LONESOME ME

How piteous, even in my tiny make shift crib, I can sense the tense atmosphere which pervaded the home. The overwhelming stench of sweat soaked work clothes of my father, combined with stale, putrid odour of a decomposed rodent somewhere in the room assaulted my tender olfactory nerves. My first two days in the world afforded me this experience of squalor.

I was born into a family of three. My elder brother who was a sickly fellow; I am sure will stir toady in his little grave of twenty-three years if only; thoughts of the living could reach the dead. My father, Theophilus Rolland was a bulky man of about thirty-one when I was born. His massive frame and the constant howl on his face have refused to leave my conscious memory, even decades after his death. On his nice day, he might perhaps wear a narrow grin, which does not take as much as a second to clear away; a sign of a change in his mood, which was indeed often. He would rant and storm about the house so much as to make even the rodents sharing our store to stay away when he was around.

Dad had lived his early childhood with his farming parents in our native village. His fast development of a massive physique and unbridled rascality, culminated to his father being summoned to an elders’ forum where he was given an ultimatum to tame his boy. Two weeks after the elders’ meeting, his father sent him to an uncle living in the city where he entered into an auto mechanic apprenticeship.

Mary Rolland which I grew to know was my mother, is a woman that must intrigue any living man; who has the misfortune of staying a full day with her. While she wears the look of an angel, I am sure, Lucifer must have cast away the gentle soul created to inhabit her beautiful body and replace it with the soul of the most wanton and horrible spirit in hell. Her short, violent temper and constant whining readily gets her and dad into at least a fearful exchange of the most bizarre and abusive words. Mother did not just develop these traits after marriage; it’s innate. For a fact, she left primary school at stage four after being expelled for physically assaulting a schoolteacher with pieces from a broken bottle and an unused jack knife. At the end of the attack episode, three people laid writhing in pains from fatal wounds for daring to intervene to save the poor teacher.

It was therefore, not out of place that the first set of words I learnt to speak in my life were vulgar, obscenities. Though I learnt the fine point of my mother tongue, most of the pleasant things I say, were learnt outside my family home. At a point in my formative stages, I stopped relating with a lot of our neighbours because they were always scolding me for things, which were not out of place to say to one another in my family. On different occasions had I called my father a beast? This of course was mother’s way of taunting him with his massive frame whenever she was in her frequent quarrelsome moods.

I recall when I was almost three years old, an incident made my father look more like a savage to me. He was outside fixing a fault in his rickety car when I strolled casually to his side. I picked up one of his spanners and because he was so busy, he did not notice me fidgeting with his engine until I had gotten a web of wires mixed up. When he looked up at what I was doing, he became so enraged he spanked me thrice on my bare buttocks. I yelled out and called him a beast. His face turned, first from an expression of disbelieve, to that of disgust before wearing a murderous rage and he threw a steel spanner at me, knocking off two of my newly formed incisors.

Mother heard the noise, came out to see what was happening and this marked the beginning of a riotous evening in our home. With out a second thought, mother picked the steel spanner and sent it flying to smash the windscreen of the car.

Let me here mention that the only thing, which certainly gets dad to smile, was the fond thoughts of his car. Neighbours who wanted to flatter him into doing favours for them know too well that complimenting his car gives him immense pleasure. At such instance, he would revel in the pleasure of explaining how he had gotten disused parts from car dumps to build his beloved car.

He gave a disbelieving look at the smashed windscreen and for a brief moment, his look says it’s all a bad dream. Nevertheless, it wasn’t, and neighbours who realised the full import of what mother had done scurried into their houses with their children. They expected to witness the deadly reaction of a first rated insane man set loose. The devil in mother rose to the occasion as she went into the house only to reappear with her wrapper tightly knotted.

I do not need to see, to comprehend a descriptive of how a lion pounces on its prey after witnessing the actions of father that dreadful evening. I saw his muscles flexing at bursting point before he lunged out at mum, kicking me away from the line of fire. With the frightening swiftness of a preying cat, he ripped off the wrapper on mother and dealt some blows on her in the manner of a berserk maniac. These blows were too much for mother and she slumped like a loosely packed bag of potatoes.

