This has been my life for as long as I can remember. My mother had left when she couldn’t bear his weirdness and abuse anymore. I begged her to allow me to follow her, but she declined, telling me she had no means to take care of me. She actually had no place to live and was going to stay with one of her friends who lived in a one room apartment with her five children. It was not easy, being the only child she had for my father. She had two older boys before she married him, and my father didn’t want them anywhere near us, so she had abandoned them as well. I was beginning to think that it was my mother’s habit to give birth to children, only to abandon them when things got tough.
____________________________________
“Radeyo, wait now. I have told you to be patient. I will give you the money. But you need to realize that I am not working yet. Besides, your father is the one who is supposed to give you this money. I gave you two hundred naira just two weeks ago.” Austin snapped at me later that evening.
My father had sent me to buy tobacco from the Mallam on our street. This was the perfect opportunity to see Austin. I had been begging him to give me some money for the past few days. Austin lived four houses away from us and he recently passed out of the secondary school I attended. He was now an apprentice to grocery store owner because his parents could not afford to sponsor his education anymore. I did not love him, all I knew was that a good number of my friends and mates had boyfriends and they flaunted gifts and money they received from them. So when Austin approached me, I just ‘did small shakara’ and gave in one week later. Since then, whenever I needed something, I told him. He was my saving grace more times than I can count since my father didn’t care if I lived or died.
I lived with my father, and he had a lucrative business, yet I lacked everything including love. He would buy every food item and I was required to cook specific meals that he wanted at every meal time he was at home. When he was not home, I had no right to cook. I was not even allowed to eat garri in his absence. Some days he would ask me to cook ogi and akara or moin moin in the morning before I left for school. At other times, he would come back home and head straight for the soup cupboard to check if the soup or stew were as he had left them in the morning. He then would chant about ten psalms before eating the meal I prepared. I was not allowed to serve my food until he had eaten and was satisfied. Lest I forget, I always tasted his food after I had served him to make sure I had not poisoned him. All this had gone on for some months and I did not understand, while I dare not ask him any question about it.
TWO YEARS ON
This was my life until I graduated from secondary school and on the day I wrote my last examination, he called me into his room.
“Now that you are a woman, it is time for you to go and fend for yourself. I have tried. I cannot allow you in my house anymore. Remember one Sunday when a prophet in church called me aside and you wanted to follow me but he asked you to go back?” I nodded.
This had happened about three years earlier. I still remember because ever since then, my father’s attitude towards me had gotten worse. It was around that time that his compulsive disorder took a spiritual turn. He had always been finicky about everything, but after that incident, he got out rightly suspicious of me. He had always been suspicious of everyone, and never really cared about me, but since then, he watched me like a hawk. He would make sure I did not take my bath until he had left the house. Even on Sundays. He didn’t allow him to go to church with him. It was after this incident that he insisted I taste every meal I cooked for him.
“Good, I have been guarding myself against you. You are a seductress and a witch. The prophet confirmed it to me, and the more you grow, the more apparent your powers are. I could not bear to throw you out at that age, but now, you are old enough and even more seductive, you have to leave.” He said with finality.
“Where will I go? I have done nothing wrong.” I cried.
“You can go anywhere. Go to your mother, or anyone for that matter. You can even move in with any of your boyfriends, I don’t care. All I know is that I want you out of here by the end of this week.”
“I have always known that you are not my father. You have been pretending. What I do not know is if you truly have no other child. You are a wicked man.” I wailed.
I did not sleep that night. The next morning, I went in search of my mother and she had made little progress. She had left her friend’s house but she directed me to her stall. My mother now had a ramshackle stall where she sold food by the roadside.
“You did not even bother to check on me. Do you hate me too?”
“It is not so my daughter, but you remind me so much of him. Your eyes, your forehead, your lips, and your dark skin are all reminders of him.” She cried.
Truly, I was my father’s daughter. The only difference I had from him was my height. My father was a very tall man with an imposing body, while I am petite just like my mum. I am very good looking too, even if I say so myself. I was, still am a sight for sore eyes. My pointed nose earned me names ranging from oyinbo to Fulani. My ample breasts and hips were all the right proportions for my body frame. I enjoyed attention from a lot of men in my hay days. I stil do.
“But you are my mother.” I cried.
“I know. I am sorry. I just can’t bear to have you with me when I can’t send you to school. I know things are better now, but I still can’t afford to give you the life you deserve.” She continued.
“So what will happen to me now?” I asked her.
“I will think of what to do. Don’t worry. I am sorry.”
“All I need is a place to stay. I am sure I can stay with you. I’ll take whatever you can give me. I will work. I don’t have to go to school just yet, all I want is to be with you.”
“I understand you. We will sort this out. Come and eat and go back home.” She said, as she cleaned her face and stood up to serve me some food.
I got back home that day and cried some more, then I remembered Austin. It occurred to me that I had a kind of freedom that I did not possess just the previous day. Instead of moping around the house, I decided to go pay him a visit at his boss’ shop.
Àdùnní.
Comments
Post a Comment