Addicted Nymph

Growing up for me was kind of interesting and fun, to say the least. I come from a family of eleven. My father, James, mother, Sharon and nine siblings. Four boys, Philip, Jeremy, and Matthew, Samuel and five girls; Sophie, Mabel, Alexa, Bridgette and, of course, myself. My parents were very religious people. Getting to church late was never an option not to talk about missing a service. It was never heard. Every Sunday mama would wake us up at exactly 5:00am to start our morning chores. I would help her prepare the food, Sophie helped with the dishes while Mabel cleaned the house beside Matthew. Philp and Jeremy, however, were tasked with cleaning daddy’s car. Doing this kind of thing gave everyone in the house a sense of purpose. It was like we had jobs. We were not the typical rich family but we did well to manage the little resources we had. We lived in down-town Lagos. Our house was one of the beautiful houses in the neighborhood. It had 3 bedrooms, a sitting room and a kitchen. It had those little wooden white fences around it. The type you can see through. There was a little lawn in the front. It was Daddy’s best spot when he wanted some time alone. On the porch was an old rocking chair which faced the road. At the back of the house was a playground. We loved playing there and even had a treehouse. That was my favorite spot in the whole compound. My dad worked as an engineer for a construction company during the weekdays and as a factory worker for a steel production company owned by Mr John. My mother, on the other hand, was a preschool teacher. I remember how happy she used to be when going to work. She always said that teaching was her passion and that it was important for children to have the right education, especially at the early stages of their lives, as it would turn out to be vital in becoming successful in life. She had started teaching Sunday school at a very early age. Her mother had registered her and her sisters Amanda and Magdalene as volunteers in church. This was where they got the passion to teach children. Saturdays and Sundays were to me the best days of the week, though I am pretty sure I can say it was for almost every child in my neighborhood. Every Saturday, my siblings, friends and I would go to a nearby field to play games. We girls played more card games and occasionally sang. But the boys fancied playing soccer instead. Most times Philip and Jeremy often came back home with injuries. But for some reason, they are still going back next week. What can I say? Boys will be boys, right? Every Sunday, in the evening, my mum would make pie, cake and lemonade , then she would invite almost if not every kid in the block. It made our family very popular within the neighborhood. Even parents also looked forward to Sunday evenings. Though for different reasons. Some wanted their children to learn from a Christian home. Other parents like Mr and Mrs Brown just wanted their kids out of the house so as to enjoy some peace and quiet. Mama would teach us, sing for us, and put on educational cartoons for us to watch. Being the first of the seven children, it was my duty to help mama with the chores. I remember I was nine years old at the time. Mama always made sure I helped her in the kitchen. I always said that, as a girl, it was important that I learnt the tricks of the kitchen. My Dad, on the other hand, was the strict parent of the two. My siblings and I always referred to him as the officer of the family. He grew up in the military barracks as his dad and grandad were soldiers. His dad died on the battlefield in the war between the fair-haven and Coast City. I think growing up in the barracks and without a father made him such a strict person. He was the type of parent that did not condone indiscipline. Papa was the kind of parent that believed so much in the saying that if you spare the rod, you will spoil the child. I vividly remember the day I stole two dollars from mama’s purse to buy a bracelet. All the girls in my school or rather most of them had one. This is a day I will never forget in a hurry. I was treated like a prisoner of war in my own house. I was flogged and locked up. For 3 weeks. I was only allowed to go to school and nowhere else. It was a time I will never forget in a hurry. I remember asking Grandma if Daddy was really my father. I was most of the time the one on the receiving end of his wrath. Aside from being the chief officer of the house. Dad loved his children and was overprotective when it came to his children. No matter how financially low he was. I remember how he would drive us to school every day in his off-white-colored Mercedes Benz 190. Dad always made sure we had birthdays to remember. I remember one faithful day. It was Sophie's 6th birthday. She had begged dad for a new pink barbie doll. All her friends had one except for her. And she really wanted to get one too. Daddy had to take us to the mall to get her the doll. After doing that, it was off to the amusement park. We took rides on the roller coaster and drove toy cars. Christmas was no different. Daddy would take everyone to pick a tree. After that, we would decorate it together as a family before Bridgette would put on the final star. She was what you would call the last born of the family and for this reason she was most times given what she wanted. Daddy always knew how to have fun. And whenever he was in a very good mood, he was the comedian of the house. This was our way of life. And it was one that every one in our family grew accustomed to and we loved it. OH HOW I MISS THOSE TIMES…….