I Haven't Thought About My Father in a While

I haven’t thought about my father in a while. A few weeks ago, we found out his older brother died, and I couldn’t really place my emotions at that moment. I hadn’t seen that man in sixteen years, didn’t speak to him once in that time either. I felt sorry. I remember my father was quite fond of him.

I’ve been thinking about my father a lot this month. The day I found out he died…well, that was a memorable day for two reasons.

*```*

Was I proud to be in detention? Absolutely not. Was I excited? Sort of. I wanted to see how the other half lived. In all the American films I had watched, detention was where the cool kids congregated. They rebelled against authority and they came up with one adventure or another. This was not the case here. The cool kids at my boarding school did their computer science homework and classwork. They didn’t do detention. I was once again a loser. Not that this was my fault. The only reason I hadn’t completed my course work was that I was just a couple of weeks returned from a very bad case of malaria that kept me out of class for half the month. I had been fighting for my life, so I refused to see this moment as anything other than an experience.

Detention ✔️

I smiled at Babatunde, the class clown from last year who was now a year below the rest of us. He was always good fun and everyone in our grade had decided that when we become seniors, we won’t punish Babatunde like the rest of the juvies. I looked down at the workbook in front of me. I hated computer science class but at the same time, I didn’t want to find myself in Babatunde’s position next year because I didn’t try to improve my grades. It was bad enough that I already received abysmal grades the previous semester, the worst grades of my life. Mom was thrilled, of course.

I had just begun to answer the first question when the class phone rang and my teacher, Mr. Ola picked it up. We all stared, hoping he’d need to pop out for a few moments so we could chat amongst ourselves.

This was not the case.

“Dami, you are to return to your hostel. You have early dismissal.”

‘Early dismissal for what?’ I thought.

I didn’t argue. My classmates groaned and whined that I was lucky. I didn’t mind leaving them behind, but what I was heading to was just as confusing. Did the house mother find any of my contraband? Was this the school sending me home again for late school fees? But another fee can’t have been due already.

I walked to my hostel a bit nervous, and upon getting there I broke into a wide grin when I saw my favorite older cousin standing by her car parked just outside the girl’s hostel. Our other cousin, Junior, was there too, sitting in the parked car, shades on sending me a lazy wave.

“Aunty Kemi!” I hugged her tightly. My family is very big in respecting our elders. Kemi is indeed my cousin but because she is about ten years older than me it is important I address her in this manner. In my culture, everyone is your aunty and uncle.

“Why are you here? Why am I going home? Am I going to Ikoyi?”

She hugged me tightly.

“You have a doctor’s appointment”

Of course. My post malaria checkup. I’d been feeling much better since I got back to school, but it was the first time ever being admitted to the hospital, so I was not surprised my parents wanted to be extra careful. I’m sure my dad’s working today and will pick me up from my aunt’s house in Ikoyi.

I was excited about going home. I hurried to my room to pack a laundry bag full of clothes and toiletries. My bunkmates were surprisingly not envious to see me go. Hindsight explains why.

“I’ll be back by Sunday I’m sure,” I told them. It crossed my mind that I was missing a lot of school this semester, but I was thrilled for the escape. I’ll make up the work.

The hour-long drive to Ikoyi was fun. Junior played all the cool American songs I loved like Akon’s “Lonely” and Usher’s “Yeah”, Aunty Kemi asked if I wanted ice cream from Chicken Licken. Yes, please – I exclaimed. This was not the norm. I wasn’t always doted on by them. It was usually silent car rides where I was expected to behave myself and not ask for sweet treats. I briefly thought that I should have malaria more often, so I’d get special treatment, but then I shook my head with a slight shiver. I never want to be sick again. Not after that experience.

When we got to my aunt’s apartment complex in Ikoyi, one she shared with the military hospital and a street-side of various vendors, we stopped by the tailor’s shop.

“Grandma is having a party, so you have to be measured for clothes.” Aunty Kemi said as the tailor moved her measuring tape around me.

“Did Lara, Tobi, and Tope get measured already?” I asked of my siblings

“Yes, they did”

Once that was done, we walked toward the apartment complex and just before we went in to take the elevator, Aunty Kemi suggested we play a game.

