Change Begins With Me By Timothy

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       It was a rainy afternoon that Friday. I came home from school against all the battling I had with my fears. If I had decided not to that break, I would be justified. Mother was the main reason. She licensed her son to do anything without being questioned and rebuked. Shina would not have troubled if she had not empowered him. In fact, he was trouble himself and Mother was blind to it. She wanted me no university education, but it was a thing she could not mention to Father's ears. He would not agree at all. Her concern was that I would abandon the rigorous house chores after my departure. She hoped I would wait after graduating from secondary school, to take care of her son among other things. She even convinced Father I should seek admission at the University of Ibadan because of the proximity, which was at least considerable. We lived in Ibadan, so she did that because she wanted me around every time.

I had not gotten to the gate of our compound when I started to hear some strange noises and rumbles. I should not have been worried because it was regular to see Mother and Father in arguments, but that day was somewhat different. My ears hinted me Mother's usual screams were absent. I hastened my steps and knocked vehemently, so it could be heard in such temperance. I continued for some moments before Shina came to open. He was not happy seeing me, I was not surprised. He was sweating profusely and had his right arm bleeding as a result of Father's flogging. Father hardly did because he was a friend-like parent, who believed in correction by appealing. Overtime, he seemed tired of Mother's pampers, so he did not put up with Shina any longer.

Father welcomed me quite well and tried to relax me. It was a little hard for him switching to his good mood, I understood.Shina soon stormed out of the house and disappeared. It was then I remembered Mother in all of these. She would have probably shielded him again. Quite pathetic.

"What of Mother?", I asked.

" She's been to the market for hours now", he began worrying "She should have been back".

" OK!"

"But Ayinke, how are you doing?" He usually called me by that traditional name, he wouldn't call me SEWA.

"I'm fine Sir"

My focus was glued to Father's look. He was getting older, paler and growing thinner. It was that same stressful work we all complained of. Father was an always travelling man who had little or no time to rest. Not home often, he was busy overseeing his clothing business. He made it big time. Even times he worked in Ibadan, it was never as if he was within reach. Some months back before my arrival, he had become very sick and was admitted to the hospital. The family doctor, Dr. James warned him of the fatigue building up an illness in his body system. And my little brother did not give him a breathing space in the house.

Since Shina's birth, everything had turned around (just that I cannot say it was for the worse). Many a times, the family went on treats and picnics at spots and parks outside the city. My early childhood is an experience to remember. The only distaste was whenever Sugarmummy came to worry us. My paternal grandmother was named that by the people around the area. Of course, no one in the house could call her the name to her face. Then, she was in her mid-sixties and was full of energy strong enough to battle Mother and silent Father's pleas. All because of their inability to bear a child.

Yes- I have not mentioned I was just adopted.

Shina's birth opened up things deeply buried. The lightest was the neighborhood knowing our worth after many years.

"Mr Ajekigbe needed not to have built to live here", one gossiped.

" Something might have happened to make....", another replied.

"Abi.... Here is such too noisy for someone like him!" They said.

Except for Sugarmummy that was so close and friendly to them, none of us kept an intimate relationship outside the compound. We were all busy, only for Aunty Titi who stayed home all through. Years after, Mother accused her of witchcraft and sent her packing when Father travelled to Benue. He was not happy when he found out.

I was six when Shina was given birth to, and there was no much difference as we both grew. Firstly, he was chubby and healthy, then he developed some strong muscles. He looked really big and became a bully in his class. There are days I brought reports of his fights home. Mother said every time, "He's just a little kid....Besides, he is a boy". Mr. Okon, the Principal after cases would request her presence the next school day. Shima escaped being reprimanded anytime Father was not around. He was nine years when Aunty Titi was sent away, and she did not employ another maid, another witch. I was already of age to start doing the chores. He did not do the easiest of the works. Those years, life was tough for me. I was just into the senior secondary school, but I was not able to concentrate well enough. I finished up the whole chores every morning before anything, including school days, while her son woke up very late. If it were possible for her, she would have me hawk the streets in the evening, just to see me working. I repeat- those years, life was tough for me.

The day I finally realised my place in that house came shortly after my WASSCE. Father came home late after his office works and met me washing. He questioned why I was washing later that night and I explained all to him. Mother wanted me to wash Shina's bedsheets and pillowcases before my dinner. When he challenged Mother and she could not give a direct reply, he battled her seriously.

" What sort of mother are you?", he asked provokingly.

"A mother that teaches a daughter there is something called marriage", she fiercely replied.

" So, this is your way of teaching?" Father called out Shina and asked him why he did not wash his things himself. All the while, he was playing videogames with Philly- his neighbour friend in his room.

"Come on Dad!", he snapped " This stranger should wash things around here, not me".

Everything went blank almost immediately he said the words. The air changed suddenly and my mouth went dry. It was as though dusts gathered in my eyes and tiny streams of tears poured down my eyeballs. I did not feel alive anymore, like my head was heavy with carrying rocks and my shoulders tired. I was getting sick. My heart was itchy and the immunes in me allowed cold. I started shivering and my tongue tasted bitter.

"Is that a way to tell me I'm no child of theirs?" I wanted to ask but my lips were weak.

Father burst into tears too, and Mother for the first time raised her arm up and slapped Shina. Shina dashed out laughing and Philly followed like a shadow. I did not want to believe i, but as I saw the remorse on them, my brain told me it was no lie. Obviously, Mother had been telling him things, a lot of stories he surely would have told his friends too.

All Mother did was apologizing to Father, but he was motionless like a corpse. He soon stood up and came over to where I leaned, but I instead rushed into my room before he got to me and I locked myself up crying bitterly. That night was full of nightmares and I had for the first time sleep paralysis. Dinner was the last thing on my mind.

The days ahead proved decisive and had me on my toes. Father has always been my father no matter what.

But this is my society. A Nigerian one indeed! This is where many struggle and there is nothing to show for it. Children who find themselves in a situation as mine mostly have it uneasy, psychologically unstable and barely survive financially too. It is a cage that keeps one away from balance especially when they know of such. A wise man once said that until a slave is shown his identity, he is not living his own life. Then may I think it is sometimes better not to know one's identity? Will it not be better for a man to be in the darkness of reality than be in the light of dreams?

#OlaitanTimótheüz