Casual Musing with Chioma Emezi
Email: chyemezi@gmail.com Twitter: @cutechyoma
I remember this young lady in an estate where I used to live. Let’s call her Bola.
Bola’s mum owned a grocery store in the estate and that was how I got to meet Bola, a very intelligent young lady. She was a student in one of the leading all-female secondary schools. Her family was small. It was just her dad, her mum, her younger brother, Olu, and their housemaid, Sadiat.
Bola’s dad was a well read, tall aristocratic looking gentleman who smiled a lot. Very polite and spoke very little. Residents saw very little of him because he left for work in the wee hour of the morning and returned at night. The few times we saw him was at weekends or when he came into the store. She was her father’s replica.
Her mum on the other hand was a buxom lady. She had this very maternal aura and warmth around her. She was very chatty and cheerful. Unlettered too and could not make one correct sentence in English. She communicated more in Pidgin English and Yoruba. Everyone loved her, just the way she was. She was a sit-at-home mum and the shop was her only means of livelihood.
Bola was a in the boarding house and came home during her mid-term breaks or holidays. She would then be in charge of her mum’s shop and attended to everyone politely. Her father owned the house they lived in and her mum’s store was right in front of the building. They were a peaceful and very private family.
A few years later, I stopped seeing Bola’s father but I gave it no thought. Then one day, on my way to work, I saw Bola walking out of the estate in her school uniform and backpack. I stooped and asked her to hop in as her school was on my way to work.
I asked her why she was going to school from home and she told me that she was no longer a boarder. I asked why but she was silent. When I looked up, tears were rolling down her face.
“Bola what’s wrong? Are you alright?” I asked. She wept some more and I was confused. I asked after her parents and her brother and then she opened up.
The first thing she said amidst sobs was “Aunty, my dad has left and abandoned us”.
“How?” I asked. “Did he die? What happened?”
“He was invited to one church and somehow he was brainwashed into believing that my mother was a witch and same goes for my brother and I. He came to the house with his pastor and they were trying to force my mum to confess. Confess to what? So my brother and I got upset and fought them and threatened to call the police. So my dad took some of his clothes and left. We have not seen him since then.
“However, word got to my mum that the Pastor has found another wife for my dad and now they are married and living together. My Mum has been sick since then, has refused to eat or do anything. If you come to our shop now, it is practically empty. She is using her savings and proceeds from the shop to pay our fees and put food on the table. I am glad this in my last term in secondary school and I will soon write my final exams,” she narrated.
My heart went out to her and I quickly reached for my bag to offer her some pocket money but she politely declined.
A few months after Bola’s final exams, her dear mother passed on. She was inconsolable. Her father as well as her father’s relatives refused to attend the funeral. Neither did they care about the welfare of Bola and her younger brother, Olu. With the help of their church and her mother’s relatives, a decent funeral was arranged for the woman and with the donations from well-wishers, Bola was able to stock up her mum’s shop again.
With the money she made from the shop, she was able to pay her brother’s school fees as well.
When the result of her university entrance examinations were released, she passed with flying colours. She received this news with mixed feelings because she was not sure where the funds for her education would come from.
She summoned enough courage and went to see her father in his office. Her father embarrassed and chased her away and asked her never to set foot in his office again.
So determined to forge ahead, she rented out her mum’s shop and with the money realised from the rent, she was able to go ahead with her registration and fees for her first year in school as a medical student.
During her registration, she met a new student, Henry, who was also in her department and they became friends right away.
They became close and somehow she opened up to him. Henry could not believe his ears when he heard her story and insisted on visiting her at home to see things for himself.
After his visit to her home, he approached his father and told him all about Bola. His father asked him to invite her home so he could meet her. After that meeting, Henry’s father became Bola’s sponsor and also took care of Olu’s fees and upkeep.
Fast forward six years after, Bola graduated top of her class and became a medical doctor. Henry proposed to her and she gladly accepted.
Her brother walked her down the aisle and with tears flowing down her cheeks as she exchanged marital vows with Henry.
A month after her wedding, she received a phone call from the tenant who rented her mother’s shop. Her attention was needed urgently. When she arrived, she was told that a man was looking for her and would not leave until she was called. They pointed at the man and when she looked, a gaunt and highly emaciated face was what she saw. It was her father!
“Yes how can I help you?” she asked.
“Bola, it’s me, your father.”
“How can I help you?” She repeated.
“I have come to ask for your forgiveness. I have been deceived and bewitched all these years. I have lost everything I worked for.”
He went on and on and on.
Bola looked at him and shook her head.
“How do I begin to forgive? Where do I start from? My mother’s death out of a broken heart? The humiliation we suffered? The abandonment? How and where exactly do you want me to start from?”
With that, she turned around, got into her car and drove off.
Indeed, how does one begin to forgive this?
