Cassandra
I grew up in the midst of people who were used to experiencing problems. These people were very familiar with bad news, that they could sense it from miles away. Once a person from this group of people could sense something bad that's soon to happen, everyone else tries to stop it from happening to that person or if it eventually does, everyone tries to stick up for that affected person so that problem does not strike them beyond repair and to prevent them from falling and hitting rock bottom. These people stick up for each other and they "stick together"
Emphasis on the stick together.
These people were my family and of course since I was just another addition to these already existing groups of people. Weren't they supposed to stick up for me too? I mean, I am the fifth born child of the family if I'm being correct and accurate because a member from the family had already died before I was born which probably makes me the sixth born or whatever but, that aside, practically, I am the fifth born child of this big family so I had four elder siblings, which was supposed to be to my advantage of course.
Hold on.
It's not like my siblings were bad people. I'm not stating these things to mislead anyone reading this. All of this leads to something. A tragedy that would have your jaw-dropping in disbelief.
I loved my siblings a lot. They did stick up for me. I had two big brothers and two big sisters. I was very close to my brother, David, and was very close to my sister, Demi. They loved me and did spoil me like any big sibling would spoil their pretty little sister. My dad was the best. He kept all of my little secrets and would spend his last hard-earned money to buy me dolls of all shapes and sizes. My dad was my superhero. I thought he had all of the money in the world and so I would walk up to him and ask him for almost everything and he never told me no. If he wouldn't get it for me himself, he'd tell me to go meet my big sister, Yemisi, and my big brother, David, and would tell me too that they were willing to care for me and they truly would whenever I approached them.
Although, my brother David was mostly always very gloomy and liked to be alone, writing constantly on a broadsheet or trying to solve mysteries behind shapes with so much seriousness and little me always thought he was just obsessed with toys at his age. But he never failed to accommodate me and smile so brightly whenever I came to him. I used to think he had to feign a smile so he doesn't scare me away but over the years, I came to realize that I gave him joy rather.
My siblings did love me greatly and so did my Dad. I had these great people around me and I felt like coming into this family wasn't so bad a decision after all since they seemed willing to stick up for me as well.
But what happens and how could one possibly deal or even breathe with having the sourest relationship with their mother? The one who gave you the chance to experience this phase called life?
How?
I thought a child always had this inexplicable special relationship with their mother since the fetus gets to abide in the mother's uterus for nine months, comes out through vaginal birth, Caesarian session, or even through surrogacy. However, the mother chooses to birth that child, irrespective of the fact that she has the choice to abort that child, abandon that child, or even just chooses not to conceive at all is what creates that everlasting bond with the child and it's mother. There are so many obstacles that come with conception. A miscarriage could occur, the child could eventually be a stillbirth after strenuously bearing the child in the womb for years and worse still, both the mother and unborn child could lose their lives but a mother who successfully conceives her child is a winner hence why the child is unexplainably bonded to the source of its life which is pretty reasonable.
Anyone who gives you life is the one you would love to stick with. Even if the person can't give you any more life than he or she has already given to you, for the sole reason of being alive because of that person, you would stick to that person for gratitude's sake if, at the worse, there's no more reason at all.
But I, unfortunately, wanted to be as far away from my mum as I could be. If possible, I didn't even want to see her at all. I wondered how I managed to stay under her roof for roughly seventeen years! Once I'd turned eighteen, and had gained a scholarship to Yale's University to major in accounting, I'd chosen to remain there and work hard to get myself a luxury apartment where I would stay in till I graduate with my degree.
Before I made that irrational decision, I thought of my siblings of course. I thought of everything they had done for me; the memories, both the good, the bad, and the funny ones but I'd chosen to use my brain rather than my heart.
I thought they were on my side all along and would stick up for me forever until I had decided to open up to my brother, Alexander once about why I was so bitter towards my mum. It wasn't like I had wanted to open up to me anyway but he had sort of probed me and once I opened up, I had instantly regretted it. I loved my brother Alexander a lot as he always made me laugh when I was a lot younger but at that moment, I was an inch close to loathing him entirely. I was so irritated, I had yelled out so angrily, almost cussing in fact and walked out, slamming the door on his face.
