I got home that fateful day from my many day jobs, tired and hungry, pining for a warm plate of my mother’s home cooked meal – hoping to God it’s a plate of porridge beans and plantain.
She was not alone when I stumble inside. She is with someone – make that two and they all seem to have been expecting me.
I don’t fail to notice one of them, a man with aging lines on his face and grey hair who is the first to stand and greet me. One of his eyes is grey in colour, signifying it’s blindness.
I’m confused, wariness apparent on my features because my mom urges me to come in and sit while she gets me a plate of food. I take a seat on our plastic chair at my reading desk, but one of the visitors get up,
“Please my dear, come and sit here.” He gestures to the space on our worn out couch close to the man who’s still standing, observing me. It’s already strange what these people are doing here, but then the man’s behaviour set off the alarms in my head.
I obey him to not seem disrespectful. He takes my place on the plastic chair, all smiles. This other elderly man keeps looking at me, gawking even. I began to feel uncomfortable. My mom returns with a plate of porridge beans and fried potato crisps. Not what I was hoping for but better than nothing.
“Ify, she’s the one?” The man says to her, still standing while we, excluding my mom who was still fawning over me, were sitting. She nods and for some reason, I can no longer stomach the food.
“Mummyka,” I began, “What’s going on?”
She tries to tell me to eat first but I can’t anymore. So I insist I know what’s going on.
“Well, you see this man here,” she points to the elderly man who has not stopped staring, “He is erm… you see…”
“Ify…” comes the man’s gruff voice again. There was an underlying edge to his voice, impatience.
“He is your father.” She says almost immediately.
I burst out laughing, surprisingly, the other man is laughing with me too. I guess I’m not the only person who finds this whole thing ridiculous.
“I don’t understand.” I say after my laughter dies down. The old man is still regarding me, but there’s mirth in his eyes and his lips are curled up a fraction.
“You see. Remember that man I told you courted me and I didn’t marry?”
I turn to the man in shock. His signature eye rising from the ashes of the memories jumbled with stories my mom has told me in the past.
“That was you?” He nods. I laugh some more.
“Mummyka. He’s not that bad na. He’s even still good looking for his age”.
The other man is laughing with abandon now. Even the old man chuckles and my mom shakes her head.
“This girl. What I’m saying is, he and I had relations and I got pregnant with you. But my father never supported him. So I had to marry (name removed). I was already pregnant when I got married to him but he stayed and promised he didn’t mind”
“Relations? Mummyka, you mean sex?”
“Ah ahn! This girl! Must you be so straightforward all the time? Can’t you just shut up?”
“She’s truly her father’s daughter”. The other man said in between laugher.
I turned to the man in question, “Good day sir. Please what is your name?”
He cleared his throat and adjusted on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his thigh, “Kingsley. I am Kingsley Nwokoye. Your father.”
“So I heard. And you’re just learning about me?”
“I only learned a few weeks ago that I had a daughter in the North. Your mother conveniently kept that information from me.”
I frowned, not happy to hear him talk about my mother disapprovingly, “I’m sure she had her reasons” I defended.
“I’m not disputing that. And I’m not spiting her at all. We have talked and hashed it all out. I just want to get to know you, my daughter from this point forward.”
I turned to my mother and she nodded her head. I smiled and then gave the man a nod,
“Well, this is not something I was ever expecting at this age but thank you. For coming back.”
Yes. I have very vivid imagination and in them, my mother is my mother. I won’t have it any other way. That man though, none of my business.
I can’t even begin to process the thought of finding out that my mother, a woman who gave me more than I have ever asked for, who would go nights hungry to make sure I ate, who endured shame and rejection just to make sure I had a better life, isn’t my Mother. Ha!
There are a lot of things that would run through my head and the very first thing I would have to be dealing with is not the shock of the turn of events. No. It’s the disbelief. Not after how much my mom has endured for my sake. If that isn’t a Mother, then I don’t know what is.
On the other hand, if I’m told that that man is not my biological father, I won’t question. In fact, it would relieve me of all the burning questions I grew up with. It would, without reasonable doubt, answer all my questions. Because till date, I don’t understand how any man (an adult in his early forties) can turn his back on a child he brought into the world. I would honestly be glad.
This is my entry to the Hive Naija Weekly Prompt | Edition 63 in the Hive Naija Community. All images are mine
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