Up to this day, I can’t fathom why I covered my face with tiny hands; but I knew my young fragile mind had been assaulted by the obscenity of mother’s nakedness. Primordial instincts taught me to shut my face to the sight and I did. However, now I can understand why some on-lookers were visibly agitated and others simply jeered lewdly. Obviously, the sight of mothers lower ‘vee’, covered in lush dark hair, and the shapely breasts which had remain firm because of mothers refusal to breastfeed her children beyond three months, might have attracted the men who could not conceal their licentious stares.

Someone called an ambulance and another police. Mother was taken away to the hospital and the police took dad away for some days. Our home was ghostly silent that night as my sickly brother who all the while remained inside, refused to talk to me. I sobbed all through the night, since there was no one who cared to see to our welfare. The only relation we had in town had learnt to keep away from Theo’s affair for fear of his return to heap blames on her for his woes.

At the hospital where mother was taken, events later proved the rescue mission would have been unnecessary. She came to, from her unconsciousness, moving violently about and asking for her assailant. The men around subdued her; but the following morning to everyone’s disquiet, she asked to be discharged, but this request was denied. She however left the hospital ward after beating up the ward attendant who attempted to stop her from going away. At home, she swore and cursed, asking for the bastard called Theo.

The events of the later part of the second day painted the picture of my parent’s emotional instability and how it affected our home. Few hours after mum’s return from the hospital, she dressed up in flattering colours and left home telling no one about her destination. She had, in her usual shift in mood decided to go and bail dad out of police detention. Their arrival back home attracted the neighbourhood where everyone watched with mixed feelings of derisory amusement and stark amazement. There was mum and dad returning home, chatting excitedly and cutting the picture of the happiest couple that ever lived.

It must seem incredible to believe that my childish mind prayed that such ugly incidence might occur frequently. This must be because the family for once came together that night in closeness replete with the rare show of love and caring which was obvious we all needed. Very rarely indeed do we witness such bliss in our home except after very bitter and dreadfully violent quarrels. I prayed silently in my mind, if it was a dream, no doubt a nice one that the dream might last forever. However, my prayer on this was never answered. The bliss lasted only a few days before another of the numerous quarrels began.

For lack of adequate care, my broken teeth had become infected and I developed a high fever. Mother cursed about dad’s lack of self-control, which led to throwing the spanner at me. She taunted him to resume going for mass at the cathedral, her panacea to his woes. She wanted to administer an analgesic to me, but dad insisted I was to be taken to the hospital. For reasons we could not understand, mum lashed out at him:

‘Make the funds available and I will take him’

Then added sarcastically,

‘Besides, what these boys need is good food and not hospital dispensed drugs’

‘I try my best’ he retorted.

‘Your best indeed’

‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

‘Do you need me to remind you of when last you gave feeding allowance in this house?’

’Well, that’s why I started your trading businesses.

‘You? How dare you lay claims to my business?’

‘I can, because I provided the seed capital’

‘Which has been expended on keeping the family’ she added.

‘How then has the business continued to flourish?’

‘Go ask your whores to whom your income goes.’

At this stage, tempers had only began to flare and despite our young ages, we have learnt enough to keep out of the way when heated arguments like this started in our home. Dad’s anger continued to rise by the minute as the argument raged on. It was clear he might burst out into one of his tempestuous raves, but mum remained defiant and continued to throw back stinging responses to his utterances, which were no less venomous. The last straw in the argument came when she reminded him of the proceeding at the police station. This dowsed the flame of his anger into a glowering ember of suppressed rage and he stormed out of the house.

