On that fateful day, I was in a conference in Uyo which should have lasted only for five days. The bus driver supposed to bring all and sundry back disappointed us. We had to sleep out because our hotel bills expired that day as well. My mother couldn’t pull herself together after waiting the whole of that day for me, her only daughter. So, she kept weeping and praying.
My father who was in the same room with her rebuked her for not letting him sleep. When she refused to shut her mouth, he rose up from the bed and did better than what a panel beater would have done. Adding insult to injury, he left for my step-mother’s apartment, returned with her to watch him finish the action he had already started. He continued beating her in the presence of my step-mother whose face at that moment pretended to have compassion on her mate who was beaten black-blue.
Nonetheless, I returned a day after the incident, not finding anyone at home. I entered my room and saw drops of blood on the floor. I needed no one to explain that was my mother’s blood, I just knew it. I searched everywhere but didn’t see her, I rushed to her father’s house which is not too far from ours. Bafflement roofed me as I saw a shattered and heartbroken woman who looked like my mother, but when I took a closer look at the maltreated face, l confirmed her to be my mother. In confusion, I ran back home without hearing or saying a word.
I sat on the floor in my father’s room, waiting and wailing for him to come back and meet a fierce daughter of his. My heartbeat increased as I kept thinking about how to reciprocate the hurt inflicted on me by my father. I looked around and saw a heavy iron which I barely lifted, smashed it on the plasma television in my mother’s parlor, penetrated my step-mother’s apartment and did the same justice to hers. As hot flames kept coming from my swollen eyes, I sat on the German-floored ground next to the gate and waited patiently for the perpetrator to return.
Unfortunately for me and fortunately for him, my elder brother who had earlier been informed of the incidence by Alima, my half brother, arrived at the scene. Immediately, a horn blew, signifying the arrival of my long awaited father. My brother yelled at me, his voice smashed half the anger off me. He walked close to me and collected the iron from me, dragged me slowly to his warm body and said in a low tone:
“You have done enough already, baby sis.”
Those words of his took my action to its plummet. I would have felt better if my missions were completed. I wanted to show him how I loved my mother just as he loves all his assets. Even as he may be disappointed in me, so also he should realize I am disappointed in him for not just beating my mother but doing so in the presence of her mate which is the peak of a ridicule any woman would bear.
My heart is heavy with incubated stories. I wish I had a pen which could copy and paste all my predicaments.