Breaking Free

 

That Sunday evening, I sat in one corner of Papa's bedroom as I watched him scratch his bald head for the umpteenth time.  He would do this and kill imaginary mosquitoes in the air, vigorously slapping his palm against each other. Subsequently, he would pluck out the hairs from his beard and chew on them. 

When he looked up and our eyes met for a split second, I could hardly see through his emotions, I could not tell if it was pain, resentment, a cry for help or the three of them at once. On other days when he wanted to be alone, he would sit outside under the mango tree, smoking cigarettes and talking to Pa Josef's goat.

He never remained the same ever since Mama left home. It happened two months ago, and I remember the rain that day. It had just finished pouring and even though the clouds were dark and still moving across the sky eager to let down more tears, she stormed out of the house with my baby brother, Ahanna in her arms and never looked back. 

I stood there in the rain, expecting her to do the dramatic pause, turn around and run to give me a hug like those I had seen in Nollywood movies, but she didn't. Rather, she walked as fast as her legs could carry her, disappearing into the dark cold night until I lost sight of her white head tie.

…

“I… I… I am hungry”, Papa said, making me raise my eyebrows realizing that he had been calling for my attention.

I had to stop thinking too much.

“ Yes sah,” I said as I quickly got up from the floor, stretched my arms and brushed off the dust from my skirt while dashing into the kitchen to heat the yam porridge we had earlier that day. As I set up the stove and waited for the fire to turn blue, I fought so hard to keep the tears behind my eyes.

I missed my old self that it made my chest ache. 

I missed the Oluomachi who was happy and whose world seemed perfect. The Oluomachi who was obsessed with her baby brother and would always feed him mashed potatoes while letting him stain her dress with crumbs and saliva. The Oluomachi who would reluctantly follow her mother to sell vegetables and stock fish at the market while keeping a long face that would immediately relax into a smile when I  hear mama say the words “If we sell plenty today, I will buy that flute you said you like, Inugo?”. The Oluomachi who would always seat by Papa's feet every Sunday evening, learning all his favourite songs. He would nod when I got the lyrics and pitch right and twitch his nose when I sang off-key.

And at that final thought, I smiled and, at the same time, let the tears flow. I had become a total stranger to this new life, and I hated it so much. Everything happened so fast and I lay in bed every night wondering what had vexed mother so much that she had to leave, I had slept in her bedroom four nights after the incident, hoping she would wake me up to scowl me about not sleeping with my rosary around my neck. But she never did. 

On those days, I would kneel opposite Papa's long legs allowing my tears to drop on his toes, begging to know what had happened, but he would stare at the ceiling and not say a word.

…

I jolted from my sleep, wondering how a few minutes of my evening nap after dinner had stretched into hours of sleeping on the kitchen floor. The sun had gone down, and the house was cold and that made my mind race with scary thoughts of what papa could be doing that made him so quiet.  

I stretched out my arms, making my fingers dance in the air as I searched for the kerosene lamp, I winced in pain as my right foot stumbled and hit the kitchen stool as the plate of cold yam porridge on it toppled and fell crashing to the floor. 

I finally got hold of the lamp, lit it and limped out of the kitchen.

“Papa”. I called out twice, hearing my voice echo into the dark, but Papa did not answer. I could again but no response. When I noticed that he was neither in the parlour nor his bedroom, I felt a cold shiver run through my spine like someone poured a bucket of ice water on me. I glanced at my arms and there were goosebumps. 

God, please. 

My legs could barely carry me as I scampered to the backyard. My heart was racing at the same time because that was the last place Papa could be, and the thought of not finding him there made me sick.

“Papa, where are you? Can you hear me? It's me Oluoma. Oluomachi. Papa, please answer me” My voice was low and shaking, It was as if my vocal cord vibrated in every syllable. I raised the kerosene lamp to my eye level as the tears in my eyes blurred my vision, making it hard for me to see.

Then I heard someone cough at a distance. Heaving a sigh of relief, I followed the sound and got disappointed when I saw that it was Pa Josef's urinating. I also made a mental note thanking God that he was faced the other way.

“Good evening sah,” I said, pronouncing it as Guree veen.

He rubbed his hand on his exposed belly as if he was thinking of what to say or the best way to break bad news.