I went to meet my brother, David, thinking he'd, of course, take my side for sure but I'd nearly fainted when he'd simply told me;
"Cassie, you need to be chilled. You aren't even ready to know if there's any other side to the story. Mum isn't like that..."
Mum isn't like that???? Or what had I just heard my brother say? What other side was there to the story really? Why didn't I have a right to hate my mother? Why weren't my siblings picking my side on this? Weren't they seeing what I was seeing or had they chosen to be stupidly oblivious to it or had insanely just decided to forgive her?
I had wanted to talk to my dad about it but it felt so wrong. What would I be achieving from doing that? In as much as I hated my mum, I strangely didn't want my dad to hate her. That would be me destroying a couple who have spent years to build a strong standing love. Either way, I knew it would cost me nothing to destroy it nevertheless but I just couldn't. Besides my dad was a sickle cell and the last thing I would want is to be his trigger. I always treated every illness as hypertension for some reason. Bad news makes healthy people sick not to talk about people who are already sick.
I reminded myself of these things as I worked two to three jobs per day, preparing omelets and teriyaki at every possible food outlet at Yale's vicinity that I could work at. This made me even more determined to build my own apartment. It made me realize the more that I was better off alone after all of the disappointments and pain I'd had to go through. At that point in my life, I was beyond thankful for all of the vocations I'd learned in the past. It had helped me earn more income
in addition to the ones I was already earning. I was also saving from the allowance my dad had sent to me monthly.
Nevertheless, I still had my siblings in mind. I loved them too much to throw them away simply because they weren't on my side. Truthfully, I couldn't forgive my brothers especially but I couldn't hate my sisters. They were my best friends and so I'd decided to invite them to my housewarming party once I had successfully completed the building of my apartment. I still loved them and I guess I could not do without them. I would eventually just have to find a way out to constantly stay in touch with them.
Honestly, though, I felt so proud of myself for achieving what I had so badly wanted to achieve. Hopefully, I don't get to see my mother forever if possible.
Remember I said something about wondering how I could live under my mother's roof for roughly seventeen years?
Well...I guess it was because of the friends I had at school. I dated a particular guy in the junior year who nearly ruined my life and to date, I could barely heal from the things he did to me but despite these things, I survived. I pulled through by simply doing all I could not see my mother anyway. I purposely got busy with a lot of things. I would read my school books a lot and go to school on Saturdays for vocational lessons. I'd picked bag making as the vocation to learn and I became very good at it but going to school on Saturdays just for bag making vocational lessons didn't eat up as much time as I wanted it to. I was always home in the next hour.
I'd decided to take baking lessons as an additional since baking took a lot of time. Just as I'd wanted. There were four other students who took baking lessons too out of the entire population of students in the school. I wished I were in the shoes of those four students because they chose baking out of interest. I chose baking to stay sane. I'd even gone as far as to help clean the pantry after baking lessons were over. The catering teacher loved me so much and gave me a very huge gift on the last Saturday of baking lessons. I had cried so much that evening and the woman had wrapped me in her arms, combing my hair with her fingers as she consoled me.
"I wish you were my mother," I said between my sobs. Of course, she gasped and had tried to say something but had thankfully decided to stay mute. Maybe she wished she was as well but the words had sprung forth from my mouth before I could even stop my self from saying them but I'd realized that it was something I desperately wished was true.
The woman was so kind and motherly towards me, she had sometimes come by my class in the afternoon to specially gift me with doughnuts for lunch snacks. I'd felt this special bond with her as time passed by and it had only made my heart sore when it hit me that this woman who I had wished to be my mother wasn't and couldn't be.
It felt like my heart was going to rip apart.
I'd asked If I could still come by anytime I wanted just to spend some more time with her but she broke the bad news to me, saying she would be resigning very soon to go stay with her husband in the countryside since it was long overdue.