“I’ll cover your eyes until we get upstairs”

I grinned. This was why she was my favorite. She was so silly compared to the others. I didn’t question it; I was happy to play along. I let her cover my eyes as I gingerly stepped into the elevator. I felt it rush up to the 7th floor, we walked out slowly, Aunty Kemi behind me, my eyes still covered. We were going to enter from the kitchen at the back. I could smell the onions from the pantry and could feel the drafty air from the walkway. I heard the kitchen door open and immediately felt the presence of dozens of people. This was not normal. I opened my eyes and through a tiny crack between Aunty Kemi’s fingers, I saw there were indeed a lot of people sitting around all the corners of Big Aunty’s apartment. Was Grandma’s party today? How will my clothes be ready in time? And shouldn’t I be greeting these people?

“Aunty Kemi?”

“Almost there.”

She led me to her room and told me to change out of my uniform.

“Who are the people outside?” I asked.

“They are grandma’s friends”

I made sure I changed into something presentable. It wasn’t much, I had just tossed random things into my laundry bag.

Aunty Kemi waited and then told me she was going to take me to say hi to Grandma. I followed. I mean, I could go find grandma on my own, but who was I to question. I always did as was told. That was the rule at my dad’s sister’s home. I saw for myself all the people sitting around the dining room and the living room. I didn’t know most of them, though that didn’t matter because Aunty Kemi won’t let me stop to greet them. A sense of dread overwhelmed me, I immediately felt somewhere in my soul that something was not right. They all looked at me with... pity? I was led into the living room and saw grandma, a couple of other aunties I recognized, and sitting on the long couch on the right side by the balcony doors was mummy. A version of my mother I have never seen in my life. She was wearing a white agbada, her braided hair was rough, her eyes swollen and red. My mother never let herself be presented like this, never. Something was wrong, and as I felt Aunty Kemi’s hand on my shoulder gently guide me past grandma, to take a seat right next to mummy, I took a glance out the balcony windows, at the red brick building that was the military general hospital I had spent a night in just last month. Somehow, I knew my daddy was there. He was sick again because of his high blood pressure and it was so bad that he wasn’t staying in Big Aunty’s room.

“Dami,” mummy started. I looked up at her, I could still feel everyone else’s eyes on us. I said nothing. Waited for her to tell me what I already knew. “Your father has gone to be with the lord.” She looked away. Hurt all over again.

I stared. At her, at grandma, at the lady sitting next to grandma, but I wasn’t seeing them. My brain wasn’t really saying or doing much in those seconds. What felt like minutes later, my first thought was ‘Do I cry now?’

I immediately felt so exposed. I wanted darkness to swallow me, hide me from all their staring. Cover me up and take me to another reality where what my mother just said was not true. I wasn’t stupid, I was twelve years old. I knew what going to be with the lord meant. I curled into myself and tried to hide my face behind my mother, but before the first tear could reach my chin, somebody had picked me up.

“Say sorry to Grandma,” they said. I sobbed. I said I was sorry. I was then moved on to another aunty. I don’t remember her name. She sat me on her lap.

“Dami, you can’t cry. You have to be strong for your mom and your siblings.” where were my siblings? I wondered.

“...be strong for grandma”

The tears did stop. Aunty Kemi took me back to Big Aunty’s room this time. I sat on the bed I’d once seen my father lay in when he was sick, and she sat next to me.

I felt numb.

“What happened?”

He had a stroke. He died on Sunday.

Sunday. Today was Wednesday. He was dead four days, and I didn’t know. Didn’t feel anything. Wasn’t I supposed to feel something? I tried to remember the last time I saw him. It was when I was being brought back to school after I recovered from having malaria. He wasn’t feeling very well that day, but we were going to drop him off at work on my way back to school. He sat in the passenger seat while the driver took the wheel, mum and I were at the back. When he got out of the car I can’t remember if he said anything to me. He must have. I remember turning on my knees to look out the rear window to watch him walk away. He was wearing a light-yellow button-up shirt and khaki shorts. He always wore shorts. Mum said, “say goodbye to your daddy”

I said nothing. I waved, but he didn’t see me wave.