Father was a man with strict religious beliefs, while mom could be compared to a mere housewife looking for ways to please her husband,as long as I could remember she was a slave because she never had freedom from Dad's control. She never had a choice but to walk blindly wherever father waved his wand, sometimes when I'm engraved in my thoughts I usually think if she was scared, I was too young to understand, I remember when I was eight years old, I asked her if she was afraid, but she replied with a smile, A question that was never meant to be answered, because we were all scared. Deep inside me I was a bold kid, but I could never express it, because I was always thinking about what dad was going to do if he heard what I did, I lived with a growing fear of my father. At an early age I never knew what love felt like, except the ones in novels and Bible scriptures Dad made me read,in our family the John 3:16 had become a everyday recitation for us, failure to do so involved a punishment from Dad
But our parents failed to make love a reality for us. The idea of love was abstract to me, I believed it was something not tangible, but I knew what fear looks like, because Everytime I see it, it's a dark room filled up with the most scariest and darkest thing's you can ever imagine, And fear was a full definition of who my father really was. without having experience it, I had a slight opinion of love to be something sweet, bright and beautiful just like the red rose in our garden, And I yearned with an uncontrollable extraordinary urge to find out if it exist.
Even with my disrupt childhood I always did well in my academic,
Maybe it was because of what will happen if I fail, but I still recall always hearing dad's angry voice in my ears anytime I did something wrong, my life lacked stability, one moment I am a smiling kid the next moment I'm a sulking girl, there was nothing static about me.
“Yetunde what are you thinking about” I felt a light tap on my shoulder, I looked up it was my teacher Mrs Bello,a tall but dark complexion woman with a deadly stare she was my English teacher,the only thing I admired about her was her fluency in the English language, “why are you not answering” she asked with anger in her voice. I knew where this was heading to so to avoid trouble I had to speak up
“I'm sorry madam, I'm alright”
At least those were the only word's I could manage to speak out,she said okay and walked away, I thanked my stars she was gone and continued with my thoughts.
Dad was a pastor and Sunday was always his day of showing his “holy than thou” attitude, I was the only child of my parents, and was closely watched,to everybody I was pastor's daughter, I was expected to be a good child and never commit sin, it was anomalous for my name to be linked to anything out of the ten commandments, as a result I wasn't free with even my peers, everyone avoided me. I was the talk of the class on several occasions, sometimes I wished not to go to school.
After Sunday service dad usually ask us about what we learned, on Sundays were the only days I have ever seen him smile, but this Sunday was exceptional, after taking a ride home in dad's car, everyone was exhausted and hungry so me and Mom had to go to the kitchen to cook, it was a meal of rice and stew , I prepared the dinning table and mom laid the food on the table, one thing about mom was her neatness in what she did,she was too clean to a fault, she won't spare the simplest stain on anything,that was her way of life,
“Yetunde ” mom's voice echoed in my ear urging me to walk up to her, which I did, the food is ready go and Call your dad in his room; I walked humbly to avoid committing sin with my body movement, to dad even the slightest mistake in anything is a sin, and this made me to overcheck my self anytime I'm around him. “Knock knock” I knocked at the door to his room but there was no answer, I knocked again but no one replied, so I decided to take a peep into his room to see what was wrong, But nothing was wrong,my dad was kneeling on the floor praying, I knew deep inside me that I had to leave, “Yetunde” he bellowed like a charged ram, yes father I replied, hoping that I had not commited any sin, he stood up from his kneeling position and placed the Bible back on the shelf then walk towards me, before I turned to run I got hit by a slap with rambling of insults, you and your mother are the same, child of the devil, you need deliverance because it seems the devil has gotten into you, but you won't be a witch in my house, God forbid!!! How can you disturb me in my prayers, all efforts to defend myself was in vain, mom kept mute throughout the whole conversation, I guess she was scared to speak up for her daughter, I was flogged with salt added to the stick as I was hit furiously, all mom did was cry and yell for help but none came.
Well I learned my lesson and never called him for anything, my relationship with my father faded, we were only known as father and daughter but we had no business together because he rejected me,to him I was a disappointment, his only daughter was demon possessed, how I wish he knew how wrong he was.
