Glowing Darkness


“Eku ise o” I greeted on my way back from work, “se ago meta e niyii” my neighbor who was making my sister’s hair commented on my early arrival from work.

“After I finished sharing the pupils results should I sleep there?” I replied jokingly, “why una never finish the hair since morning?”

“Ani won ni boko Haram wa ni Adatan” she replied as she voice my fears in and unseemly but joking manner, As I stood there, thinking about how true the news was and how close they were to my place, they all burst into laughter, I hissed, irritated and walked away, in a moment I rushed back “babe guess what, daddy asked me to go calculate the amount I will need to make my hair, Christmas issa goal” I danced up and down.

“See, you better not go o, Kasala don gas o” my younger siblings retorted. I asked what happened, but she wouldn’t say a word.

It’s was later I learnt that she had a fight with one of our cousins that doesn’t waste a breath everyday showing us we don’t belong here, this was the 7th week since we arrived and the twentieth time our last born was having issues with him, and about the fifth time we were having issues with the people around. Boko Haram they always tagged us, what other name will you give to someone who returned from the north because of a crisis?

Going home was more of a mistake than fun. I knew it before leaving Kaduna but I prayed in my heart it’d be different. This place called home was never one, not as a child and definitely not two years back when I came home from another crisis, even now that I believe in the name Jesus Christ and not prophet Isa, it’s all still complicated, it’s even worse now that my sister and two brothers decided to follow my example. This house always haunted me, it’s in this house that I lost everything I ever had, my mom, my dad, my innocence, my heart, my love, my silence and everything I cherish and loved as a kid.

I believed in better days, until my faith die, there was no light at the end of the tunnel. When will the trouble haunting me back off? I was angry about the injustice my siblings and I faced often, the hurt we took in and the inability to express our pains. The ocean of depression was drowning me again, I raised my hand maybe my family will see me, no they couldn’t, they could only see the monster consuming me, they can’t see too, that I am dying, that my heart is giving up on me, that my outer shell is shedding off.

I waited a while for dad to wake so I could apologize just as stepmom advised, “for peace to reign” she had said.

After kneeling down to apologize I wished I never did as my dad got angry and emptied the anger and pain on me as if I was responsible for them, I got up with tears in my eyes, what did I do wrong now? of course I could have ran away again, but now I know I have responsibilities on shoulders, siblings to look after and a stepmom to keep at peace, I am not 19 and careless anymore I am almost 22, enough of running around deciding not to face my fears and avoiding the pains, even if the pang was there. How long will I hold on? How long will I stay alive? How long will I shove this suicidal thought aside? How long will my faith give me breath, before I run into the warm hands of death? Why is life so unfair? It’s like life seems to be looming around to watch me make mistakes, so it could taunt me with it, hurt me till I become breathless, until it destroys me.

My father said we are his biggest mistake.

Mom said we ruined her life.

“ti MI o ba bi yin ni, MI oni je gbogbo Iya ti MO je lowo baba yin” she mumbled whenever we give her enough reason to regret ever birthing us, like telling her we want Christmas clothes, or asking for transportation fee for an important assignment to us which does not concern much.

And the fact that I have some defects I don’t seem to notice appeared to my disadvantage, no matter who committed an offense I’ll be accused of it, as if I’m supposed to tie my siblings hands and legs and stop them from living, so they won’t make mistakes.

If my parents hated me this much why didn’t they kill me themselves? I guess they didn’t want to stain their hands, leaving me with the awful decision; of course I will do it.

On growing up in this house with my childhood snatched away from me, they still want to destroy my adulthood, and I will, I will let them destroy me, kill me, ruin me, then I will Blame myself for been me, I won’t talk to the Big man up there, I guess He loves to watch me suffer too, I’m tired of reporting to him, I’m tired of calling him, so I will not do anything anymore, I will just watch.

I didn’t ask to be born, so I’m no longer asking to die, when death comes, I will welcome her with open arms, and if she doesn’t, I will get all the pain in, once I collapse, that’s the end, it’s okay if my parents think I’m the reason for their pains, well I am, whatever accusations the world wants to give me, nothing hurts like a broken heart they say, try bitterness and hatred from both parents. For a crime only God knows who committed it.

I’m not praying for it to get better, I’m not asking for strength, this is beyond what I can endure, and I’m not praying for help.

Even if my whole family said it’s my fault and they hate me, it’s still okay I accept, but I didn’t want to ever see them again not in this life or afterlife, if this is hatred then I accept it too.

I drown in the ocean of my own tears, as I mumbled the words I have been repeating for years, “I’m tired please just take the pains away, help me I’m too weak for this”, and the reply was same, “hold on a little while, it will be better soon”, soon? Until when? I know tomorrow will be better and I will forget all the harsh words, or they will be preserved in the far corner of my memory, waiting for a re-hatch, but what I don’t know is when is the next time, might as well be tomorrow.

Olusanya Mujidat Olaide

Olusanya Mujidat Olaid is a young passionate writer who is also a spoken word artist and poet, she hails from Abeokuta Ogun state Nigeria. She is also a diploma certificate holder in law from the prestigious Ahmadu Bello University zaria.

 


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