silently, and who sacrifice everything so that their children may have a chance to rise. It is a story of women in Cameroon, in Africa, and around the world — women whose struggles are invisible, whose achievements go unnoticed, yet whose love shapes the future of nations.

Through these pages, I want the world to know her. I want readers to see her courage, her intelligence, her compassion, and her sacrifices. I want them to feel what it meant to be her child — the joy, the pride, the fear, the heartbreak, and the enduring love. And I want every mother who reads this book to see herself in her story, and every child to understand the depth of love and sacrifice that often goes unseen.

This book will take you through her life:
From her early days in Pinyin, where a bright spark of greatness first appeared,
to her schooling and the brilliance she displayed,
to her courageous journey to Bamenda and the challenges she overcame,
to the birth of her only son and the sacrifices she bore silently,
to her work, her struggles with illness, and the weight of her responsibilities,
to the final days that broke my heart,
and finally, to the legacy she left — one that continues to live through me and some who knew her.