Solace From my Pen

We had just finished with family meeting and had started to share the ‘little something’ when Papa showed up. We knew it was him when we heard Mama talk angrily in a loud voice, outside. I hurried out.

“If you really want to hear about what happened in there, the first thing you’ll probably do is to stop the time!” She grabbed a popcorn bag roughly from the table in front of her and threw some into her mouth impatiently.

“Uhum? You don’t have to chew the popcorns so hard as if they offended you.” Mama couldn’t believe her ears, she squinted,

“That’s what you have to say about the meeting? How I eat my popcorn?”

“We all know whose idea the whole meeting thing is, anyway.” Papa retorted after a while and walked away straight to the bedroom, slamming the door. Mama stood there crying, Tinu, my younger sister, went over to her side and patted her by the shoulder consolingly. I couldn’t even tell what I felt; too many emotions- anger at Papa, pity for Mama and anger again at Mama for taking that shit and even making him see that his words got at her when she cried. I walked away.

I always told Mama, “When you give respect to whom respect is not due, he throws it to the swine.” but it seemed she preferred to be treated less than she deserved, and that was exactly what Papa gave her- less; all the time.

The whole family meeting thing, which we started last year, was actually Mama’s idea which she got from Mummy Zara, her friend, who claimed that in the last two years, her family had been a haven, thanks to their family meetings which helped them identify their challenges and find solutions. It sounded very sensible, so Mama gathered the little earnings from her plantain business to buy the ‘small something’ we shared amongst ourselves whenever we had the family meeting. I must say the meetings were totally at Mama’s discretion and random too-whenever she felt like things weren’t right and the family needed to talk, she called us to meet. 

I hate our family meetings; Mama would usually start her opening speech with an apology we had all memorized,

“Well errm... we all know that the family isn’t complete today because Papa is not around…” her voice shook each time she struggled to sound composed.

I keep wondering what the hell isn’t complete about it; this was the third time she tried to have the meeting with a complete family, but it never worked out. I don’t know how fair it is, but sometimes, I think maybe every time she told Papa about the meeting, it was just as monotonously tactless; he could preempt her invitation and he was not afraid to disappoint her, maybe that’s why he never attended. After Mama was through with her opening speech which I always found ridiculously monotonous, Ocho was given the honor of speaking next. Not because he had anything meaningful to say but because he was the first child and only son of four of us. He pronounced ‘s’, ‘ch’ and ‘sh’ as ‘t’ and didn’t comprehend much. One doctor who visited our family last year said he had a certain type of aphasia and some therapies might help. 

“All I want to tay it that papa don’t do anything for me when I get into trouble on the ttreet. I have to huttle and turvive on the ttreet, he don’t do anything for me. Period!” Ocho wanted to continue, but his emotion was getting the better of him, so Mama came and patted him until he was quiet and calm. 

Sisi talked next, she never said much, just a brief complaint about not having a job to support her husband especially with their seven-month-old baby. After her, I talked about how I struggle so hard at school with very little financial support, and Mama would nod and sigh heavily. Then lastly, Tinu would rant about her delayed admission to school and how she had not been able to buy almost all the required tools for her catering classes.

“I’ve heard every one of you and trust me, I understand perfectly how you feel about those things bothering you. If only your father were in attendance…but don’t worry, I’ll talk to him about it.” 

But nothing ever happened differently. Nothing.

So, after Mama cried over what Papa said to her at the veranda, she told us we’d no longer have family meetings again. I hid my smile, I know it’s not right, but I was so relieved. I was so done with all its troubles; we already had enough theatrics.

*** *** ***

Next thing we knew, the following week, Mama woke up to tell Tinu and I during devotional hour that Papa had changed. Tinu rolled her eyes; I smirked.

“Seriously girls, he has changed...” she was smiling, her eyes were shining, like one who had forgiven an old offence which didn’t hurt her much. I couldn’t take it in,

“He has? Indeed! Ocho is out there in the street all by himself struggling to survive in that condition of his. It is total strangers who get him out of trouble almost all the time. Sisi is jobless, Papa has not even paid a dime in my school fees since I started at the university; he sends just enough for peanuts once in months and he does the same to Tinu in her catering stuff!” I stopped to catch my breath and continued,

“Look at the uncompleted house we live in, at least if you cannot see anything else, you can see that! He squanders all the little money he has on God-knows-what. You sit there and say he has changed? Tell that to the ants!” I fired, and left the room.

