I listened to this man from the dark of my room. So, he had the liver to refer to my mom as “mom.” Who gave him the right to do so? Who was he to sit in my father’s sitting room at such an ungodly hour of the night, alone with my mom just because dad wasn’t around.
I hated Mr. Etukudo so much, I wanted to come out of my room and slice his tongue with razors. For every word that proceeded out of his mouth, a slice. He would’ve been dead long before I reached halfway. I would’ve made every cut deep, long and bloody.
Each time our paths crossed in school or at Watt Market, he behaved as though he didn’t know me. I wondered why mom reacted in his favor when I told her a little of the horror he had done to me. I was hurt, I felt broken. I had finally mustered the courage to speak up about it and she waved me aside. I remember running away from home that night, it was so cold. Barefooted, my fifteen-year-old self and my wounded heart watched the stars together. I wanted to be so far away from reality.
I’d thought my case would be just like in the movies, where after I tell mom what happens, she’d hug me and sue the molester to court! Yes! Well. No! Mom wasn’t on my side, and I never told her the full story. In that year and in that month, on that particular day, she’d thought I was just having painful cramps and couldn’t walk well. I didn’t tell her the truth, I didn’t tell her why I really had to come home from the boarding house.
So that unfaithful night, I listened to Mr. Etukudo from the dark of my room, wondering why my mom still let him visit us. I really needed to pee but I couldn’t bear to walk across the sitting room to the toilet, I hated the sight of his face. I couldn’t hold it any longer so I quietly opened my room door and opened the sitting room curtains.
My mom and Mr. Etukudo, my Chemistry teacher, had their lips locked. I stood there quietly and looked on, with a volcano about to erupt from my entire being. As I stood there, I didn’t hear a sound but I saw him walk in. Dad, was back.
Mirabelle Morah is a student of English and Literary Student at the University of Calabar. She edits for blankpaperz.com. She hopes young African writers would stop hiding their words between the silent pages of their books. Every story is important.