St. Helen’s road was usually quiet at this time of the day, but I sought solace in the loud beats streaming through my headphones. Walking briskly and through little pockets of water on the road, I settled into my thoughts. Perhaps with the combination of the loud music and thoughts that won’t stay buried, my premonitions would become a reality.
Somehow, they have helped stifling memories I tried for years to suppress. Like an avalanche, they come back to fill any vacant part of my thoughts.
It was a Saturday morning like this one; but instead of heading towards the Swansea University sports centre as I was now doing, my father had gone to Onikan Stadium to play football. The men’s fellowship of The Evangelical Church of Christ had invited its members to partake in a social activity outside of the regular Sunday spiritual meets. Pastor Mike had insisted that it was important for the body of Christ to be united outside of the Word. The womenfolk were also encouraged to attend prayer breakfast; nothing was stronger than the power of a praying wife and mother. Quite the diligent couple, Papa and Mama Omotara were quick to sign up for the Saturday of leisure.
They picked me up from Granny’s just after I finished consuming a large plate of yam pottage. I dragged myself towards the gate, hoping to slouch all the way home. The itis flew out of the window when I saw Mother behind the wheel.
“Your daddy sprained his ankle at the game. Get in let’s go home”
I looked at him to confirm that she wasn’t lying. He smiled and winced at the same time. It was an unusually quiet ride home.
For the next month, Granny became responsible for picking me up from school. Daddy was in the hospital more. Mummy had to stay with him.
Nobody was telling me anything but I knew. I felt it.
“I’m sure it’s nothing serious. Maybe they just need to run some tests.”
“But, Grandma, it was just a sprain wasn’t it? The boys in my class have sprains all the time. They come to school with casts.”
The look on her face should have clued me in at that point. I spent the earliest part of my teenage years wondering if I could have stopped him from going to play that soccer match. Maybe I should have whined and complained of a tummy ache. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. In hindsight, if he didn’t get hurt, we would have had no way of knowing how far the cancer was there; or that it had progressed that far.
What began as fun afternoons with Granny after school became the norm; I was sent away as often as they could manage. Mother was constantly whispering on the phone. Daddy hardly ever came out of the room.
“Your father is tired, Tara. Don’t disturb him”
Then the church members started visiting. They would sit for long hours in the living room singing in sorrowfully low pitched tones: “Whose report shall we believe? We shall believe the report of the Lord”.
What was the report and why was there a doubt about its validity?
One day, I waited until mother had seen the Women’s Fellowship out to their cars, I ran into Daddy’s room. I remember the smell that hit me as I let myself into the room that I had been banned from for 2 months. The overpowering smell of Mummy’s Raspberry fragrance filled the room – her attempts at masking the stench of the disease only sucked out all the life.
“Daddy” I whispered, more out of fear that he wouldn’t respond than of fear that my mother would be back and catch me disobeying her strict rules. I had learnt from an early age not to cross my mother and I loved my father fiercely. He was my friend and ally. I waited – 3 seconds feeling like a lifetime.
He did respond. He groaned and gave a tight smile.
“My beautiful baby” He held out his hand but I was afraid. Shivering from fear and the deathly cold that surrounded us, I turned around and fled.
One day, the pastor’s wife visited. She suggested that I was too young to be around Daddy, especially now that the cancer had gone this far. She suggested, in that thick syrupy voice of hers, that I be sent to boarding school.
“God’s will be done”
I whispered ‘Amen’ from where I stood in the kitchen; praying fervently that my happy daddy will be back on his feet.
By the second week in October, the will of God was done. The funeral was on the 23 of October. It didn’t rain. There was no sign that the being, who took my daddy, realized how much pain I was in. In all of this, his omniscience and omnipotence was drummed into my senses over and over.
“He has gone to a better place. God’s will be done”
Who is God and why is his will so important in the disruption of my life and happiness?
To be continued...