Tola Andu has spent nearly two decades raising her son Kevin, who is autistic. She shares the joys, challenges, and realities of motherhood that often go unseen
When Tola Andu talks about her son Kevin, her whole face changes. The softness in her eyes, the warmth in her voice, and the humour that slips into her words reveal the unconditional love she has for her son: “Kevin made me the woman I am today. He’s taught me to see the world in ways I never would have on my own.”
For almost 20 years, Tola has navigated the complex, beautiful, and often misunderstood world of raising an autistic child. Through her social media accounts @RaisingKevin_, she off ers something rarely seen in mainstream portrayals of disability: a joyful, nuanced, and deeply human view of caregiving.
A MOTHER’S LOVE
But behind every bright moment she shares is a reality that other parent carers of autistic children will understand: caring for someone who’s autistic, especially into adulthood, transforms parenthood in ways that are both profound and lifelong.
“Before Kevin, I had this picture in my head of what motherhood would look like,” she says with a small laugh. “School runs, teenage drama, maybe the occasional slammed door. But when Kevin was diagnosed, the whole script changed. I had to unlearn the expectations and learn him instead.”
She became fluent in his silent language. Now she knows when the twitch of his hand means he’s uncomfortable, and how his eyes shift when he’s excited. “Kev doesn’t just speak with words, but he communicates with intention,” adds Tola. “My job is to pay attention.”
EMBRACING MOTHERHOOD
And, of course, caring for a neurodivergent child comes with its own set of challenges: “There are days I am just so tired; not the ‘I need a nap’ tired, but the kind that sits in your bones,” she admits. “Being Kevin’s carer is full-on. There’s no clocking out.”
Tola has to be on her toes, ready to manage sensory triggers, anticipate meltdowns, and navigate public spaces. Despite all that, she wouldn’t change it for the world: “Kevin gives me these moments – tiny, beautiful moments that make everything worth it,” she smiles. “When he bursts into laughter at something only he finds funny, or when he reaches for my hand without being prompted – those moments feel like sunlight.”
Every day is different, but she’s found a rhythm that works for them both. “I had to stop chasing the version of motherhood I thought I’d have,” admits Tola. “Once I embraced the version I actually have, everything softened.”
STANDING FIRM
Tola never planned to become an autism advocate. At first, she was just sharing some videos of Kevin enjoying music or posting little snapshots of their routine. But the response was immediate, especially from Nigerian parents: “I realised people weren’t seeing these kinds of stories enough,” remembers Tola. “Stories where autism wasn’t treated like a tragedy.”
Now her advocacy is a natural part of her caregiving. “When I speak up for autism acceptance, I’m speaking up for my son,” she says firmly. “I’m speaking up for every child who communicates differently, and every mother who feels unseen.”
Tola also openly discusses cultural misconceptions and how disability can be shrouded in shame, denial, or spiritual blame in many African communities. “I’ve heard it all now,” she shrugs. “People have told me to pray harder, to try healing programmes, to have more discipline with him, or to hide him from the world.”
“There were days in the early years when I felt like I was parenting against a whole culture. Not because people were cruel, but because they simply didn’t understand,” explains Tola. “You learn to grow a thick skin, but you also learn to stand firm in who your child is.”
Her mission, she says, is to shift the narrative: “I want Nigerian families to know there is nothing wrong with having a neurodivergent child. The only thing wrong is the stigma.” me motherhood should look like,” acknowledges Tola. “Once I let go of that version and embraced the one in front of me, I found peace.”
THE GREATEST PRIVILEGE
In a culture that often misunderstands autism, her bond with Kevin matters even more. The stories they share online show that young adults like him deserve understanding and respect.
“I had to unlearn what society told me motherhood should look like,” acknowledges Tola. “Once I let go of that version and embraced the one infront of me, I found peace.”
The future, for her, is not about forcing Kevin into a world that isn’t ready for him; instead, it’s about helping build a world that is. “I want him to grow into adulthood surrounded by acceptance,” she says. “Not pity, not judgment, but acceptance.” Right now, they’re dreaming of one day running a mobile café together.
And as we end our interview, Tola smiles warmly, in the way only mothers do when speaking about their children. “People think Kevin changed my life,” she says. “But really, he changed how I see life, and that’s a gift I don’t take for granted. Being his mother is the greatest privilege I didn’t know I needed.”