Where the Roses...

Where the Roses Bloom in Winter

It was my mother and my very step-mother that were fighting in our compound that caused commotion in the air. Before we knew it, neighbors had appeared and started separating them. We, the children, were little and all we could do was to stand afar, shedding tears. Our father was inside, ignoring them. That was not the first time. They had been fighting since the year I clocked 5 in age. But today, I am 17.

My father was a polygamist. He had once worked in Taofat oil Company before he was sacked for misappropriation of his office. But we trusted our father confidently. He was a man of high level of discipline and allotted no regard to either of his wife though. My father, after two months at home with no job, was introduced to daily collection of money by one of his friends. It seemed he liked the profession and started it after he had got every needed resources. My mother spoke a lot about her affection for my father. And, according to her, everything changed  when he brought another woman into the family. "Things have not been moving smoothly for the family since the intervention of this woman. The worse part of it is that your father chooses her as his favorite wife". She explained.Tears began to rain down from eyes. She loose her wrapper and cleared the tears.

The fact still remained that I was the first child and daughter of the family. My father had six children: four from my mother whilst her co-wife gave birth to two children. The year l turned 15, my mother admonished me to behave maturely because l needed to be looking after my three brothers. Our house was like hell by that time. It hurt every time. When our father had gone to collect money from his customers, his wives would commence their fight. Everybody in the community had recognized, maybe I should say knew, our house as a house of trouble. That was the reason why my father ignored his wives when they started their fight. This fight later turned to an ignominy. We were called children of troublemakers in the community. Some children did not want to play with us because they had been warned against us.

My mother had a sister who was residing in Lagos. She (her sister) had warned mother to run for her life but mother disregarded the advice, telling her that she was suffering for her children.

Things started falling apart again for the family when my father was robbed. He fell sick from all the pressure from customers was deleterious. They practically stood on his neck, frustrating to pay them their money. As time raced by, he was able to settle them all.

My mother, when she could not bear the indigent situation in the family, called her sister on the phone and asked her to send her home address. She (my aunt) sent my mother her address. My father occasionally gave his wives money for upkeep of the their children. He did not even care again to know our whereabouts, particularly my mother. But he was still nursing his affection for his second wife.

One day, it was around five in the early morning, my mother woke up and asked me to sit on the mat beside a mattress she slept on. This was outlandish. She had never waken me up at this time before. I saw sadness in her eyes . Her eyes had been drenched with tears. She must have been awake few minutes before she woke me up. There was a big traveling bag beside her and my three brothers at the other side. She made me know that she had made up her mind to continue her life in Lagos with her sister. She started shedding tears as she told me that she was leaving me behind. She promised to give me some money and when I responsibly exhaust it, I should phone her sister who would tell her that I need money. She left her (sister's) number on the table in one corner of the room. I wept bitterly. She embraced me and urged me to behave very well. Tears were trickling from my younger brothers' eyes. We didn't know when next we would see one another.

My mother and my brothers had left for Lagos. I was now alone. I cried each time I remembered them. I missed them. My father had never tried to bother himself to know where my mother was. He didn't know whether I had stopped schooling or not. Though, I managed everything I got to live. I left home early in the morning to school and returned home late in the afternoon. Even sometimes late in the evening. He was too nonchalant to question me why I returned home late these days. I headed for my room after proper greeting every day. One day, I was indoor reading a Biology textbook when I heard a sharp knock at the door. I asked who the person was but I could not hear the person. I towered up from the mat and inched consciously towards the door. When I opened I saw my irresponsible father standing like a bamboo tree.

"Where is your mother?" He posed this question to me with a threatening voice. I took my time before I told him that she had traveled to Lagos.

"Lagos?" He rhetorically asked, squeezing his face.

"Yes" I answered, looking down at nothing in particular.

"So she has started living a life of slut." He said this and disappeared.

Slut? This was too big for my mum. My mother was not like my father who was philandering around. "That's your opinion not fact" I bellowed, slammed the door after me and resumed to my book.

Two months had gone and I had not received a message and a call from my mother. I searched where I kept the phone number she gave me and tried it. The number was not going. At the back of the paper she wrote the address of her destination. I thought it was not about time I travelled to Lagos. So, I kept calling the number but it wasn't going through. I was getting scared. My step-mother had never bothered to know whether I was living well or not. Though she was the one providing food for her wards. My undesirable father was just living a life of ghost. As time raced on, her brother started living with us in the house. This fellow was a good smoker. I had never seen smoke left his mouth. One may be justified to call him son of "Sango" - God of fire. In some occasions, he would invite his amigos, who were also excellent smokers, to hold burning sticks of cigarettes in his room. My room was next to his, so I was always disturbed by smoke of cigarettes and loud music in the room. I complained to my step-mother but she did nothing about it.

That evening, I was in my room ruminating how to get in touch with my mother when someone banged on my door. I was interrupted.

"Who is that?" I asked myself, still lying on the bed. After all, my father had gone out. Who could that be? I asked myself. The person knocked the door again.

"Who is that, please?" This time I raised my voice. But I still didn't hear a voice.

"Gba gba gba!" The knock persisted. So I rose up and advanced towards the door. I held the door-handle and glued my ears firmly to the door but no sound drummed into my ears. I turned down the handle and slowly pulled the door backwards. It was this ugly creation of my step-mother's brother. As usual, he held a stick of cigarette in hand and I was quickly disturbed. This idiot didn't seek my permission before he stepped into my room. I wanted to push him back and  shut the door but he was too strong. He pushed me back in my breasts. I barracked him to step out of my room but this devil had decided to perpetrate an evil action on me. He continued pushing me until I fell on the bed. I wanted to cry for help but he did not let me. He covered my mouth with his big, thick palm. Before I knew it his friends started trickling in. It was then I knew that I had been raped before I was even raped.

To be continued...

By Lawal Rasheed

From: Nigeria