My sister wrote this story, and I must not take credit for her creativity. Join me and celebrate her wonderfully done story...lol
MY WALK TO FREEDOM
She reached out, pulled me down on my knees and unto
her laps. The faint smell of Spring bathing soap hit my nostrils as I placed my
head gently on her wrapper. I sniff and feel the soft sob racking her slim
frame. The hot tears drop on my body warming up my very cold heart. I did not
blink or even turn my face to look up at her. If I did, she would drag me
into her little pity party and drown us all. Tears showed weakness and
sometimes some people deserve to see all your strengths. Her small soft palms
slowly massaged my bony shoulders and I visibly relaxed, letting the tension,
stress, pain melt away. The pain that leaves my heart thudding like a slowly
winding down bell. Anyway, I am now immune to it. It no longer matters how much
he hurt me. What I needed was a plan, an opportunity make papa see the
stuff I am made of.
Mama kept shaking her leg in that absent-minded way of hers and my head almost rolled off her laps. I jerked upwards immediately but her hand stopped me, firmly but gently pushing my head back down. My mama, my only true friend. Sometimes, I wonder what she thought of me. A child forsaken by the gods? Stubborn and untamable? At least that's what papa always says;
"She is too stubborn for her own good..."
But what does papa even understand about what is good for me. To my papa, girls are only as good as their 'ofe owerri' that is, our native soup and their child bearing ability. If he was god, women will not be allowed to walk on the same paths that men walked on, they would be covered from head to toe in black coveralls and never to be seen except when food is needed or the urge for sex overwhelms him. Even at that, a man like papa will kill the urge before it makes him display affection at his wife. I shake my head as images of his huge dark frame fills my mind. I believe that shaking your heads rids it of ill thoughts, this time around however, it did not seem to be working. Images of papa barking out commands to me and Ukachukwu, my elder sister did little to calm me down as I watched the movie replaying in my head.
That evening, I had sneaked out to study with Oneku
and Chioma, my two best friends. papa forbids studying after school. He
believes women should practice their cooking skills or try to please their
brothers in whatever way possible instead of studying. Six hours of school was
enough for a girl-child, moreover, what is the point of the whole education
when she will still end up in the kitchen? That is papa's theory.
As for me, I
want to be a doctor. The white coats intrigues me and the air of importance
fills me with such longing. Sometimes, I imagine I am the minister of Health in
Nigeria. If papa could read my thoughts, I would have been long dead. His
TufiaKwa would be loud enough to rouse amadiohia, the village god from the
spirit world. Tufiakwa was something he
did with his fingers to signify he forbids a thing from happening. As if that
really works any wonders. Anyway, as I was saying, we finished very late and as
usual, I tried to sneak back into I and Ukachukwu's room only to see papa
sitting down on the veranda smoking cigarette and drinking dry gin. I stopped
in my tracks and watched him a little. He was obviously very upset. Many
thoughts raced through my mind as I thought of the best ways to end the
nightmare when I saw Ukachukwu sitting on the bare floor beside him. Her fair
skin shone in the moonlight and the painful threads poked out like horns on her
head. My heart beat faster as I walked towards them. Papa watched me come
closer and answered my greetings quietly. I could see the tear stains on Ukachukwu's face. Once I entered my room, I realized I had made a big mistake
because I could hear papa's heavy breathing behind me. I did not have time to
scream before he began to pummel me. Mama and Ukachukwu watched the fiasco from
a safe distance, terrified that he would add them to it if they said a word.
After he was satisfied that he had taught me another good lesson, he walked
away feeling like a king and mama rushed to me sobbing her poor heart out. The
fear of papa is the beginning of wisdom though I was yet to get wise. The love
for medicine drove me. Like a woman in love, medicine became my lover.
Now, it's been twenty years past, and my once strong and agile papa has become frail and weak. Needing constant care after I diagnosed him of diabetes. No thanks to his habit of constantly eating 'eba', a traditionally made cassava flour meal. Mama is equally old but happy. I watch her chat animatedly with my son, her grandson and for a minute I close my eyes and say a silent prayer to God. I thank Him for taking care of me when I ran away from the house and only mama knew where I was. I thank Him for blessing mama so she could send me some feeding money while I worked and studied at the university of Lagos. I thank him for letting me achieve my dream. And now, I am a practicing doctor and a women empowerment activist. Papa cannot believe it's still the same me when he hears me give speeches on the television. I see the shock and pride on his face. I smile to myself and wink at mama who gave me a chance at independence.
It is amazing that I can sit back today and enjoy my
profession, only because I chose to be free from the clutches of traditions and
rural imprisonment. If I had honestly paid heed to Papa, I won't be a doctor
today. So, to my God and western education I say thank you for freedom. Yes,
freedom to life and education and not wasting my skills in the kitchen.
Laughing out loud... What a world we live in!