Dad stayed away from home three days after this and in spite of the fact that his presence at home spelt tension and unrest, the home environment seemed uncannily calm without him and we missed him in a way. These days when I think back to those times, I shudder at the thoughts that for our young and impressionable minds, we were totally used to violent and quarrelsome situations. Little wander then, that at age six, I had been brought home numerous times by boiling neighbours with the charge of hitting their children with stones and metals, which I had picked up in demonstration of my supremacy over peers. Anyone who dared to challenge me returned home wounded or severely beaten up. Soon enough everybody in the neighbourhood had warned their children and wards to stay away from me. Most of the time therefore, I played alone at home, outside the home and in fact got used to life as a lone ranger. All this while, my parents were either not bothered or oblivious of my devilish mind, which was waxing stronger with mischievous machinations that would have been unheard of a properly bred of my age.

Memories of my youth leave me with mixed feelings today. I find some of my deeds hilarious; some utterly disgusting and others awe inspiring. For instance, there was a flamboyant tree a little distance away from my home. This was fabled in the neighbourhood to be the abode of an enormous snake spirit. Although no one ever saw the demonic serpent, people believed in it’s existence and stayed away from the tree that had a dense crop of evergreen leaves. During one of my lone wanderings, I got under the tree out of curiosity and discovered to an inner satisfaction of mine that the shade was so cool and offered an excellent playhouse for me. This tree eventually became for me a home, a playhouse and a sanctuary whenever I needed one. Neighbours who saw me playing around the tree made reports to my mum who could be less bothered. As far as she was concerned, home was a bit bearable without my constant hassles added to that of my sickly brother and dad’s.

Soon, I learnt to climb the tree and eventually got to the zenith of the tree where the leaves were most dense. There on the treetop was a paradise of indescribable form.

Nature has designed the branches formation as if in preparation for me to inhabit. There were two parallel branches concisely spaced from each other that I could lie without the risk of falling off and there was another branch formation in which I sat comfortably for hours un end.

Now, in my secret abode on this tree, I found peace, love, and friendliness. Above all, I found the harmony of nature unaltered. Young though I was at this time, the memory has remained indelible and today when I meditate and travel back into time, I cannot but agree that the most astonishing lessons of my life were impressed on my psyche at this time.

It might sound preposterous, but my life in the tree did demonstrate certain things to me. These include the fact that man in his most primitive form, lived more at peace with himself and nature without the complexities of the modern man. A life devoid of material worries, devoid of strife and the complicated orderliness of modern life; but only too full of the simplistic magnificence of nature; is one that has eluded the modern man and perhaps, the absence of such being the reason for the short life span of men these days.

A second to this is the inherent ability of man to relate with lesser animals when his species-the Homo sapiens – has deserted him. Relationship between man and other animals, although most primitive in nature, offers a most satisfying fill of man’s need for unalloyed loyalty, love and friendship. I substantiate this claim with my relationship with Boks and Beks. These names, given to them by me, are those of my agama lizard friend and his wife Beks.

One after noon, I was about dozing off in the branches of my paradise when Boks came up a branch opposite me. He stopped in awe at the sight of me and regarded me obviously with suspicion. Perhaps, out of my childish simplicity or a great longing to talk to a friend, I cooed out to him in a friendly greeting, but Boks only turned and scurried away. He didn’t come back my way until the following day at the same time. One other thing that might confound those sceptical about animal intelligence is their sense of time. How else does one explain my subsequent meetings with Boks and Beks at the same time of the day on numerous occasions? Alternatively, what explanation could be given about the seasonal mating periods and breeding seasons in animals? These certainly must be attributable to a sense of time which was endowed all animals, even plants by nature! This primeval sense of time accounts for the natural scheme of activities through the life span of every living thing. There is time to feed, time to defecate, to sleep and ultimately time to die.

