This is the last part of a four-part series. Links to the previous parts are at the end of the story.
Content Warning: This story contains descriptions of physical abuse, emotional manipulation, and familial violence. Please read with care.
After my encounter with the man who was supposed to rid me of witchcraft, Justin and I returned to the East. But things did not get better.
Returning home meant I was forced to use the items we brought back from Lagos. I would have to stand before Justin in my room, undress, and apply those things on my body while he watched. The rest of the family ostracized me, Pascal stopped eating anything I cooked, and with time, so did my mom.
I did not know when Justin got married, I wasn’t invited because everyone believed I was a witch who could cause people’s death. Even when his wife gave birth, I was careful not to touch their child lest they say I harmed him.
In fact, his wife kept asking me for her placenta when she gave birth and said I should have collected it from the doctors. Maybe they thought I had taken it to our meeting to devour with fellow witches.
But you see, the day we went to Lagos was the day the fog covering my eyes cleared. I realized these people were not my family and I needed to find out the truth about them. So I began to think smart. I did not argue. I followed blindly while planning and waiting for my chance.
A year later, after this Lagos trip, I turned 18 and that was when Pascal dropped the bombshell. He told me to stop bearing his dad’s name and answer my dad’s name.
Justin tried to cover it up, and said Pascal was sick and had mental issues, but by then I knew better to believe him. I started connecting all the pieces and knew I had to leave that house and find some answers.
There were so many things that did not make sense. I was blamed and punished when an adult wetted the bed while the culprit watched and said nothing. During Christmas, I got beaten for letting a chicken I could not bring myself to kill escape.
Nearly every night, I got beat because I could not understand the Yoruba words they tried to teach me. I always received a beating for one thing or the other and spent a greater part of my life defending myself against accusations for crimes I never committed.
I waited two more years until I was 20 when I finally ran away from that house. By then I had become smarter. Instead of boarding straight from the park to Lagos, I knew they would look for me in every park. I decided to travel to Aba first, then to Port Hacourt, before boarding to Lagos.
And guess who encouraged me to run? It was Mrs. Chibuzor’s daughter. She gave me three thousand naira and told me to go find answers before I died.
I became a criminal and a crook because of the ones I call family.
The End!
This is the fourth (and last) part of this story. Read Part One , Two , and three here if you haven’t.
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