Before the shouting of father's voice, the insults, the banging of gates, the hmming in response to greetings, the uproar and the restlessness was a family of calm, affection and happiness.
Akunna and Father were very close and while she called Father 'husband', he called her 'wife'. They complemented each other and even had the relationship I would want between my future husband and my daughter to have if I ever have them. But as things stand now, I don't really know anymore.
Mother was ever quiet and peaceful and while she ran the house in her manner, it was Akunna who used to decide and Father would agree because they were 'Husband and wife'.
I think of those days now and the tranquility that filled them, the love, the endless laughter and teasing that went from Father and Akunna while I and mother sat like we were visitors in our own family, the countless times Father had gone out on evening strolls around the neighbourhood with her while I and mother made dinner. I think of those days when Akunna smiled often and fell off the couch holding her stomach as tears slipped out of her eyes when Father cracked a joke. I think of times when I thought their bound was unbreakable and sometimes I had wished I was a boy so that I would be the one he discussed football with and other manly stuff. I think of seasons when Father bought her new dresses telling her the contrast of the colour would do well to bring out the sun in her skin. I think of those times when Father called her "Awu'm" which can be translated to mean his sun. I think of times mother didn't stare so much at the plastic flower and she spoke more and seemed more alive than she appeared now. It was like the war was between Akunna and Father but she was the one who suffered its effect. I think of those times Father didn't have to shout so much and his skin didn't seem to appear so wrinkled from his continuous exhaustion of his vocal. I think of Akunna very jovial and happy like we were all she needed. I think of all of these now and I ask myself how Akunna could say they never were; they were all make believe. How can she say such moments which left a lasting imagery of family be make believe? How can she say this unrecognizable war was ever present but inside a pot under our parents struggling to come out?