I'm That Girl Child

PART 1 The rain had just ceased, and the birds returned to their trees, singing and celebrating the newfound tranquility. I, too, felt a sense of relief wash over me as the cool night air enveloped me. As I gazed up at the sky, I couldn't help but think, "No other country can compare to Nigeria's sweltering heat." I chuckled to myself, feeling a sense of amusement. As the night wore on, I prepared for bed, exhausted from a long day of toiling on the farm. With my mother bedridden due to illness, I had taken on the responsibility of planting corn, a task that seemed insurmountable. My father, stern and unyielding, had warned me that if I failed to complete the task, he would not permit me to return to high school. The weight of his words hung over me like a specter. As I stepped outside to shower, the darkness enveloped me, providing a sense of seclusion. I quickly grabbed my bucket and towel, eager to complete my ablutions. Within minutes, I rushed back inside, the cool night air invigorating my senses. As I lay in bed, clad in my favorite nightwear, a gift from my mother when I was 12, memories came flooding back. Though the garment had long since outgrown its usefulness, I clung to it, nostalgic for a time when my mother's financial stability had brought our family joy. As I drifted off to sleep, my mind began to wander, conjuring images of a harmonious family, where love and laughter filled the air. But my reverie was short-lived, as the sound of my father's voice, slurred from drink, shattered the silence. "Blessed, get out of bed! Your dirty mother reeks, wash her, and prepare something for me to eat. I'm starving!" His words cut through me like a knife. I leapt from bed, my heart racing, and rushed to my mother's side. She lay in agony, her pain evident. My six-year-old brother, Bille, slept fitfully on the floor, a book still clutched in his hand. I shook Bille awake, urging him to go to my bed, but he refused, his eyes fixed on our mother's anguished face. I felt helpless, desperate for a solution. I pleaded with my father to assist us, but he merely laughed, telling me to handle the situation quickly and then prepare him a meal. His callousness left me reeling. In desperation, I rushed outside, seeking the aid of our neighbor. After some hesitation, he agreed to help, and together we rushed my mother to the local clinic. Bille accompanied us, his small face etched with worry. As we departed, my father's voice stopped me, his words dripping with malice. "You'd better return and cook me a meal, or you'll be thrown out." I felt a stinging sensation as I slipped and fell, hitting my head on the floor. As I struggled to regain consciousness, I felt a splash of water on my face, and my father's voice, menacing and cold, saying, "Get back to the kitchen and cook me something to eat." I let out a defeated sigh, my body and spirit broken. PART 2 After managing to prepare a dish for my father using the limited ingredients available, he hastily ate, drank some water, and then rushed outside to shower. Before leaving, he informed me that he was heading to a friend's place for a family meeting, as he was the community's peace and conflict resolution expert. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself, thinking, "A peace and conflict resolution expert who can't even bring peace to his own home." As soon as he left, I quickly packed a few essentials, including the leftover food and water, and set off into the dark night towards the local clinic where my mother was admitted. The cold air, the songs of the birds, and the creaking of the trees made me feel uneasy and scared. I imagined all sorts of terrible possibilities as I walked alone in the darkness. Suddenly, I felt like someone was following me. I tried to brush off the feeling, telling myself it was just my imagination. I began to recite Psalm 91, seeking comfort in the Bible verse. But before I could finish, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see two grown men standing behind me. I let out a blood-curdling scream, "Jesus, save me!" and took off in a sprint, finally finding refuge behind a plantain tree. I heard the men's footsteps getting closer and closer, and I silently prayed, my body shaking with fear. I thought to myself, "Blessed, you should have just stayed back home. Mum and Bille would have been fine without you." I promised God that if He protected me from this ordeal, I would be more cautious and mindful in the future. The men eventually gave up their search and left. After waiting for what felt like an eternity, I continued my journey to the hospital, this time running as fast as my legs could carry me. As I approached the hospital gate, I felt a mix of relief and disappointment – the gate was locked, and it was already midnight. I shook the gate, pleading with the gateman to let me in. After what felt like an eternity, he finally opened the gate, and I rushed to the ward where my mother and Bille were. Bille was trying to sing a lullaby to my mother, and I felt a sense of relief seeing her in a better condition. As soon as Bille saw the food I had brought, his face lit up with a smile. I spread out the mat and blanket I had brought, and Bille helped me plug in the torch. As we settled in for the night, I said a short prayer, thanking God for saving me from the terrifying experience earlier that night. As I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't help but reflect on the events of the day. PART 3 I was jolted awake by the nurse, and as I sat up, I realized it was morning. The medical staff began their rounds, checking on my mother's condition. The nurse turned to me with a concerned expression and said, "We need to purchase several medications for your mother, which will be quite expensive. We hope your family can provide the necessary funds by this evening; otherwise, we'll have to discharge her." As soon as I heard those words, my heart sank, and a chill ran down my spine. I quickly gathered my belongings and rushed home to inform my father about the urgent need for funds. I also wanted to prepare some food for my mother. Upon arriving home, I found my father in a foul mood, complaining about something incoherent. I approached him, greeted him, and attempted to explain the situation with my mother. However, before I could finish, he slapped me hard across the face. The sound of his angry muttering filled the air for what felt like an eternity. The slap left me reeling, feeling like I was blinded and on the verge of death. My father's tirade continued, "How dare you leave the house without my permission? You're worse than your mother! The size of your nose is proof of your evil and demonic nature. And what happened to the food I asked you to prepare?" He accused me of taking his food to my mother, and before I could respond, another slap landed on my face, followed by a series of punches. I screamed at the top of my lungs, but no one came to my aid. I cried, but my father didn't stop until he saw me losing strength and unable to scream anymore. When I finally managed to speak, I told him, "Dad, Mom needs urgent medical attention, and your presence is required at the hospital to purchase the necessary medications." However, instead of showing concern, my father pulled out his belt and continued beating me, accusing my mother and me of trying to extort money from him. After what felt like an eternity, he finally stopped. I yelled out in frustration, not just because of the physical pain but also because of the hopelessness of our situation. I cried out to God, "Are you sure we're one of your creations? It feels like you've abandoned us. Life is so difficult, and it seems like you're biased. Prove yourself, God!" With great effort, I struggled to my feet, still reeling from the pain. I went to my box and retrieved the little money I had saved for my WAEC exams, along with the gold earrings my mother had bought for me. I remembered her words, "Never lose these." I whispered, "Sorry, Mom, but you have to stay alive." I cleaned my bruises, changed into a new shirt, and cautiously checked if my father was still in the living room. When I saw that the coast was clear, I quickly ran outside. However, as I reached the door, I heard my father's ominous warning, "You'll meet me at home. I'm not done with you yet." I knew I had to face the consequences of my actions later, but for now, I had to prioritize my mother's health. I rushed to the market to sell my gold earrings, hoping to raise enough money for her treatment. At that moment, I wasn't concerned about the beating awaiting me; my focus was on saving my mother's life.