I had cried so much that night that I woke up the next money with a migraine and had even gone as far as puking.
Baking lessons were over and I was almost an expert at bag making, what else could I involve myself in to eat up time? I had to be more absent from home than anything. I'd joined the dance club. I almost broke a limb on the first day of practice which was such a bad sign for me but I didn't give up. The following day, I showed up at the dance room, ready with zeal to learn at least a dance step even if it was going to be the only thing I'd learn from dancing.
Wait, I'm sure you must be stark curious as to why I could do anything in the world just to be away from my mother. It's okay to wonder why, and it's okay to even hate me for being so mean.
But I guess you would find out who the mean one is here very soon.
*
I was just nine. Vulnerable, Unaware, little, fragile, tender, and a basic baby girl. A baby girl who didn't need to bother about knowing much. A luxurious parody was what my life entailed. All I just needed to do was to always get my school assignments done on time before the due date and learn basic arithmetics, differentiating squares from rectangles, composing sentences and filling in blank spaces. I didn't need to stress much about these things in fact since I had siblings who were always there to assist me. I had almost nothing to worry about.
Theoretical things. Educational things. These were the only things I knew and had to know.
But how to sense when danger is close by, how to put a fire out of the stove, how to cross an express road, I knew nothing about these practical things, because there wasn't a need for a nine-year-old to know these things. All a nine-year-old needed to focus on was to get the first position at class works and how to behave amongst peers. These practical things were for seventeen and eighteen-year-olds, why the need to bother about knowing them when I had heroes who would always be there to come to my rescue if at all, I find myself in these situations?
But at what age do you decide when to have people help you and when to be on your own?
Most times we get to decide and some other times, we don't. At the times when we don't get to decide is what is termed as life. Life happens to you. Circumstances rob you of your comfort and pleasure and then you're stuck in the middle of virtually nowhere.
You either survive or you die. You win or you lose.
Life doesn't care if you saw the circumstance coming or not. In fact, that's the point of being stuck in the first place. You never see it coming. You never expect to be stuck. It was the fierce test of life and most times you find yourself in these situations, unarmed and lost as to how to stay alive. The only thing that could probably save you is your natural weapon; an ability you've always had that's strong enough to keep you alive and standing through life's vicissitudes.
But what weapon could a nine-year-old possibly have?
I never used to leave the house for any trivial reason. If I was leaving the house, then I was either going to school or going to church. I didn't even go for birthday parties that children took so much delight in. My family never threw a big party for me on my birthday because they didn't want any friends or extended families coming over to celebrate with me. A cake and a few drinks would always do with birthday presents from my siblings would always do.
Ever since the stupid paralysis I experienced while I was seven, due to the fact that I'd been outdoors, my family had been super protective of me, ensuring I don't get ensnared by the perils of the day and the night.
But that couldn't last forever.
Two years had passed by and I'd been safe ever since. If they would decide to perpetually keep me indoors as much as possible, then I definitely would start to miss out on the things I was supposed to experience and enjoy as a child. My dad had begun to take me to a few birthday parties, amusement parks, cartoon cosplays fairs, and every other place he could possibly afford to take me too but he always had his eyes keenly on me and never let go of me for a second. He didn't want to lose me.
But I guess my mum did.
One afternoon, she'd called me to her room and had bought out a few paper notes from her purse.
"Here. This is five hundred Naira altogether. I need you to help me get to the mart at the end of the street to buy me a detergent. It shouldn't take you less than fifteen minutes. You don't have to worry about motorbikes or cars. The road is free. You can do this errand for me right?" She asked with daring, expectant eyes.
I nodded, thinking I could do it of course.
Oh well, I guess I actually could but I think she asked me to go on that errand, knowing that something was going to happen to me.
