No need for any introductions, @Terdoh has my entire blog to himself today, Enjoy people.
Four score and two decibels ago, my parents used to beat me. It was love at first crack (of the whip). They could beat me for not farting, beat me for farting, beat me for waking up too early, beat me for sleeping late, beat me for eating too much, beat me for wasting food, beat me because they hadn’t beaten me that day, and beat me because they just did.
And I took it. Like a tiv man should.
But in this age, we are encouraged not to ‘beat your kids’, encouraged not to use violent methods or techniques, encouraged to talk to them, encouraged to spare the horse whip and use the tongue tip. We are encouraged to spoil our kids and that is what we do. That is what I DID.
It is my undoing. If I didn’t heed the ‘encouragement’, I wouldn’t be sitting in this cell. Here’s how it started:
In the beginning, God made the heavens and the earth. But you guys already know that, so let’s skip to a more recent time.
I got married 20 years ago. Long time isn’t it?! It was lovely. It was love at first sight when I saw her afro swaying in the haze of the club light and I knew that I wanted her. And after spitting all the game I had accumulated from FIFA Sports over the years, I finally got her to do the windeck and plank with me. Best night of my life. Jamie Foxx wouldn’t understand!
Then she got pregnant. I didn’t mind. I got to keep this goddess of beauty and frankly, I considered myself lucky! We got married a couple of months after, and then she had my baby.
And died during childbirth.
Too bad the little ‘angel’ didn’t go with her. I was devastated, but I decided that my crown jewel would find both a father and a mother in me. So I brought her up myself, and I pampered her silly! I would never let anyone or anything hurt her. I recall fighting with numerous teachers on her behalf and she could always run to me for support. I was her refuge, her knight, her best friend, her dad.
I should never have forgotten that. I was her dad. I should never have let it get to that point. “What point” you ask? Lemme explain. She grew up to look just like her mother. (Don’t they all?) And one day, this happened;
She wanted to go on tour with her ‘celebrity’ boyfriend. And for someone who particularly loves that annoying song with the words “dull” and “don’t”, I wasn’t going to allow her run loose without my watchful eyes on her. I wasn’t being overprotective, I was being a father. So, of course, I said no.
Then she slapped me.
At that moment, when I looked at her face, I saw my wife. I just stared, dumbstruck at her, and I couldn’t lift a finger to do anything. She went on the tour without my permission, but that was only the beginning of my problems. After that incident, it became a daily routine. Wake up in the morning, bath, brush, dress up, eat food that I cooked, ask me for something expensive, and if I decline or deny her, slap me.
It got to a start one day when she said she wanted to change her Peruvian hair to Brazilian in the space of two weeks.
Her: Femi, I want to change my hair. (Yes, we were on a first name basis. BFFs and tins.)
Me: But you changed it last week, and it cost me two fortunes and one antique painting. I don’t even see what the difference is.
Her: This is Peruvian and I don’t like it. I want a new one. And I don’t expect you to fuck me up like you’re used to doing.
Me: The answer, honey, is no! I could buy you a hair pin that says “Brazilian Hair” if that will make any difference. But as far as getting Brazilian hair for you is concerned, you are On Your Own like a house in Ibadan.
And this is when she slapped me…for the last time.
I have never been so angry before. I pushed over the kitchen table, and started beating her to a pulp! How could she dare?! Lay one more finger on me again? I think not! I grabbed a kitchen knife and cut them all off! But why stop there? I cut off her limbs and gave her a nice H&M short sleeve look to sport. Then that head…that head that just had to have Brazilian hair. That head had to go!
By the time I was done, she looked like she was fresh out a thriller video. Then the gravity of what just happened hit me
Now I’m in this cell wondering if I could have continued to bear what was actually my fault and avoided this.
But pause to ask yourself, who is the real victim here?
This story is purely fictional, Maybe? At least in this part of the world it’s really not that prominent, but i have seen children disrespect and show total disregard for their folks by the use of words which i have to say can at times be worse than any physical abuse or at least a decent substitute.
What Could have been done differently?
If you were FEMI, what steps would you have taken to avoid this or what do you do now?
what role does our Up-bringing play on who we become later on?
Have you witnessed an abusive relationship before? How did it affect you?
What did you do to overcome the trauma?
Do share an opinion.
(‘Firsts’ and ‘Nice Posts’ are only acceptable as long as you come back to say something.)