CHRONICLE OF HER EXISTENCE

2. THE RIFT OF FAITH

The What I did. can't believe I allowed jealousy and anger to get the best of me." I giggled wearing a wired face, "That's what I don't understand, Anaisa. We've been friends for so long, and I never expected you to gossip about me or incite others to say hurtful things about me and now you blame it on jealousy?" Anaisa sighs, "Eloise, it's not an excuse, but I was feeling jealous. I saw how everyone admired you – your confidence, your intelligence, your sense of style. I guess I felt overshadowed and thought that if I could bring you down a bit, I'd feel better about myself." I felt disappointed, I guess I wanted to hear something else, maybe what I did to her that must have made her treat me that way. "Anaisa, you were my friend, and I wish you had talked to me about your feelings. We could have worked through it together. Gossiping and hurting me only made things worse. I felt so betrayed." at this point, Anaisa became very teary and shaky, "know, and I deeply regret it. I should have come to you, but in the heat of the moment, I made a terrible mistake. Eloise, I'm sorry, and I hope you can forgive me."

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As much as she has hurt me my heart still softens anytime I see her cry. But I already took a decision even before setting up the meeting and I intend to keep things that way. I paused, then with a small smile and said "Anaisa, I value our friendship, and I believe we can't work through this. But some relationships are too broken to fix and ours is After our final exam, the school authorities organized a small celebration to bid us farewell. I enjoyed every moment of it, feeling a sense of accomplishment mingled with nostalgia. As I was packing my belongings the next morning, ready to leave school, I was surprised by the abundance of gifts I had received from my classmates and friends. With the help of some junior friends, I gathered the gifts and carried them to the gate where my father's Mercedes Benz was parked. The first thing is people who are in high school. It was a bittersweet time, as we were preparing to write our final exams. Whenever we crossed paths during our West African examination council preparations, we acted like strangers, pretending as if our friendship had never existed. It pained me to see us in such a state, but I knew it was necessary for my emotional well-being. Despite the hurt, I couldn't deny that I missed her presence and companionship, and I believed she felt the same. However, I had decided to protect myself from further hurt, and I had to stick with it. After our final exam, the school authorities organized a small celebration to bid us farewell. I enjoyed every moment of it, feeling a sense of accomplishment mingled with nostalgia. As I was packing my belongings the next morning, ready to leave school, I was surprised by the abundance of gifts I had received from my classmates and friends. With the help of some junior friends, I gathered the gifts and carried them to the gate where my father's Mercedes Benz was parked. They assisted me in arranging the gifts inside the car's boot along with my other belongings. Before getting into the car, I bid everyone a heartfelt goodbye, feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness. As I climbed into my father's car, we departed early in the morning, embarking on a long journey ahead of us.

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My next destination after high school was Kaduna, where my parents resided. It wasn't a matter of choice; I knew I had to stay there until a university accepted my application. As we entered Kaduna, I could sense the change in atmosphere instantly. The weather was unforgiving – scorching heat that felt like it could burn you alive, or bone-chilling cold that could freeze you to the core. When I arrived home, the air was filled with palpable joy, especially from my younger brothers, Dax and the youngest one, Xavier. Their smiles were infectious, and I couldn't help but share in their excitement. Despite the warmth of their welcome, a heavy feeling settled in my chest. I couldn't shake the sense of disappointment lingering within me, overshadowing my achievements. Sure, I had earned excellent grades in my art results, a testament to my hard work and dedication. But to my father, it seemed my success was tainted because I hadn't pursued the sciences. As I settled back into the familiar surroundings of home, I couldn't help but reflect on my original plans. I had anticipated a brief hiatus before gaining admission and embarking on the next phase of my journey. Yet, Nigeria's bureaucratic system had other plans, leaving me stranded at home for three long years. Each passing day felt like a battle against frustration and despair. My mother, in her way, tried to find solace in the belief that it was all part of God's plan. She insisted that these delays were a divine intervention to purify my spirit.

