Episode 2
Written by Lanre Olagbaju
The Congruence II
The stigma of being the drunkard’s child was another thing; every kid in the neighborhood made fun of us and would refer to it if a fight broke out between us and them. I remember the day my elder brother broke another kid’s head because that kid said my dad could drink urine.
My mum was a full housewife, what choice did she have? She had seven children to take care of and we were not spaced that much apart (I’m only about 10 months older than my immediate younger brother). However, she was resilient…she would do anything to make money and feed her children. She fried and sold akara (bean cake), she sold bread, she sold corn (both cooked and roasted)…she even sold firewood at some point. She would buy and process fresh cassava to make fufu and garri because she considered it cheaper than buying the finished products. She augmented the feeding allowance from my dad with her sweat and there were times she did with her blood.She would put loaves of bread on trays for us to hawk to see if we could make some more money instead of waiting for customers to come buy them. We hawked in pairs, for safety reasons but how safe could a seven year old be, roaming the streets with another eight and half year old (one of her older brothers that’s supposed to protect her)
My dad ended up dying in a fatal hit and run accident on his way home; I was almost 10 years old then. I’m doubly sure he was drunk and must have not seen the oncoming vehicle…unfortunately, nobody was there to help.
My dad was a lot of things but he would always come home to eat and sleep…so when we didn’t see him at home that night, my mum started to get worried and she kept saying her “body” was telling her that something bad had happened. I doubt if she batted an eyelid all night. She sat on the couch facing the door, hoping her husband would come through and I could tell she was really scared.
We got to know of my dad’s death the following morning; they were able to locate his family from the Identification Card in his wallet, after his corpse was deposited at the state mortuary. My mum was beyond devastated…she almost killed herself. I couldn’t understand why she mourned him that much; as far as I was concerned, the guy was not even a good husband to her…I saw it as good riddance. I did not shed a single tear and I was kind of elated that my mum’s physical, emotional and sexual abuse would cease.
Many crazy things happened after my dad died; his younger brother, Uncle Fidelis…that we never saw and barely knew when my dad was alive, came and took my dad’s pristine motorcycle and some other things from the house, we were super poor and you would wonder what anyone would want to take from us. My eldest brother (15 years old) protested and got a dirty slap, he was ready to fight my uncle but my mum restrained him.
Things were really tough but we later got some lifeline from the government as they paid my dad’s gratuity…it was a glimmer of hope and we were very happy.
A colleague/friend of my dad helped us to get everything sorted; he made sure my greedy uncle was cut out of the loop.
We paid off our outstanding rent…we had owed over a year’s rent. Our landlord collected his rents on a month to month basis (the man had been really patient with us, he was from my mum’s hometown and I guess that bought us some goodwill).
My mum then traveled to the city with the remaining money, to stock up her stall (it was right in front of the house…another perk the landlord gave us). She was going to buy Milk, Bournvita, St Louis sugar, OMO and Elephant detergents, laundry and bathing soaps, canned Titus and Mackerels, toothpastes…all those daily essentials in bulk, so we could start selling them.
My mum came back in the evening with nothing, her clothes were dirty and her eyes were red…she had cried her eyes out.
What happened? Unfortunately, the money didn’t make it to the market she went to. Her bag was cut open on the side and someone stole the money. She didn’t even know until she was about to pay for the goods she had bought. She had to beg people for money to transport her back home.
Things went from bad to worse fast…my mum’s health took a hit as well and she could no longer do as much as she used to…but she never gave up. Every child in the house helped in every way we could, to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads.
My eldest brother stepped up to be the man of the house and in the process made some wrong moves/bad decisions. At first, when he started to bring money home, he claimed to had gotten a menial job with some of his friends and they paid him on a daily basis. My mum was not comfortable with this and kept bugging him until my brother moved out of the house at age 17. He left and never came back.
Up till today, we don’t know what became of him…we later heard that he was killed on a robbery mission but there was no proof, we just never saw him again.
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