A true life story
Growing up, for me, was fun until my dad and mum separated. It was on a Saturday
morning. We woke up to an argument between them and it was the first time my siblings
and I would ever hear them raise their voices that way; we were confused. Before long,
my dad started throwing my mum’s things out of the house. She tried to stop him, but he
was stronger than her.
At that time, we lived in a two-room apartment and we had neighbours. The
neighbours were fascinated at the rancour they saw because they knew my dad to be a
jovial and playful man. My dad had the ability to chatter away with absolute strangers. My
mum was also in the good books of neighbours because she was generous, especially
with the bachelors and spinsters in the compound; she would almost always prepare a lot
of food, having the neighbours in mind. So, this development was a surprise to many.
When the neighbours arrived the scene, they inquired of my mum what the
problem was but she was already sobbing and could barely speak. My siblings and I could
not explain either as we were just as shocked. Some well-meaning men among them took
my dad to a secluded area and spoke with him. I do not know what they talked about, but
I heard my dad say, sternly, “she must go!”. He was shouting.
I had lived with my dad long enough to know that when he made up his mind on
something, no one and nothing could make him change his mind. The question that then
lingered in my mind was, ‘what did my mum do to deserve such shame?’ I really
wondered why he wanted her out of the house all of a sudden.
The day before, I still saw them eating and laughing together. He told his usual
jokes; we all laughed and went to bed in peace. I was baffled at the sharp contrast and
wondered what could have gone wrong between the time they retired to bed and the time
we awoke to the drama.
My siblings and I watched as my mum struggled to get her things back into the
house, tears streaming down her face. My dad had warned us, his children, not to come
close to him or plead for our mum but we could not obey that. The six of us went to him
on our knees and we latched onto his legs, begging him. He was definitely angry, as heturned deaf eyes to our pleas and blind eyes to our tears. He was a jovial man on a good
day, but also a disciplinarian. The moment he ordered us out of his sight, we knew better
than to stay.
I saw the pain in my mum’s eyes. She did not want to leave. What woman would
want to leave her six children and the husband of her youth? She put her things together
at the foot of the door. She signalled me to come. At this time, my dad had gone inside.
She told me she would be back. She wanted to go see some people that were close to my
dad; people she hoped he would listen to. After she left, I relayed the message to my
sisters and we all started crying again.
My dad locked himself in his room. I went to his door, in the evening, and tried it. It
bulged. So, I figured it was either he later unlocked it or we just assumed all along that it
was locked. I went in and saw my dad sitting on the bed, shaking his legs. He only did that
when extremely upset. I did not care that he was angry, I went over to him and rested
against him, my head on his chest. His heart was beating really fast. He did not say a word
to me.
My dad always had a soft spot for me; we were close. In those days, when he wanted
to submit a quotation for a job, he would tell my mum to pray over it. After my mum had
prayed, he would bring it to me to do same. He believed in my prayers. I would say I was
my dad’s second wife.
Whenever he wanted to visit his friends, then, he would take me along. He did that
not only because he enjoyed my company, but also because he took pleasure in hearing
the comments his friends passed, praising him for having a beautiful daughter. I am the
only fair-complexioned child of my parents and people called me Oyinbo. I was not only
fair but had long black hair.
On different occasions, my dad would have my mum wear a ready-made flowery
dress for me and any of my elder sisters available would pack my hair into two with
ribbons my dad bought. On our many trips, people would stop us and say nice things.
Whilst I was blushing, my dad would usually say, “na my pikin o”.The next question, usually, was “why she con yellow like this and you con black?”
and my dad would say, “na God o”. He took delight in explaining that to any and
everyone who stopped us on our way to his friends’ houses. Some of the admirers gave
me money, some bought things for me, and for the female admirers, they took turns
touching my hair.
There were many occasions too when I stayed up late with my mum, waiting for him
to return home from work. He would ask why I was awake and I would tell him I wanted
to see him before going to bed. A big smile would brighten his face, he would carry me
and say “oyinbo mi”. I loved the sound of that and I would chuckle when he called me
that. And sometimes, I was privileged to eat with him, whenever mum allowed.
