My Story - Episode 4
2
'Ifeoma! Ifeoma!!' 'Yes mum!' I had reluctantly responded after washing my face and clearing my throat. Walking into the kitchen, I found her frying the akara balls. 'Can you for heaven's sake tell me why you're still sleeping at this hour?' 'Really? Its only 7am and today is Saturday' I thought to myself. She was now facing me, her face really stern as she asked . 'What's wrong with you?' 'Nothing' my lips trembling as they gave that false answer. She just stood as though studying me. Should I tell her? How would I do that? Won't I get her and myself in trouble? I was devastated.
My mum is one hell of a strong woman. She can work for Africa. Most time I wonder how she does it but I quickly remember that things would go wrong if she doesn't. She owns a provision store at the market and takes evening private lessons mostly on Sundays. Did I forget to mention that she can braid hair? She does that mostly during Christmas, New year and Easter celebrations. She's really a workaholic. I must add that the house must be neat. Everything must be kept in its place or Mrs Udoh would bite your ear off. Not literally of course. She could be stern. Sometimes I wish she didn't have this part
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. I love my mother. She did everything for me. She refused to let me study in a public school insisting that she wants me to have the best education. I only get to see her smile broadly each time I tell her something new I've learnt. It was one of my happy moments.
Before now I would rather not want to remember that someone like Mr Udoh existed. He's far from what a father should be. Society shouldn't harbour such men. They should be regarded as out casts. I couldn't bear to call him my father neither can I stand the thought of being called his daughter. He would leave the house without a word to anyone or a message and would come back after some weeks. Whenever he's around, he barks at me and hits my mum on the slightest provocation. He would demand for food and money. My mum would receive the beating of her life if she refused. He would smoke and drink at a nearby bar and return home drunk.
'Mum, why is he like this?' I had asked once I realised he was out of the house. 'Your father is having troubled time' she had answered. 'Troubled time? Is that the reason he's never happy and then he wants to make us unhappy too' I snapped. 'He beats you mum and he threatened to beat me up several times. We have to leave. Go somewhere very far away so that he would never find us'. She dropped the potatoes she was peeling and turned to face me. 'Ifeoma, you must not hate your father'. What exactly is she talking about now. I already hate the man with passion. I no longer regard him as my father. 'Mum?' 'You must not hate your father' she repeated with teary eyes. I stared at her in utter amazement. 'How could you? How could you still defend him' I thought. I got up from the kitchen stool and took off to my room.
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