*
The road was truly free and it felt safe because as I trod the paths, and looked all around me, I'd seen a few people in whom I was familiar with. Mostly residents who came outside for a few important reasons. I'd seen our next-door neighbor, walking right into the gate of her own house with her child who was my friend. I'd seen the woman who sold confectionaries by the junction. She had a weird and gloomy mien and spoke to no one but she wasn't too weird as to scare the living daylights out of me, so maybe it was safe for me after all.
I'd decided to hurry up, devouring the asphalt under my little feet, as I clutched the paper notes tightly in my right hand. I wasn't running because I had to be fast, since the mart wasn't located very far away hence there wasn't a need to run but I always liked to run whenever I found myself outside. I loved to feel the breeze fan my face till my eyes got teary, and I love to have my hair stick on my face as though I were in some sort of music videos. Those silly little things gave me so much joy that was inexplicable.
I could see the mart now with its neon green inscription glowing dully in the afternoon sun. I had only needed to run a few more steps before I found myself at the entrance to the mart because I was that close.
There was a strange mighty wheeze of wind that I'd felt on my face; stronger than the breeze I'd been fanned with all through my way here. It was so strong that all of my hair was now stuck in my face and for a few minutes, I was unable to see anything whatsoever. All I could see was the strands of my hair, stuck in front of my face and then the wind had slowed down a little. Well, sufficiently enough for me to remove some of my hair away from my face.
There was a thick en-mass of dust that had now filled the air. The dangerous particles finding its way so rapidly into my nostrils, that I'd felt it in my tongue making me cough so repellently. Before I could try to pull back with hopes that I would see any other thing but the whirlwind of swirling dust, I'd felt a strong, mighty, forceful arm pull me in. Now I could only see the shadow of this person, well enough for me to decipher the gender of the person holding me by the arm but still couldn't see the face of that person. It was a tall, lanky man holding me by the hand. His frame looked old as well. I didn't know how I was able to figure that out but I could.
I tried to resist, flapping my other hands in the air as though that would get rid of all the dust before me but I was rapidly becoming weak as I'd inhaled too much dust. I couldn't cry for help neither could I fight the hand holding me.
Maybe the person was trying to get me out quickly so I don't suffocate. So I'd done my best to follow the hand quickly as it led me through the dust, running as fast as my legs could carry me.
Little did I know that I'd just ran into the ditch that was already set for me.
I'd felt the figure carry me like a feather into a minivan that I could now see since the dust had cleared off a lot more now which had made me wonder for a minute how a minivan could locomotively work with so much force as to produce a thick swirling gust of dusty wind but those thoughts had gone flying out the window as the figure pushed me into one of the seats on the minivan and had forcefully tied my hands in big chains. I was coughing so much with my eyes closed now, as another gust of wind had struck my eye, leaving me with no opportunity to itch the particles of sand out of my eye.
I was utterly helpless.
"W...h...o a....r...e y...o...u?" I slurred feebly in great fear when I got the tiny opportunity to safely use my mouth. I still couldn't see the man as my eyes were closed, the particles prickling my eyeballs, making me reflexively tighten my eyelashes against the part that itched most since I couldn't use my hands. My hands felt very heavy now, in locks of chains; I was unable to move them.
Soon the minivan had veered on the road as I'd heard its engines cackle loudly, making the same loud zooming sound it had made when I'd first felt the strong gust of wind hit my face.
Then I'd heard his voice distantly this time. I figured he was driving now.
"Ask your mother and grandfather that see you as nothing but a piece of shit about who I am! Haha, " The voice grunted thickly, the deepness of it making me shiver greatly, as it reminded of all those dark villains I'd seen in all of my favorite cartoons very often but this was a real villain and he was no favorite. This man was going to kill me and I knew that.
But what did this have to do with my mother?
I didn't know what it was but how could she do this to me?
***********
Psalms 55:12-14 - "For it is not an enemy who reproaches me; then I could bear it. Nor is it one who hates me who has exalted himself against me; Then I could hide from him. But it was you, a man my equal, my companion and my acquaintance. We took sweet counsel together, and walked to the house of God in the throng."