“Sah please, I wanted to ask if…” I asked, rushing through my words out of impatience, but he was quick to interrupt me.

“Oluoma eh. Your father… Your father…”

Dear God, could he speak up already!

I could hear my heart beat.

“Your father is inside my house. He came in while looking for my goat but somehow he slept off in my parlour”

Phew. Okay breathe, Olumachi

“He told me everything”.

“My Papa spoke to you?” my eyes widened.

“I was as surprised as you are. Although his words were few and scanty, I believe I got the message and it is only right you know. My stomach might explode when I lay to sleep if I keep all these to myself”.

“Whatever it is, I want to know. Tell me”. I said and followed him as we went to the front of his house and sat there. Before sitting, I had quickly peeped into Pa Josef's parlour, and when I saw Papa's leg through the little gap the door had, I let my shoulders drop.

“You know the history your mother had before she birthed you, abi?” Pa Josef asked looking into my forehead. I nodded, remembering those times Papa's mother would always tell me that I was a blessing to the family because Mama could not conceive for eight years before me. Hence, my name 'Oluomachi' means the good work of God because they believed that God's good works had come to stay as Papa got a new job that same day.

He took a deep breath, shook his head and continued. “Well, It was not exactly the case. Your father was unable to make her pregnant, but they had an understanding so they made it look like it was the other way round. So, your mother took all the shame and burden”.

"But why?” I asked, even though I am yet to process my thoughts.

“You know how this village is. They always regard an impotent man as a weakling and never respect him. She did it to protect him and your family”.

I furrowed my eyebrows and at the same time surprised that I was not crying. I just sat there and for the first time found myself doing what Papa does that I never thought made sense. But there I was sitting with my mouth agape and staring at nothing.

“So how come?” I asked pointing to myself.

“She lied. Twice. She made your father believe that all the prayers had worked, and he was active again”. He heaved a deep sigh and shook his head again.

“You and Ahanna are not Jude's biological children. I am sorry Oluomachi that you are finding out this way”.

He apologized to me as if I was in tears but I checked my cheeks, and they were dry as paper.

“So she left to go be with the man? Isn't it?”

“One man in Benue state, I heard”.

I bit my lips, stared at my sweating palms for a while and shook my head. Then, I got up from the pavement we sat on and picked up my lamp, as I was not ready to hear more of what I had chosen to move on from. Then going into Pa Josef's parlour, I knelt beside Papa, who was snoring lightly in his sleep. Then I stooped low and hug him, squeezing him tight and not caring about crushing his bones while at it or the awful odour his body oozed. I remained in the position with my eyes closed, having a rush of emotions that I did not know how to feel.

“Oluomachi, Is that you?” I heard Papa say. I could not believe my ears. 

He said my name for the first time in months!

“Yes, Papa, I am here. It's me” I said getting up and looking into the eyes. Unlike earlier that day when I could not read his emotions, I knew what pure and true love looked like, and I saw it in his eyes.

“Please do not leave me like your mother,” He said while stuttering through the words.

“I am going nowhere, Papa. I will always be with you. I promise” I said as a tear dropped from my left eye, to hell with being strong.

I sat there hugging Papa and as we sang our favourite song, I knew everything was going to be okay.

Papa would find solace in the love we shared and take time to heal from this trauma, and I would make sure I hold his hand all through the quiet nights and sad mornings.

We would be fine.

THE END.

Benecca’s Tales

2022

All Rights Reserved. 

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AUTHOR’S NOTE

First of all, I am super grateful to God for the grace to write again after a long break. I suffered a block and burnout and could not get myself together. Those days were bad but guess who pushed through...Me!

I couldn't be more thankful to God and to my readers for making everything worth it. Y’all are the best. Thank you for always engaging with my stories. 

If you are new here, welcome to the club! Don't forget to check out other stories too. Thanks in advance! 

I also want to thank Oluomachi, her story came to me at the darkest of times and when I was at my lowest. She made me feel the hope and the desire to write again.

The “Breaking Free” story is inspired by the music “Dad’s Song” by Nigerian Artiste, Teni.

Let me know your thoughts in the comment section.

THANK YOU FOR READING.

Vanessa Anakor ( thevanessawriter@yahoo.com )