On the second occasion of meeting Boks, I offered him a little piece of biscuit. Boks would not be easily moved to friendship just by my offer of a little piece of food and he only continued to stare at me but refusing to move. I was sure he was taking me in and trying to decide whether I posed a threat to him or not. In his sub-human animalistic thoughts, I supposed he decided I could not be trusted at once and therefore disappeared into an even denser part of the tree. This episode sent my childish mind reeling and I wondered why even animals would refuse to be my friend. Although I could not comprehend it to be loneliness of my young age, I longed to love and be loved by someone or at least by some-thing. When I was leaving my paradise for home that evening, I left the biscuit somewhere secured but from which point I was sure Boks was certain to see it. I got home late and mum scolded me severely calling me the different names I earned in the neighbourhood because of my interest in the forbidden tree. The different names reflected the awe, with which the people of the neighbourhood regarded me. Some thought I had been possessed by the snake spirit and at a time, dad thought so too. This was because of an episode at home one afternoon. Some of dad’s friend had come visiting in our home and as usual were served beer. The night before because of my phobia for the dark, I could not go out to urinate and therefore used a drinking mug as my chamber pot. Although I emptied this before anyone noticed it, the sight of dad and his bully friends drinking from my chamber pot was extremely hilarious and I could not help laughing uncontrollably. I continued to do this frequently and even extended it to the family cooking pot. I consequently had more private hilarious secrets to laugh over; and the frequency became worrisome to our neighbours who have heard several tales of possessed children laughing over jokes cracked by invincible entities.

Two weeks of wooing and mutual suspicion passed before Boks finally decide or so I thought that I could be trusted. One afternoon, dad had spanked me at home for breaking a glass cup and I ran away from home to the comfort of my paradise that had by now assumed for me, the sole comfortable place free from the distressful agonies of the world. Perhaps, Boks understood my mood or could read the doleful countenance on my face, he did show up just minutes after I had comfortable tucked myself to recline and stopped inches away from me. At this instance, I thought I could read understanding in his eyes and I began to pour out my childish anguish to him. In a gesture of understanding, he moved closer and did what I later recognised to be his comfort statement; he laid his scaly head on my right foot. Then I knew I had a friend in him and as if to thank me for the regular bits of food I always kept for him in the secured part of the branches, he ran to the spot, did a movement I could not comprehend and returned to place his head again on my right foot.

I thought this to mean he was hungry and I gave him pieces of bread I brought from home. This time I fed him from my hands. He ate the tiny pieces of bread I gave to him gratefully and some how, I felt a compelling sense of fulfilment in my absurd relationship with this creature. My acquaintance with Boks grew from ordinary friendship and subsequently into deep emotional attachment. Often times, I longed to see him and regardless of what I was doing at home, I would leave to meet with him in my nature given paradise. I recall this day when dad pursued me and I fled to the treetop. When he would not return home until I come down from the top of the tree, he found a suitable place and sat to wait for me at a little distance from the tree. Boks was of immeasurable assistance to me on this occasion, as he became my spy. He went down the tree at intervals and returned hurrying up to me if he found dad still waiting for me. When I attempted to go down, Boks tugged at the tip of my shorts and I knew the coast was not yet cleared. Eventually, when Dad left for home, Boks returned to lay his head on my right foot. This was sign to me that all was well; and I left home grateful to Boks.

The Omniscience nature of the creator of the universe began to dawn on me after one of my numerous rendezvous with Boks. I had just arranged myself comfortably in the usual branches one afternoon when Boks appeared. He seemed overly excited about something from the way he ran up and down the branches. I gave him a food gift, but he refused to be fed from my hands. Rather, he would tug at the tip of my shorts and then run into the denser part of the branches, which I came to recognise as his territory. Having done this thrice, I snapped out of the attendant confusion and realised he wanted me to follow him into his territory. I did, and on getting there, discovered his was cosier than mine was and even more comfortably structured. While I looked around, he went up a slimmer branch and returned with a female of his specie, which I name Beks. By this, he has done his brand of formal introduction of his wife to me. Agama Lizards are by nature polygamous, but Boks wasn’t; and Beks was his soul mate.

Beks was at first cautions; probably at the strangeness of my looks, but moved closer and gave me an all round look. She sniffed at my legs, short and shirt before coming over in the fashion of Boks to lay her head on my left leg foot. Boks and Beks thence commenced their extensive ritual of providing me food to eat. I took it all to mean they were entertaining me and by all human standards, I think they entertain lavishly. The meal was one of endless courses. They brought out all varieties of food bits they had gleaned around, but I ate it all in one mouthful. These included maze grains, state bread, and carcases of different insects, which had foul odours. Though these were not in any human sense palatable or appetising, I ate up everything for fear of hurting their good intentions and above all, losing the hard earned confidence they had in me.

