MY FATHER'S HOUSE

I can't help but wonder what might be troubling her. She seems like a reserved individual, which surprises me in a situation like this. Please relay the message to her that I really need to speak with her. Right now, she could use someone like me by her side.

There's a large, imposing man waiting at the entrance of the prison, dressed in a black and white inner suit. He stands out with his tall stature and distinctive gap-toothed smile. He has been coming here for the past seven days, and I'm not sure why he's so insistent on talking to me. However, I don't really need anyone right now because the outside world feels like a living nightmare to me. Why would I want to leave this haven and return to such a dreadful place?

One of my fellow prisoners taps me on the shoulder and asks, "Who is he, and why don't you want to talk to him? He's been coming here for seven days. At least hear him out." Yet, I still resist the idea of talking to him. I turn to my favorite roommate, Sholape, and express my concerns about preventing this man from coming here. I don't know him, and while he might be able to get me out of this place, I don't want to leave all of you behind. You all are the only family I have. How can you expect me to abandon my loved ones and return to the hellish existence I escaped from?

Sholape, my closest friend since I arrived here, has been my pillar of support. She was the first person I spoke to on that fateful day. "Please, can I sit with you for lunch?" I ask her. She looks up at me with her teary, bloodshot eyes, an unsettling sight. However, she kindly shifts over to make room for me beside her. Unfortunately, as I try to place my meager food on the table, my tray slips from my hand, and my plate tumbles onto the floor. Surprisingly, Sholape smiles and invites me to share her meal. This act of kindness is unfamiliar to me, as nobody has ever shown me such compassion throughout my entire life.

Sholape let out a sudden scream, causing me to believe something was wrong. Worried, I immediately called for security, and they quickly took her to the prison clinic. Seeking solace, I put on my headset and immersed myself in music. With Sholape gone, I finally began to feel at ease. The following day, all of us prisoners gathered on the field, including a pregnant woman whom I sometimes felt sympathy for. We sat on the grass, sharing our experiences leading up to our imprisonment and reflecting on what brought us here. They shared their stories with apparent happiness, but their words made me question my own humanity. Sholape had been living a life of crime since the age of 12, after her mother's passing. She engaged in a fight that led to her arrest by the police at the age of 20. Her court case resulted in a guilty verdict, sentencing her to eight years in prison. Unlike the others, who had seemingly lived happy lives, my story differed. I had been residing in my father's house since I was five, following my mother's death. We had lived together in Agboroko village throughout her lifetime. I always bothered her about my father, envious of other children who were picked up from school by their fathers. She would reassure me, saying he was on a business trip and would return soon. However, my father never came back until the day my mother died. Tragically, she was struck by a car on my fifth birthday, shattering my hopes for a joyous celebration. The weather that day was bitterly cold. My mother fell into a coma that lasted five months before she finally passed away.

A man appeared and approached my neighbor, claiming to be my father. At first, I couldn't believe what I was hearing; it seemed too real. But I wondered why he hadn't shown up before my mother's death. My neighbors expressed happiness for me, but little did I know that living with him would turn into a nightmarish existence. If only I had known, I wouldn't have followed him to his house. However, after several convincing discussions, I excitedly packed my belongings. Upon arriving at my father's house, I was taken aback by its grandeur; a mansion that contrasted sharply with the unfinished building I had lived in with my mother. Nevertheless, I was glad to finally live with my father. Carrying my polybag, I entered the house, and my dad introduced me to everyone there. However, their reactions made me feel invisible. "Bolaji, who is that girl? Did you finally get us a housemaid?" one of them exclaimed. Shocked, I widened my eyes and shouted, "A maid?" I turned to see who had spoken, only to find a slightly plump woman who was not as beautiful as my mom. But wait, she called my dad by name Bolaji? How is it that my mom never mentioned his name? But that didn't matter at that moment; what mattered was figuring out how things worked in this household. "Sorry darling, this is Ademide. She is my daughter," my dad said, causing the woman and others in the house to react in shock. "Your daughter?" the woman exclaimed, desperately hoping it was a joke or a dream. She called for help, but everyone remained in shock, staring at me as if they had seen a ghost. Dad led me to my room, cautioning me to remain calm and avoid trouble at all costs. I promised to be a good girl, silently absorbing the bewildering circumstances surrounding me.