I went to Mariam’s house to cool off; her house wasn’t faraway, plus she was a friend I could easily talk to, but going to her place this time around didn’t help much because she wouldn’t stop telling me “the truth”,

“The truth is, your Papa doesn’t hate you, you know it, it’s the truth...” she repeated each time. 

Whatever that meant, I knew she was talking from ignorance, and I did plenty to discourage her sermons, but she wouldn’t stop talking. At a point, I started to whistle to let her know I was done with listening to an advice I didn’t need, but she continued, hand on my shoulder,

“Those other things you complain about him, I understand, but they’re shortcomings that can be forgiven. It’s the truth… Don’t let this wall of hatred grow, Asa…the truth is bitter.” I nodded and smiled. It worked; she stopped talking.

*** *** ***

Later I figured out Tinu had given Mama the chance to convince her further because she wasn’t very much into our usual rantings on problems that Papa’s inadequacies had caused. Most of the time I brought the topic up, she kept quiet and nodded, or she just excused herself “to do something quickly”. It annoyed me that she could be so easily swayed by Mama’s talk because personally, I had only allowed for greetings and all other things that were on a lighter note, and I already told Mama that I didn’t want to hear anything Papa had to say except if he had the money for all my fees. I wanted to be counted out of the news of Papa’s change, and that was exactly what I got. 

Resumption to school was in a week’s time and I had informed Papa about it. I was so glad that I’d be away from all the issues at home that choked life out of me. I had been feeling like the whole world was against me; I sulked at Mama, and Tinu would rather talk about something else, there was no one I could visit to pass the time than my friend, Mariam. She was more tolerable; at least, I could think of something else while she tried fruitlessly to get me to understand Papa or at least bear with him.

*** *** ***

On Saturday after I had finished packing my things, ready for resumption, I went to Mama’s shop. She was just settling in, so I picked up the broom in the corner and helped her clean.

“Asa, your father will come around later in the day, so I think it’s better you ask him for the money you’ll need for resumption so we can see how much needs it’ll meet.” I nodded and continued sweeping,

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but he…your father has been working really hard lately to help you get enough before resumption. He said they’ll pay him today.” I nodded again. She patted me on my back and went inside. We didn’t talk much throughout, until Papa came.

“I’m so sorry, Asa, the man who promised me money disappointed me. And errr…. and I don’t have anything right now, but maybe Monday.” Papa stated plainly, like one who was reading a report of events that were totally not his making.  

“The same Monday that I should have been at school having lectures?” I couldn’t believe it; I turned to look at Mama,

“This was the change you were talking about, right? Did you hear what he just said? So much for the excitement of change!” my face burned with anger. I stormed out. I heard papa saying something about getting a loan or so, but I was in no mood for eavesdropping.

*** *** ***

After I left Papa’s presence in absolute anger and frustration over his unpreparedness for my resumption to school, I went off to anywhere else other than home. Papa saw me on the street a few hours later on my way back from where I went sulking; brows tightly furrowed, lips pursed. I heard his voice; loud and slightly croaky, 

“Asa! Asa!!” I turned and saw him in a tricycle. I looked on, motionless and expressionless. Papa was fiercely hitting the tricycle to a stop but the driver seemed to be totally concentrated, he was almost going to forcefully jump out of the moving tricycle when the driver stopped. He rummaged his pocket and hurriedly paid off the driver. He limped slightly; must be new because I had no idea when that started. He wore his faded blue jean trousers; it was one of the three good trousers he had. As he hastened towards me in the busy street filled with people and moving cars, the torn part of his trousers became more pronounced. I felt dizzy with embarrassment and resentment. I still don’t know which one I was more overcome with. I was so embarrassed by his appearance that I briefly contemplated not entertaining whatever he had to say to me. But, I managed to entertain his presence- I don’t know by what magical power, but I did. 