My life on the treetop was not all about Boks and Beks alone. There were times when the mischief in me took a greater part of me. One morning when I was at the refuse dump to discard the wastes in mum’s waste bin, I picked up a catapult, which I hid in my pants to prevent it been seen by anyone. Later on, I went to select stones for my weapon before going over to my paradise. My initial thoughts was to aim at birds for sports, but I soon got tired of that until a boy from my neighbourhood came along a path not too far from the tree. Selecting a fine stone, I aimed and shot at the boy but missed him by whiskers. While the boy was deciding on what to do, I took another aim and got him at his ankle. The little boy noticed he was being shot at from the haunted tree and took to his heels thoroughly scared. This continued for a while and people stopped making use of the path except those that were extremely brave.

While all these happened, it was a source of amusement for my dad who knew that I had demystified the tree by climbing to the top and down unscathed. One day however, a man I shot at and bruised his forehead caught me at the mischievous game. Instead of fleeing like the others before him, he came charging to challenge whoever or whatever the spirit was. When the highly feared spirit would not act even at the disparaging remarks of the aggrieved man, the people in the neighbourhood ganged up, building enough mob courage to cut down the tree. In defiance of Bok’s disapproval of my actions, I climbed down to avoid the destruction of my paradise. The consequences of my actions, I met boldly, but one, which I grew to remember, was that I lost my paradise, as it became a play house for everyone around and Boks my friend was bereaved of his wife few days later. After this, the disturbance of incessant human presence; and I guess the grief of his lost mate drove Boks away and I lost my most trusted friends.

The loss of my friends and paradise, in addition to the adverse impression my previous deeds earned me made it compulsory that I stay at home except when on errands for my parents. The very few boys around who had earlier defied their parents warning about associating with me now learnt to keep away from me. My sickly brother had been terminally ill for the past two months while dad and mum continued to live in their cat and mouse relationship.

One afternoon, after there had been a rain I felt a compulsive desire to stroll around the neighbourhood and I did. While doing this, the stare and hushed whispers of our neighbours sickened me and I decided to wander into other areas in search of fun and playmates. At the streets, I was faced first with the problem of crossing it. A man soon came along who wanted to cross the street and I followed him, moving down along that side of the road. The road was filled with puddles of muddy water forcing bike riders to meander along the dirt road in a way that fascinated me. I continued down what turned out to be a winding road, which brought me to a spot with such huge crowd, as I have never seen before. I moved into the crowd and discovered they were gathered for a single purpose. The languages they spoke were as varied as their numbers. A man was ringing a silvery bell while singing loudly on a heap of foot wears that were not new and a motley crowd gathered around searching through the heap for their fits. I watched this crowd for a while interested in their occasional haggling until a hoot from a driver’s horn brought me out of my revelry.

I passed on from this place and got to a series of stalls with large chunks of meat on blood stained, dirty tables. This place stank horribly and a mixture of blood, animal dung with all sorts of decaying organics filled the ground. The sellers here wore clothes that were discoloured from bloodstains and other dirt altogether. They were a complete contrast from their patrons who stood before them in crisp smart dresses. From the other end of the narrow road winding through the middle of these stalls, a cart pusher emerged and approached my spot in a dare devil manner. Everyone, including myself moved aside to give him right of way but I had moved too closely to the stall of a butcher who, in a carefree manner, poured away a fowl mixture of blood and water in my direction. In annoyance and disgust, I cursed and called the butcher a beast; but he gave no heed to this nor did he display any sign of having noticed me.