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But amidst the chaos of waiting, there was a silver lining - my mother's cooking lessons. Despite her harsh teaching style, I found solace in the kitchen, discovering a passion for culinary arts. Yet, even in these moments of bonding, my mother's tendency to criticize overshadowed any sense of accomplishment. It was a familiar pattern amongst every Nigerian mother, one that echoed the experiences of many African children. Despite my mother's love and good intentions, her strictness and inability to acknowledge my efforts left me feeling unappreciated and misunderstood. As I navigated the complexities of being back home, I realized that my journey was not just about academic success, but also about finding my voice and asserting my identity in a world filled with expectations and traditions. Religion became a battleground in our home when my parents switched to a Pentecostal church named "The Ark of God." They expected me to follow suit, but I stood my ground, refusing to abandon my Catholic faith. The tension escalated swiftly. My mother's disapproval manifested in subtle yet unmistakable ways. She began to ignore my greetings and withheld simple tasks she once entrusted me with. Our daily morning devotion became a battleground of its own. As we concluded with the grace of God, I would extend a greeting to my mother, only to be met with silence. My father is not that petty so he would respond, but the absence of my mother's acknowledgment cut deep. Despite her pettiness, I found solace in my father's response to my greetings. Even though they both stood on the same ground it did not stop him from talking to me and sending me on errands. His presence offered a reprieve from the emotional turmoil brewing between my mother and me. Yet, her silent treatment gnawed at my spirit, leaving me hollow and unable to find joy even in the simplest of pleasures, like eating.

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One fateful evening, with resolve gnawing at my insides, I approached my parents in the living room. They sat side by side, engrossed in the evening news, oblivious to the storm brewing within me. I sat down on the single couch as I began summoning every ounce of courage, I spoke up. "Daddy, mummy, I want to talk to both of you about something," I began, my voice quivering slightly with nervousness. My father glanced at me, his brow furrowed in concern, while my mother remained impassive, her gaze fixed on the television screen. I took a deep breath, pushing past the knot of anxiety lodged in my throat.

"I understand your decision to change churches, but my faith is deeply rooted in Catholicism. I can't abandon it," I explained, my words hanging heavy in the air. Silence enveloped the room, broken only by the distant hum of the television. My mother took up the remote of the television and reduced the volume. My parents exchanged a wordless glance, their expressions unreadable. I braced myself for their response, knowing that the outcome could either bridge the chasm between us or widen it further. But no words were forthcoming from both of them, so I thought to still repeat myself "I've been contemplating my beliefs about the Catholic Church. I don't agree that it's not of God. I find solace and purpose in my faith," I stated, knowing this would likely stir a tempest.

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My mother's eyes widened in disbelief. "Eloise, how can you say that? The church has its flaws. It's not the path to true spirituality," she exclaimed, her voice tinged with worry, anger, and disappointment."Mum every church has its flaw and God is not done with churches yet. Not even the one you both attend now" my father looked at me with so much provoked emotions, "Eloise shout up, what do you know?" my mum gave a sarcastic smile, "no, leave her alone, she seems to know more than us her parent" I brought my head down with so many tensions in my heart thinking of what exactly to say but my mother picked up from where she left. "Eloise, do you think your parent will ever lie to you? Why don't you yield to our decisions and serve God the right way?"

"Mum, I respect your views, but I can't just abandon something that's been a pillar of my life," I replied, my voice steady but my heart heavy. My father's expression hardened. "If you choose to stay in that church, Eloise, I won't support your education any longer. This isn't a game. Your eternal salvation is at stake," he declared firmly. I instantly got scared and hurt, I know my Dad, he never says what you won't do. For him to utter such words I am sure it's a decision he will stand on. My heart sank, the weight of his words crashing down on me. "Dad, please don't make this about my education. I'm not trying to challenge our beliefs or disrespect our family's traditions," I pleaded, feeling the rift widening between us. My mother's eyes glistened with tears. "Eloise, think about what you're doing. You'll be ostracized, the black sheep of our family. Is that what you want? What will people say?" she implored, her voice wavering. I fought back my tears, torn between my beliefs and the fear of losing my family's acceptance. "I don't want to cause pain, but I can't ignore what I feel in my heart. Catholicism has been a source of comfort for me," I said, trying to convey the depth of my emotions. The room fell into a heavy silence, the unspoken tension suffocating. I knew that my decision marked me as the odd one out, the black sheep in a family deeply rooted in tradition and faith. My father stood up and left the living room angry. I couldn't hold back my tears, I started sobbing and my mother stood up to leave too after switching off the television. But before she left she said "No child of mine will live under my roof and be Catholic, so if this is what you have chosen for yourself self you better start thinking of where to go. I can't watch you be doomed for hell under my roof" She tightened her wrapper and left for their room upstairs. I sat down there for hours crying. Then I decided to seek advice from a priest of God. So I sneaked out to morning mass in the catholic church the next morning before everyone could wake up for morning devotion. As the morning mass concluded, I lingered, waiting for the priest to finish blessing the others.Eventually, he made his way towards his car, and I approached him, my face heavy with distress. He noticed my solemn expression and inquired about it.