Mystery Dad
I never thought I would be writing a post about my dad, someone I have only heard of less than 5 times…and have totally no idea how he looks like.
I was chatting away with a new found friend on the net, and all of a sudden, I got such a bad headache from talking about daddy dearest. My friend urged me to make a point of looking for my dad and talking to him…to be honest, there was an attempt to have my brother Dre and I to meet him. The guy never showed up. We waited a whole afternoon. In this day of cell phones…he never called or sent a text to apologise for not showing up. Hell! He could even have lied, and I guess Dre and I would have understood. But he never apologised – just like he never apologised (I’m assuming) to mama, when he left her with two toddlers to take care of.
Mama told me once that a lady friend had wanted to adapt either myself or my brother, because mama wasn’t making much to pay for a house help, pay rent and take care of my brother Dre and I. But mama said, she declined the lady’s offer. Perhaps it was out of fear, perhaps she never wanted to live with the agony of not knowing where her son or daughter was, and if her son r daughter was being well taken care or…or perhaps she was scared that someone might decide to offer her child as a human sacrifice…whatever it was, mama decided to struggle and keep my brother Dre and I, no matter what the struggle she had to face.
I remember living with one of her sisters, Aunt Margaret. Sometimes when I think back…there are some things that happened when I was at Aunt Margaret’s, that sends chills down my spine…stuff I’d rather not talk about now…maybe when I’m a bit older because then, I will have nothing to lose.
Back then, I was at Aunt Margaret’s, my brother Dre was at grandma’s (God bless her soul). My brother Dre worked so much on the farm…he went to the village school. The village school was sort of dilapidated. That is how my brother lived his formative years. No shoes upon his feet. No proper schooling. No good uniform…for my brother Dre. When I think back, I feel so sorry for what he went through in his formative years.
While I was at Aunt Margaret’s, I remember being sent to go get milk. Milk for Aunt Margaret’s youngest child at the time. The child died. She was a girl. I can’t remember her name though. But I remember seeing her lying in a coffin. Her eyes half-open. She lay in the coffin, next to the front door. At that point, I never knew or understood death. I don’t remember hearing people mourning like they do these days. I don’t remember her being lowered into a grave, but I remember playing on her grave, which had been cemented.
The trips to getting milk…I had to go through bushes that were higher than myself. I never was scared. Not on a single day…until something happened…
I digress…but for a valid reason. These are memories that are relived on rare occasions, and need to be captured at that time, when we’re in that ‘trance’ that ‘moment’ – until that window shuts.
For many years, I was bitter at the old man. Since I was 12 actually. Bitter at someone I have never met, only heard of. Bitter at this faceless and nameless person for abandoning mama, my brother Dre and I. Bitter that I never got an explanation. Bitter that I never got an apology. Bitter that I have lived with bitterness. Bitter at life. Until I came to learn that, I am in a better position – and thanked God for it. I was a little appreciative, but bitter still.
Grandpa sent for us. Paternal grandpa – at least he had the nerve to make things right before he passed on. Grandpa, sent for us and I had take my brother Dre along. Grandpa talked to us through a translator. One of or cousins…Ken, told us what grandpa was saying. He said that, there was no need for us to go walking the Earth when we had a home.
I really can’t tell if people were happy to see us…or if they had their reservations about my brother and I just surfacing. It’s hard to tell peoples’ feelings in such situations. Land is a sensitive issue. But that is where we belong. Our roots. Our home. The salmon always swims upstream to go back to its origins. It’s a difficult journey that has to be made at some point.
We have wonderful cousins – or so I think.
Gramps died exactly a month after we went to see him. He had diabetes and had a bad wound on his left leg. I wish I’d have known him earlier. He seemed to be a nice guy. My brother Dre is as tall as gramps. And I was told I resemble grandma…not my mum’s mum, but my dad’s mum. I don’t know, but that is how they all put it…and they seemed so excited about it, like they were seeing a miracle unfold before their eyes. I don’t know about my brother, but I felt like I was a trophy at a museum.
Mystery dad. I wonder if my brother Dre and I will ever get to meet him. Why should I? I know you’re asking, why not? I don’t know. I might hit him on the head and kill him in the process. I might spit on him and call him unprintable names…or I might run for the hills cos I don’t know what he might do to my brother Dre or I.
Daddy dearest, you should have been a man about it.
My brother Dre and I are broken because of you. We are lost, because of you.
We are all human and makes mistakes, heaven knows I have my fair share, but had you been there, even as a shimmer of light, we, at least I would have appreciated it.
I know this sounds like it should be a personal letter or note to daddy dearest, but I know there are many Me’s and brother Dre’s out there, that is why I am writing this post today. I have left out many details, details I shall talk about another time…
As you live your days wondering, like my brother Dre and I…remember this, it’s therapeutic to talk about it. The bitterness lessens a bit. Because you and I are human, it bites and chews up our insides, but live we must…and appreciate every single day. Someone else never got so lucky.
At least I lived to appreciate new family members, whether step or direct family…lost and found.
Peace!
