I was 20 years old when I found out the man I thought was my father, wasn’t. Was I really shocked? No. I wasn’t. I had my doubts about him since I was 17. I’ll tell you why.
I was 11 when moved in with my immediate older brother, Justin, somewhere in the east. He was kind to me and treated me really well. But whenever my other brother, Pascal, visited, there were some changes. I didn’t quite see it until the following year.
Pascal had never been close to me except on special occasions. Justin, on the other hand, was really sweet. He taught me to walk, dress, and talk like him. I was referred to as his girlfriend by his co-workers. He’d buy me pieces of jewelry, makeup items, fancy things that came his way. The only thing I never did often was dress like the girl that I am. I wore more trousers and shorts with T-shirts, sneakers and face caps. Even now that I’m a mother, I am still learning to be a proper woman. But you see Pascal? He was like a demon. this minute he’s smiling at you, the next he’s accusing you of something you never did. He beat me so much that people around told me when I turned 12, that those two weren’t my brothers. Let me share some of my ordeals.
First, When I lost my Kerosene keg at boarding school, they beat me for days. Sent me back to my school to go and look for that keg even though school wasn’t in session. They asked me not to return home without that keg. I cried and begged, but they wouldn’t listen. My Principal had to ask them to open all the dormitories when she saw the scars from my beatings. I looked through all of them, but I didn’t find the keg so I returned home.
The beatings didn’t stop until one Sunday morning when I went to church and the whole church screamed when they saw my body. The pastor and some members followed me home to plead with my brothers but they were still adamant. So a member carried me on a bike and went to look for the keg to buy. We searched and couldn’t find the exact one that was missing so he bought a different keg. He brought me home and then told me these words whoever would beat someone for days without pity just because of a jerry can is not related to that person. So as far as I am concerned, these people are not your brothers. If I were you, I’d run away”.
Run away ke, to where? I had no one to run to. I decided to move in with my brother because I was trying to escape my mom’s beatings. Hers was worse because it came with lots of sad words spoken. Words I couldn’t erase from my head no matter how hard I tried. So I resigned to fate. Guess what? I was beaten again for not only complaining and making a stranger buy me a new keg, but for also bringing church members to the house to come and lecture them on how to train their sister. And I was instructed to bring that keg back whenever I returned back to school. Did I later find the keg, yes. A senior student had taken it, I had to show her the scars I received just for losing that keg and she gave it back. Guess what? I received another beating when I returned the keg home, just cos I lost it in the first place. Like the word forgiveness doesn’t exist when it comes to my brothers. They remember things months later and still punish you for it. But this particular year was the year I began praying to God to please kill Pascal cos everything is always fine until he returns from school to visit us. I was almost 13 years old when this happened.