Abby:
“What do you want?” Music to my ears. I remember those exact words—my father asked me the same thing when I caught him in a compromising position. Oh dear Lord, why is it always me catching people doing what they shouldn’t? This can’t be my destiny, can it?
That aside, I had another opportunity here to ask for something I had previously been denied. I thought about it for a few minutes, but this time, there were too many things on the list. Which one did I need the most? To do less housework? To stop running errands to the shop? To be treated like Aunty’s daughter? Or to attend the same school as my cousin? So many options.
Having lived with Aunty for almost three years now, approaching my 13th birthday, I had grown a lot wiser than when I first arrived in Lagos. Yes, my father introduced me to the art of blackmail—though, at the time, I had no idea that’s what it was—and Aunty turned me into a liar. Two vices the pastor constantly preached against. And yet, here I was, using those very same vices to get everything I wanted.
I took a deep breath as I saw her getting impatient and said, “Aunty, I want to go to my cousin’s school.”
Oh my gosh. Between that moment and when I found myself back in the village with my parents felt like mere hours, not days. All I remember is her hurriedly packing my things, swearing under her breath, and dragging me to the bus garage. It felt like a mirage—I thought I was dreaming.
Ignoring my cries, my pleas, and my promises to keep quiet, we arrived in the village. My dad wasn’t pleased, but my mum was happy. Behind closed doors, they discussed the situation, and I watched as my aunty left for Lagos without me.
Three days later, on a Sunday, just as we were returning from church, my uncle’s car drove into the compound. He stepped out, looked straight at me, and said, “Abby, go pack your things. You’re coming with me to Lagos.”
Hmmm…
Chris:
Paul and his cronies didn’t care about me—or anything else, for that matter. I was just a means to an end. He expected me to keep writing his papers while I remained stuck with below-average grades. What did he have to lose?
I had plans. Graduate with a first-class degree, land a job at a multinational company, and possibly relocate. How was that going to happen with mediocre results? Two years at university had exposed me to things I had only dreamed of. Now, I understood wealth, power, and the opportunities they could bring for me and my family.
Speaking of family, I went home for Christmas. I had saved up, bought gifts for everyone, and even gave my parents some money. At first, they didn’t seem happy to see me, but when I handed them the gifts and money, my father said, “Son, I’m not saying I’ve forgiven you, but this is a start. Bring more of this, and we’ll see how it goes.”
My mum, on the other hand, only asked why what I brought was so small. And my siblings? Let’s not even go there. That was the moment I realised I was unlucky. My family would never be grateful for anything I did. But they were still my family, and I had an obligation to be there for them—even if they weren’t there for me.
I remember my father looking at the gifts and asking, “Is this what your mates are buying for their fathers? You’ve been away for two years. Felix, my friend’s son, got his freedom and bought a plot of land for his father—he’ll start building a modern house soon. Raphael, the chief’s son, bought a brand-new motorbike for his father.” And so, he went on.
I wanted to respond. I wanted to say, Papa, these people are older than me. They’ve been away for a long time. I’m still in school. Once I graduate… But what was the point? I just sat there, apologising for something I didn’t do, as they belittled me. I left the next day and vowed not to return until my graduation.
I won’t lie—my father’s words messed me up. I started seeing myself as nothing. I looked down on myself, compared myself to the rich kids around me. At some point, I even considered dropping out to learn a trade just so I could please him. But thank God for Mr. Sam.
The day I was going to make that decision, he walked into my room on campus.
When I told him how I was feeling, he said, “Chris, I’m going to tell you what someone told me years ago. Your mind is yours to control. It festers on what you feed it. It spins stories and turns them into disasters, replaying your doubts, fears, and failures like a broken record. Remember—it’s all just a distraction from what you need to believe. The truth is, don’t believe everything you think.”
Hmmm…