I slept off on my dad’s chest countless times after playing with his hairy chest and
pot belly. I remember times when I put my ear to his belly, saying I wanted to hear how his
food got digested. The moment his stomach rumbled, I would laugh so hard and tease
him. My dad and I were that close.
As I put my head on his chest that evening, I did not know what to say. I did not
know if it was in my place to ask what happened. I remained silent for a while until I
summoned enough courage to speak, hoping he would not get upset and send me out. I
asked him if he would let my mum stay and stop being upset with her. His response was
positive. Maybe he did that to stop me from crying because things were different the next
day.
When my mum returned the next day, with some of my dad’s friends and some
church members, they pleaded with him but he would not listen. I got angry at him for
deceiving me. I went to him and reminded him of what he told me the night before. He
told me to leave him alone. I was really upset. I trusted him and believed his words; he
had been convincing.
My mum left and came back with her friends. They all knelt before him. So did my
siblings and I. That did not change anything. My mum went to his elder brothers’ houses
and they came home with her to beg, but he insisted she must leave.The saddest thing was we did not know why he was insisting and my mum was not
saying why either. Whenever people came to beg, they would ask the children to excuse
them at the point of discussion. They only called us back at the point when they wanted
to beg again. So, we were left in the dark as to the cause of the whole problem.
The day I saw my grandmother show up at the house, with her sister, to beg my dad,
I was so sure it was over and he would not be able to say no. I got the shock of my life
when I heard that did not work too. My mum then called us and made us see she was
doing her best not to leave us. I could tell she was bottling up a lot inside. She did not
want to leave her husband and she definitely did not want to leave us. She was in a state of
despair as she sobbed bitterly. It was over.
She promised to check on us from time to time. We asked her where she would go
and she said she did not know. She said she could not go back to her mother’s house as
tradition did not permit that. More so, she was the first child of her mother and her
younger siblings were doing well in their own marriages. She could not stomach the
shame of going back.
My mum blessed us, hugged us one after the other, and left. It was a very sober
evening. The reality just dawn on us that mummy would no longer live with us. My
parents were separated.
The atmosphere at home changed when mum left. Dad remained in the room
whenever he returned from work. No laughter. No smiles. The house became lifeless.
Everyone wore a straight face, minding their own business. We were all upset with my
dad. I even overheard one of my sisters telling a friend who had come visiting that she
would never forgive my dad.
Dad became a chef. He started cooking for us. His food was definitely not as tasty as
mum’s. My dad never cut down on ingredients, so there were always many things to chew
on. He did not do that for too long. My elder sister, Adetutu, took over. She and my
immediate elder sister, Bose, took turns cooking.
My two immediate elder sisters took mum’s position. They would wake my youngestbrother and I very early in the morning, prepare breakfast and make sure we were
dressed for school before 7am every day. If not that I would go to school and cry about
my mum, it was not obvious otherwise that my mum was not around. My mum raised my
sisters well.
Let me mention here that the first two children, my eldest sisters, rebelled against
my dad and he sent them out of the house to live with grandma, reason for just four
children with my dad at the time.
My mum showed up in the house one afternoon and we were so happy. She wanted
to know how well we were doing. She went through our school books, inspected our nails
and checked our clothes. She asked if my dad had said anything about her and we
answered her in the negative.
She stayed a while. My younger brother and I were on her laps all through her visit.
She prayed for us and gave my sisters instructions on what to do. She gave us a curfew of
6pm and insisted dinner should be eaten by 7pm. She told them to make sure dad’s food
was well preserved.
She simply performed her motherly duties and as she did this, her eyes filled up. She
tried to stop the tears, but she had obviously reached her breaking point. She broke down
in tears and we all joined her.
In tears, she told us, speaking in our Yoruba dialect, not to act like children who do not have.