I ran to hug her, I really needed the hug but I got a physically agonizing slap instead. She yelled at me; “FOOL! You are so pathetic”. “But sista, what have I done?” I asked. Twisting my lips, she said; “Just shush! Be quiet, you have disgraced us enough. Get your things into the car.” As I walked past them in the sitting room, I heard my immediate elder sister talking to my father. “Papa, she is going to stay with you ooh, I can’t let her stay in my house, this time it’s Fred, next time, it might be my husband.” It was my longest day ever. “How can these people be my family? What could possibly be wrong with me? Am I really one of them?”These were questions bothering my little mind.

My sisters, the best team I have ever encountered. One could speak for the other. So, like the other said, it was certain that I was going to stay with papa.

Papa, a sweet soul but easily convinced by my sisters. They were the family’s major source of income, so, their words were final. I wouldn’t blame him. He looked pale, it was unlike him. The death of my beloved mother has created an emptiness, one that can never be filled.

Papa had really changed. He either came home drunk or with a woman. It is beyond the bounds of possibility to erase the images of my father and his different female friends (I doubt if he knew them), patronising sexual impurity. I was afraid of night, it came with nightmares. Most times, I preferred the nightmares to the silly sounds that comes from papa’s room. My sisters were the least I could talk to, they barely called but sent money whenever papa made a request. Of course, they wouldn’t believe me, so I kept it all to myself.

The third year of living alone with papa, things were rather deteriorating. My sisters had gotten to know papa’s escapades through his friend, Uncle Joe. I was surprised they never accused me of not telling them, maybe cause they knew I had grown to a young girl with dead emotions. One good day, just as I stepped into the house, my eyes came in contact with those of a fair lady in her mid forties. She sat beside uncle Joe in the sitting room and opposite them were papa and my sisters. I knelt to greet them all. As I made my way to the room quietly, my eldest sister stopped with a calm voice; “Sheila, meet aunty Obioma, she is papa’s new wife”. That was meant to be a shocking news to me but I disappointed all including myself, I have seen and heard worst. Turning to her I said; “welcome ma”.

Aunty Obioma was nice to me or that could have been her style to win everyone’s heart but it didn’t happen long enough. Papa got really sick. I came home one day, only to find him helpless on the floor, aunty Obioma wasn’t back from work yet. Papa’s health was really bad, he needed a professional help. I called my sisters, none answered or returned the call and aunty Obioma’s number was out of reach. Fortunately, uncle Joe came to our aid. Papa’s head was placed on my laps, I called him softly; “papa, please stay, we will be there soon”. He looked into my eyes and squeezed my hands, it was like he had something to say. At a point I realised that the way he gripped me was weakening, he was loosing my hand, so I held him tightly. “Wait papa, a doctor will soon be here”. I knew this man had hurt me by not speaking for me but I didn’t care, I wanted him alive. We made it to the general hospital but it was late, papa was gone…

To be continued

How possible is it to break you down, I thought, staring at my uncle’s enormous door. My cousin had locked it. I screamed, no one could hear me. There was one way out; to beg him. Please Fred, don’t do it. Look! Is me your baby cousin. He looked like a monster, Evil Cousin Fred! He gripped my wrists and held me down. I never imagined him to be that strong. His eyes were red. His athletic legs wrapped around mine. For every attempt to raise my head, he would hit his head against mine. I heard him, he was breathing heavily as he stuck his lips into my ears. I was tired of struggling. I closed my eyes, wishing that my mother’s ghost would intervene.

I was 13, the last or rather the “mistake” and a virgin. Two weeks earlier, I had watched in confusion as my father and two sisters cried bitterly. It was my mother’s burial. I hadn’t gotten over the shock, I watched her body lowered into the grave. Everyone thought I would have an easy recovery staying with a mother figure and it was no other but my mother’s sister.  She was rich and has just a child. My sisters were better options but they wouldn’t want an extra in their matrimonial homes. Was this the recovery they talked about?

He was close to tearing off my short which I wore under my gown, to complete his devilish plan when I heard a car hoot, it was my uncle’s. A help finally! Cousin Fred jumped up, unlocked the doors and rushed upstairs. I laid down crying.  My aunt wasn’t happy seeing me that way; “ah ah ah! Sheila, don’t kill yourself mourning your mom nahh!” She knelt beside me, carried up my head to her chest and rocked me. “Dear, kile le yi?” my uncle asked. “What else could it be? Is it not obvious that she misses sista.” My aunt replied. “Ah! She can’t possibly be mourning like she lives in King David’s era, jo! Cover her up.” said my uncle. “Brother Fred tried raping me” I muttered. “ki lon so, what is she saying?” My aunt asked rhetorically. I wanted to repeat myself but she stopped me. “Keep quiet and don’t utter such nonsense again” She pushed me away. “Welcome mummy, daddy! How was your owambe?” Fred said running down the stairs to embrace his parents. They barely replied when he spoke softly to me “Sheila, baby cousin, why are you crying?” Evil, Hypocrite, and Monster, words that defined Fred. I stood up, making my way to my room. I could hear his parents telling him to forget about my brainless attitude.

Few minutes later, my aunt opened my door, in a rather harsh manner, “pack up, you can’t spoil my home, I have called your father, he is coming with your sisters to pick you up. I can’t babysit a liar. This will teach you never to bit the hand that feeds you!” She banged the door and left.

In two hours, they arrived. My eldest sister stormed into the room. I ran to hug her, I really needed the hug but I got a physically agonizing slap instead. She yelled at me; “FOOL! You are so pathetic”

To  be continued…

Akùùdo m,

Ada m, as a result of the past week’s tight schedule, we barely had a productive discussion. I hope to make it up to you here. By the way, nda otu i melu? The anticipated week is here, your one week break. I trust that you will make it count.

Last week, I chanced upon a quote by Mary Anne Radmacher, “Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, I will try again tomorrow.” Did you get the last part? ‘I will try again tomorrow’. Yes, I know, it reminds you of the three words, NEVER GIVE UP!

Some wealthy people, may not be where they are today if not that something provoked them. Some successful business men wouldn’t have made it, if they weren’t laid off by their employers. They were sacked but they are excelling now. Sometimes, you need to be hit hard and even slapped by circumstances so that the TRUE YOU can wake up.

Juuju daddy ya, as the devil desires to bring stagnation, intimidation is introduced but as obstacles. Hence, it should never make you fold up, take one step in the right direction; if you persist they will give up. Be tenacious!

The truth is that you do not get rewards for trying unless it leads to success. Remember only winners get the price. You are born a winner, you are created to create. It is time to release the creative power of your mind, for your generation is waiting to see your products. You are blessed!

Chukwu gozie gi, Adanna ya.

Love,

Papa