I was still brooding in confusion, as I would need a genuine explanation to avoid scolding from mum on the state of my cloths when I noticed a rising commotion not too far away and I was drawn towards the spot by my curiosity. There in the middle of the gathering crowd were two men in under pants only, muscles ripping, and their bodies glistening with sweat and clutching each other’s throat. More people were attracted and began to move towards the spot shouting at the top of their voices trying to be heard. Different arguments began to spring up all around between a group of bystanders who wanted the two fighters separated and another group who were bent on having a free of charge entertainment from the two powerfully built fighters. Soon, there was May hem all round as different fights sprang from the arguments.

The sound of gunshots from antiriot policemen sent the mob dispersing in different direction. Some hoodlums snatched the opportunity of the chaos to loot the stalls of unwary traders who had been careless enough to leave their stalls for the commotion spot. Gun trotting policemen took advantage of the situation to harass some people who had the misfortune of being on the trouble spot. A police van arrived at the spot and people were taken away as scape goats. A woman captive screamed that she was just a shopper and her son had been torn away from her. Mistaking me for the screaming woman’s son, a policeman snatched and threw me into the van ignoring my protests and desperate wailings.

At the police station, the error of taking me captive was discovered and made even complicated when I could not state the address of my parents nor their names. I was therefore to stay in custody until may be my parents showed up to claim me or to report my loss. The officer on duty could not stand the stench of my clothes and therefore ordered I be given a fresh shirt from the chest of drawers in the office. After all this, and a meal of dry bread and orange drink, I sat beside the officer to watch proceedings at the complaints counter.

My eyes came to rest on the big brown wall clock mounted on the wall opposite the counter, just above the doorframe. The hands of the clock dragged for a split second and the time stood at twenty-two hours. I was tired and sleepy having been exhausted by the adventures of the day. I longed for a warm cosy bed, but there would be none in this dreary place, which though not another paradise was preferable to my home. Just then, a handcuffed man was dragged into the station with an obviously angry man and a limping girl of about thirteen following behind. A police constable said something to the superior officer in low tones. He glanced up at the accused man from what he was writing and laughed out loud. I looked at them one after the other and guessed the charges against the handcuffed man was funny or ridiculous. The police officer made entries of the case in a big fat book and ordered the accused man be remanded in cell until the following morning while he instructed the man and his raped daughter to report back at the station.

Until then the man’s offence and it’s meaning were things I have never heard off. I asked what it meant by the man raping the little girl.

‘Did the man beat the girl?’

‘So you have not been sleeping?’ queried the sergeant.

‘No sir’

‘You are too young to understand rape’ he quipped

‘No sir, I know a lot of things’

The officer ignored my last statement and continued to write on the big fat book on his desk.

From the cell behind the counter, there were muffled sounds of men crying out for help and I recognised the voice of the rapist.

‘Who is beating him?’ I asked the officer

‘His cell mate’

‘Why?’

‘He is being initiated into cell life’ the police said with a tone of finality and I asked no further questions.

Two days after my parents came to claim me from police custody, my brother died from the terminal illness in his sleep. Mum’s reaction to his death was unusual but touching. Dad remained indifferent in his busy preparation for the interment. Mum’s reaction had been unusual because she had never cared so much about her dead son and the living one; or so it seemed; and I often think of how Leo- for that was my brother’s name –would have reacted if he could witness the reaction upon his death. During his short and miserable life, he never knew love or caring, so how can anyone express unhappiness at the termination of such a life? Today however, having seen how interesting every human can be, it pains me unending that I had a brother about who I knew next to nothing. Not even his kind of humour; the kind of mind he had; or his share of the rich diversity of human nature that makes the homosapien an abyss of intrigues.

The death of Leo created a vacuum we had never expected was possible in our home. For dad, his death took away the lad he always entrusted with the errands of buying him liquor and cigarettes while mum finds herself restless when the usual time comes to dispense drugs to the sickly Leo. He was, by his sickly nature, one who stayed at home and helped in little chores and errands; but now, is no more, cried mum one evening barely a month after his demise; Leo for me, is someone I look upon for an amusement. He amuse me un-end by his touch-me-not attitude such that when he feels at his best and up to it, he would demonstrate his hatred and dislike for dad by mimicking his fighting stance when he is in a quarrel with mum. His death therefore removes from me, that dumb symbol of hatred and dislike.

