To Talk of a Father

I think any girl that has had a present and good father will always say my father was or is THE BEST.

But let me tell you about my father.

Nhamo. Nhamo in Shona, a dominant Zimbabwean language, means "problems." (Yes most Zimbabweans have such names, heavy names.) Nhamo Phillip. That was my father. A mere 1.74 m man who didn't smoke or consume alcohol.

My father was a one-word man but each time he spoke we all listened. He was always there, he was a provider, a great support system and always encouraging. Each time I or any of my three siblings did wrong, he would always sit us down and explain why it was wrong and why it shouldn't be done again in such a loving way that I miss every day.

He was an only child, my grandmother's universe. She loved him and natured him even as an adult, a relationship I didn't understand much as a child but definitely hope to have with my kids for the rest of my life. They had such a bond and respect for each other that my mother hated but failed to destroy.

My father taught me how to love, he taught me how to survive, he taught me to be grateful and resilient. He taught me to always see the good in everyone, to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, and that is the only lesson instilled in me that I wish I didn't have. And I have failed to get rid of it at any cost.

My father died in 2003. I was only 12-years-old. Twelve of those years spent with him. I had such a good bond with my father, we were so close. I was his favourite, he took me everywhere. He showed me off. He was so proud of me, unlike my mother who was always gone—and when around, always yelling and punishing for little mistakes.

2003 I had become a rebellious teenager. I had run away from home a few times going after my mother, only for her to chase me away, driving me back to my father and grandmother. It was that rejection that created a lot of self doubt within me that has carried on into my adult life.

I was rebelling against my mother's absence. I wanted her home, I wanted her to stop drinking, I wanted her to stay. My biggest regret. I destroyed myself chasing after a woman who didn't want to be a mother and l think that destroyed my father, too. It destroyed us all.

I should have appreciated my father more. He did all he could for me, for all of his children. He loved us and we saw it as weakness. Like my mother always called him—a weak man. Yet he was the pillar of our lives. He loved us so much and feared to lose us that he tolerated years of abuse from my mother because she used us as pawns.

I often think of my father. Sometimes I even light a candle and attempt to speak to him. Baba, I want you to know you were the best man I've ever known. Your strength, love, and courage were one of a kind. Thank you for all did for us. Thank you for teaching me that tomorrow is always better than today. Thank you for teaching me to love wholeheartedly and to always make it evident.

I see you always in my dreams and you are ever smiling as always. I tell my daughter about you. I wish you had met her. I wish she had met you. You are forever in my heart until we meet again. You were so unique I have failed to find a man alive who has half the heart you had. Half the qualities you had.

I love you.

P