✮Ｓｔｅｐｈａｎｉｅ✮

CH. 2: LEAVE OR STAY?

It was so unbelievable that my own biological father cared less about my feelings and was absent for months only to return with the intent of taking me away from my mother; and above all, my friends witnessed this outrageous persona. How ignoble.

I was so embarrassed and blue at the same time; in fact I had different emotions rapidly flowing inside of me. I felt like asking God to send a legion of angels from heaven to punish that man ruthlessly on my behalf.

Before I knew what was happening, my mom went to him with extreme violence in action, built up in her right at that point, and again they started their usual exercise—fighting. The party froze and everyone was watching the drama between whom I would refer to as my parents.

"Stephanie goes no where with you, Dele! You can't even care for yourself or property, let alone a human being. All you will do is throw her out in the streets, in rags to suffer," my mom scowled in fury. Her eyes and the sound of resentment in her vocals was a reflection.

"Oh, gimme a break, Mary! You know nothing and that's why our daughter is the way she is.”
Excuse me?!
“But things are going to change now. I'm taking her and there's nothing you can do to stop me. I've already gotten clear approval from the court and your parents, remember? I take Olamide with me for two years and two years for you also and that's final, woman!" Dad uttered in a loud and intense manner.

Little by little, my eyes started to get clouded with tears of excruciation and just when dad grabbed two vases and broke them just to show mom whom the boss was, my clouded tears fractured and I ran to my room, weeping. Racing in a pretty ball gown like a broken princess.

I fell on my bed with my face placed on a pillow and permeated it with tears of acrimony. I locked the door for no interruptions because I knew that definitely someone would try to talk to me or cheer me up. I cried buckets until a cold and heavy headache struck me to sleep.

                       ***
In two hours, I woke up and the headache was gone. I knew the Bible taught me to forgive and forget—I was willing to forgive them but I couldn't forget what they had done to me, never.

I heard someone knocking on my door and my dad spoke, "Stephanie, open the door and let's talk... father to daughter."

"Pfft!" I muttered and with leaden wings, I opened the door and returned to sit on my bed in folded arms. He sat on a chair next to me.

"You know you mean a lot to me, right?" He asked and I didn't respond. I pouted my lips and wrinkled my face, indicating indignation.

"Listen to me, I don't want you to be part of a broken home but your mother and I, we can never work things out, not in this world or the next and you know that. You'll leave Nigeria for a better place. You'll make new friends, white and black and you'll attend a nice school." He said and I was sort of buying the idea but something still badgered me.
"What about mom?" I asked and he replied, "Darling, we are soon to get divorced officially but not to worry, you will get to see her every two years or whenever you feel like it."

I kept thinking about it, I wanted to travel abroad but I didn't want to leave my mom behind.

"Daddy, why can't you guys just work things out? In relationships, saying 'I'm sorry' settles a lot of things."

"Honey, I'm afraid that the wounds in marriage goes beyond apologies. It takes willingness, commitment, submission..."

"And love," I cut in and he fixed his eyes on me in surprise. "Do you love her?"

He sighed, "Stephanie, what is it that you want from me? I am trying as much as possible to give you the life that you desire. Do you have any idea of the opportunities towards your career that you'll meet outside the country? I mean, look at you—full of enviable potentials."

My father used my ambitions as a decoy for distraction and I fell into the snare.

"And what of my sales business to raise money for acting school?"

"I'll work that out. Why even go to acting school? You've already got the stuff in you," he earnestly said. "Listen, I have a friend who deals with things like this for kids like you. He will hook you up with some people and maybe from commercials, you'll start getting important roles in movies!"

I hung a leg.

"I'll be more supportive than ever. I promise. I will make sure that our issues don't affect you, my princess."

His words were valid and I bought it. I forgot all about the birthday-wreck.

I packed my things in no time and in two days, I and my dad left for our flight to the white man's land.

                       ***
I was innocent of such experience. I had never been in an aircraft in all my life and there was nothing quite like the wonderful feeling of being on air and seeing the snow white clouds.
I and my dad sat together but didn't say anything to each other.

"Olamide, say something."

"Something," I replied and looked away. He let out a soft chuckle and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, trying to get me to lean on his shoulder but I sat stiff and firm in refusal.

"What's the matter?" Smiling, he asked.

"Are you kidding me? You did totally nothing! You ruined my birthday party, you and mom are separated and now, you are trying to take me away from her, so you did absolutely nothing." I sarcastically said and he smiled and patted me softly on the head. "How much does the damage cause?"

"Here's the list." I said and gave him a paper containing the list of every expensive stuff that I would need to start a new life in the States.

"Igbo woman," he teased.
I placed my headphones back on and enjoyed the movement of the plane.

                   ***
Who was I even kidding? They were sort of right to get separated. They battled all the time and had visited up to fifteen therapists—still to zero avail. They constantly were involved in a dispute to the extent that I had to share names. Dad referred to me by my native name, Olamide, while mom referred to me as Stephanie. Bet they argued on my naming ceremony as well. The Scriptures was right when it said that two cannot walk together unless they agree.

My father was from the Western part of Nigeria and my mom was from the East so yes, they both spoke to me through their languages and expected me to choose one language out of both, which I'd learn. They would also perpetually rain abusive words on themselves in those languages. I wonder why they got married in the first place. This happened right before everyone in the court on the day they were going to preside over my case. They thought my mom was the "abusive" one and when I was asked to choose whom to stay with, I never answered; I was sad and frustrated.

The neighbours were already used to the raging war in our apartment that they never lacked topics to talk about. They as well asked their kids to stay away from me and claimed that I was a bad influence, just for having such parents.
I was indeed sick of the conflict.