For a while, mum lost a little of her semblance. She would ignore utterances from dad that would normally have resulted into another of their fierce quarrels. It was at this period I came to realise that dad was simply a maniac. He was maniacal about fighting people less strong than he was. This was something close to boosting his ego by bullying people around him. Since mum refused to be drawn into a fight, his frustrations began to pile up. When eventually he needed an ego booster, his frustrations were vented on me.

Dad came home one evening and while we were yet welcoming him back, he waved the welcome bit aside and advance into the house where he saw my long lost catapult. He picked it up and returned menacingly into the sitting room, turned to me and asked:

‘Have you been up to your mischief again?’

Dad never waited for an answer, but went on to strike me across my face. Mum was charged by his action, which she condemned as too brutish for a child my age. An argument ensued, which put an end to the short reprieve, which Leo’s death had brought about.

The sheer force with which dad had struck me made me dumb for a while, and when I did found my voice, I cried out so loudly but neither dad nor mum gave a hoot as they were busy wrestling each other on the floor.

Events which followed in the next few weeks shattered all hopes I might have for a normal, peaceful family life. Nevertheless could I have one? Then, the last shred of our family bond was torn apart by a complicated series of events, which led to mum suing for a divorce. At that moment when dad and mum were wrestling each other, a maternal uncle who lived in a far away city walked in. The expression on his face at the spectacle of shamelessness and absurdity confronting him was indescribable. He made attempt to separate them, only for one to lunge at the other again and again. He finally left after giving me a gift of some fruits, food items and money.

Mum received a letter by courier two days after wards summoning her to a family meeting. The after math of her summons and the deliberations thereof culminated in her suing for divorce. Already mum had moved out of the house and was temporarily putting up with a friend of hers who has stopped seeing us at home for more than a year. We had been fond of Aunty Stella-mums friend – who was widowed not too long before an eventful day in our house.

It was a bright sunny day when Aunty Stella came around on one of her hither to frequent visits. After series of knocks on our front door, Aunty Stella decided to open the door to see where all of us were. Dad who had earlier locked us up in the storage room confronted her. She smiled at him and curtsied but it was a menacing look that greeted her. Recounting the episode later on, she disclosed dad was indeed in a psychotic fit when he confronted her.

Before she could say a thing to answer one of the numerous queries dad hurled at her, he seized her by the arm, ripped off her dress, and tied up her hands behind her with a cable hanging on one of the seats. He unbuckled his belt and shoved her violently to the floor where he proceeded to rape the hapless lady.

Dad entered her so violently that Aunty Stella screamed and he continued every savage thrust of his while he gripped her waist to position with his hands like a mechanical vice. This elicited regretful moans from her, which we heard from our forced jail. Mean while, her scream had alerted the neighbours who crowded around our apartment and by the time they decided on breaking the door in, it was too late for at that moment, dad came in a massive animalistic orgasm, uttering guttural sounds and crushing aunty Stella to the hard, cold concrete floor.

Aunty Stella’s family threatened to get dad arrested and arraigned for rape, but series of pacifist meetings were convened with reasoning that it would do no good to both families. At the end, when Aunty Stella reported conceiving a child from that unfortunate episode, all were convinced it was ‘all that was good, which ended well’. Aunty Stella had remained barren all through her seven years of marriage.

The first hearing of the divorce suit came three weeks after the visit of my maternal uncle. At the hearing, dad pleaded with the presiding magistrate to help re-unite his family, as he still loved mum. Upon the testimonies of my uncle and aunty Stella, the case was adjourned for a week during, which hearing I was to appear.

In spite of strong protests and displeasure on the part of mum’s family, the magistrate ruled at the next hearing there was insubstantial evidence that dad was psychotic and hence could not be denied a family life since it was clear the two parties involved were still much in love. They were however expected to settle out of court within two weeks otherwise the court should grant the divorce. He further ruled the social welfare department takes custody of me. This was for me, the beginning of a whole series of new experiences.