Prologue
Dear diary
Papa made the biggest mistake of his life by coming back to New York. I remember that day vividly the way his eyes searched for mama’s,hoping to find the love and warmth he had left behind years ago. Mama didn’t recognize him at first— years of hardship had changed him. I was only six, clutching my little suitcase and peeking from behind papa’s legs, trying to make sense of the new and strange environment around me,the towering buildings and the relentless noises of the city.
The air was filled with tension. Papa’s eyes, once filled with vibrant stories and mischief, now bore the weight of untold burdens. Mama stood at the door way, her face full of confusion and pain. The years had not been kind to her. Her heart weakened by an illness she tried to shield me from. As papa took few steps towards her, I could see the recognition in her eyes which sparked a sign of hope in her weary eyes. But that hope was quickly overshadowed by the reality of their stained relationship. Mama had waited for papa for years to return back from his trip of many adventures as he stated in the letters he sent to her during his stay in Nigeria.
Papa had always been a distant figure in my life, his visits were short and interesting.. I lived in an orphanage in Nigeria with various other children like me. We all anticipated papas visit every weekend. I used to call him “The oyinbo man” ignoring the fact that he was a black Nigerian man.
There was just something unique about the way he spoke and acted. He told us tales of his stay in New York— the stories always felt so fancy. But beneath his jovial facade, there was a weariness that weighed heavily on him, a burden that he carried in silence.
I knew fully well mama was not my biological mother but the love she showered towards me was incredible and was something I will never over look! I never felt the void of having a mother like I did back in Nigeria throughout my stay with mama. Papa’s return brought hope to her a hope that maybe, just maybe they could start anew. But papa was restless, he spoke in calm voices with mama, their voices carrying a weight that lingered long after they fell silent. Mama welcomed me and took me to her room while she and papa spoke. I could hear their voices especially mama’s asking “who is the child mark” that was actually all I could grab from their conversation. I tried distracting myself by looking at the giant, beautiful painting in front of me. Mama always loved painting she would tell me stories of when she and papa met in a painting class.
Mama tried to shield me from their conflicts, but I could feel the tension in the air. Papa would often disappear for hours, his behavior only served as a constant reminder that his return was not the happy reunion mama had hoped for.
Papa left few months later, disappearing without a proper good bye. He said he had unfinished business back in Nigeria promising it wouldn’t take long. Mama cried for days after he left. I could feel the family I finally had falling apart. I felt her grief and its weight pressing down on us like a storm waiting to break.