“I’m so sorry,” he started to say as soon as he was close enough, smiling. It hurt me. It hurt me that he found a reason to smile when I didn’t have any. I stood there, my face burning with anger and something very close to hatred. I wanted the discussion to end so much that I missed some of what he was saying, lost in my own thoughts,

“You see… things aren’t just as easy as you think,” I wanted to look him in the eye and ask him to tell me how easy he thought I imagined things, how naïve he thought I was. I wanted to ask him to tell me how difficult he thought things to be that I hadn’t come to understand, but I chose to contain my rage. I missed some of his words again,

“I didn't know that you really meant that you would return to school tomorrow,” he looked down and sighed uneasily,

“believe me, I still don’t have the money yet.” He wasn’t looking at me. I kept looking on, wondering what there was to believe; wondering when he’ll finish spewing the gibberish he’d been feeding me with.

“I’m sorry, Asa, okay?” He was looking directly at me this time, pleadingly. I nodded; my head felt heavy and was oozing something airy inside. Hot tears threatened to gush out of my eyes if I didn’t stop listening to him. I think he noticed, and decided to stop talking so that I could go where I was going. Then he stopped me again,

“Let me see...how much do I have left?” He rummaged his breast pocket, then his trousers but there was nothing in them. His face dropped. I looked away. 

“Okay, take this. Just accept it; I don’t even have my fare for tomorrow. It’s my widow’s mite.” I collected it very reluctantly, in my mind I hissed; the value of the money could only purchase the cheapest sweets in town. And let me say this, I didn’t say “thank you” to him before I backed off.

*** *** ***

It was two months after I left home for school that I read Tinu’s letter which she had sent earlier on. The title, which was written in a slant, feminine hand read: On Papa's Peace and Yours. As soon as I read the title the first time the letter was delivered to me, and the meaning suggested that it was about Papa and me, I shoved it aside and had myself a glassful of cold water as a treat for my effrontery to keep unpleasant matters- the one Tinu was going to talk about- at bay, regardless of who brought it up. I thought I made sense. Nobody told me Papa was sick and was dying, or more appropriately, I shut myself out from the knowledge of anything that pertained to him, because for one, it was included in the letter-which I didn’t read until months later. I never knew Papa was battling with partial paralysis a few weeks after I left and badly wanted to see me; all attempts to inform me failed.

There in the last paragraph of the letter, with my mouth agape, my tear-filled eyes read Tinu’s words over and again, 

Papa loved you so much. 

I found the sentence striking for its choice of verb. Loved? I read on, 

He made me swear that I would tell you this on his deathbed since you wouldn’t hear anything of him or come. He left you his priciest wristwatch-the only thing he kept for so long and wouldn’t trade for anything- and Mama, a kiss. it was all he had. 

I gasped for air; I was suffocating.

*** *** ***

When I think of it all now- how Mama pleaded with me to pardon Papa and understand his plight, how she cried over not having much to give me as I returned to school, how she apologized like Papa did the day he met me on the street sulking, and how she was so ashamed of her poor state that she couldn’t look me in the eye in her tears as I bade her goodbye- I now see how foolish I’ve been. 

I still remember how I walked off, ignoring Papa’s farewell on the day I left home for school -knowing I was hurting him- because he was smiling and without any remorse, or so I thought. I tried hard to reconcile the ,striking difference between Mama’s tears and Papa’s smile, all to no reasonable end. It didn’t mean beyond the fact that Mama had a golden heart and Papa’s heart, of stone. Only now do I understand better. Only now do I see...That, although Papa smiled, it was a sad smile. That, although he smiled, he was not really smiling; familiarity with pain and lack had made him accept his fate and resort to smiling. The smile that hid his fears, the smile that shielded his ‘failure’ that he could not utter for shame. The smile that tried to explain that he cared and not otherwise. The smile that represented hope for better days to come...

Tinu wrote that he had the smile when he passed on. 

I realized too late that Papa truly loved me. That he was one who was afraid to hurt me, he was one who feared to fail me; who shuddered at the thought of losing me. He was one who wanted the best for me always, and felt pain in his heart seeing that he could not give me the kind of life I deserved. Papa was one who quietly watched me misunderstand his genuine intention for carelessness, hoping that one day, I would come to the realization that I was much loved, although lacking the wherewithal to show it.

Alas! Now is my turn to shed tears for my own failure in acknowledging the harsh reality Papa was faced with, the reality which Mama and Papa were unable to put into words that would suit and soothe my resentful soul. My eyes burn. I fear that my heart will burst from heaviness. I cry till there is not a tear more to shed. For the first time, I feel like I have lost my shield and now I am exposed to the biting cold which I’d been shielded from. I cannot find peace, hard as I try. Only my pen offers me solace, so I write...